REVIEW: The Ghost Writer

If talent could be used as bail, possible criminal/definite genius Roman Polanski would be set for life. In honor of the man's boundless artistic achievements, I refuse to devote any more space to an examination of his personal life. However, before I start the review of his latest, The Ghost Writer, let me state that Chinatown, the last mystery film Polanski directed, is easily one of my favorite films of all time. Every facet of that masterwork-from the dialogue to the story structure to the visual language-has irrevocably influenced the way I write about and view films, among other things. So this one had lots of hype to live up to...


I can happily report it pretty much does. The Ghost Writer is an instant classic, a tour de force of slow-build suspense and social commentary. It's the story of The Ghost (Ewan McGregor), a fledgling writer who holes up in a compound with ex-British-prime minster Adam Lang (Pierce Brosnan), his wife Ruth (Olivia Williams) and his secretary Amelia (Kim Cattrall) to help the former PM with his memoirs. Before long, The Ghost's research leads him down a darker-than-expected path, and things start to go horribly wrong...I won't say anymore, especially because this film contains a whopper of a final twist on par with that Holy Grail of Gotcha Endings, The Usual Suspects. Let's talk instead about Polanski's brilliant approach to the material. The film seems, at first, deceptively simple. As The Ghost settles into his job, we get a series of small, austere scenes establishing life at the compound-the cook make prepares some sandwiches, Lang walks about talking (sometimes agitatedly) on his cell phone, security guards pace about, running a little drill every now and then. You're conscious, even frustrated at the lack of tension until you realize what the director is doing-putting us in the characters shoes. By outlining, in tasteful, telling brushstrokes, the details of this strange, isolated life, Polanski is letting the drabness and claustrophobia of it seep into our bones. I always have believed people draw energy, negative or positive, from their surroundings. Wonder why some mechanics are grumpy? They spend their days surrounded by agitated or puzzled folks, stuck in hot, smelly garages-they're encircled by unhappiness, so it's how they feel. By this same logic, the compound turns these people as strange and stormy as their habitat. Now that Polanski's established every thread of this intricate rug, it's time to pull it out-soon, this quartet is caught up in an emotional hurricane of old secrets and shaky allegiances, but film's transition from character study to thriller is so subtle that you don't notice it until you check your pulse-its sped up a few notches. The film's middle section is a marvelous maze of withering gazes, haunting conversations, and red herrings. Still, just you wait-it's the 3rd act where the film really shines. As the Ghost uncovers more and more shocking evidence, Polanski shortens the shot lengths, Alexandre Desplat amps up his beautifully brooding score, and we race towards a classic finale of volcanic revelations, coming so fast and in such great number that you've got to catch your breath to keep up with the sheer crackpot brilliance of it all. I don't feel the need to talk much about the actors. Polanski always gets great performances out of his cast, and this picture is no exception; what we have hear is a flawless ensemble. However, special props to Pierce Brosnan, taking the role of a lifetime and running with it, sinking all of his considerable charisma and energy into the part. And God bless Olivia Williams, whose fearless work here ought to finally earn one of my favorite actresses the attention she deserves. From its opening shot, an audience grabber if I ever saw one, to its chilling, wordless final tableau, The Ghost Writer draws it's gut-punching power from the high-chemistry cast in front of the camera, and the balls-out genius behind it. This doesn't top Chinatown. I doubt if anything ever will. But it's a film that, along with a select few others, deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as that flawless classic. A.