The Ghost Writer (2010)
A very conventional political thriller, well done, smartly paced, but a bit drab or slow at times, too.
And familiar.
So you go into this kind of movie looking for what distinguishes it, like the understated performance by Ewan McGregor. And the really gorgeous setting, which looks so much like either Martha's Vineyard or Nantucket you'd swear it was. But in fact the utterly incredible house was built for the movie on a sandy island in northern Germany called Sylt. Most of the movie, in fact, was shot in Germany, including Berlin (which was meant to be London), for the simple reason that the director, admitted sex offender Roman Polanski, couldn't travel to the U.S. without being arrested. There are a few driving scenes and scenic inserts that were filmed on Cape Cod (in the U.S.) without Polanski's presence.
It's interesting that Polanski wanted to make a film that had to be set here even though it made things difficult. Doubly so because his protagonists are all British, making weakly disguised references to Tony Blair (Pierce Brosnan doing a routine job--he really can't act worth beans if an actual emotion is required) and his wife (Olivia Williams, who is absolutely terrific, award material).
Which brings us back to McGregor, playing a ghost writer for the ex-prime minister's memoirs. He's really terrific at playing someone with savvy but also naiveté. He's smart but at first so trusting he gets into what is obviously a dubious job, his predecessor having just been killed. But we are lulled, too, until events internationally unravel the situation and he discovers some inside information. Of course, this puts him in more danger, and us in more suspense.
It's good, very good, but we have been here before. The details are different, but the intrigue is the same. Yes, we know about this shadow government where people are manipulated and assassinated while the news coverage is rose and contrived. Yes, we have seen the detemined innocent set out to prove the truth. Even the direct facts, that this young writer is going to rewrite his predecessor's apparently finished memoir, and then begins with the most basic interviews of the subject, don't shape up.
You'd never know this was directed by Polanski. Or would you? If you look at his earliest films you'll find some edgy, almost cruel quality ("Repulsion") but if you see "Chinatown" you'll actually have a parallel to this one--a well made film in a conventional container (that one has an amazing Jack Nicholson to lift it up). There is of course "Rosemary's Baby," which was lifted by a really creepy story. For "The Ghost Writer," Polanski's last film, you keep thinking there will be a real twist, something large and bizarre or just chilling, but it doesn't really happen. In fact, when the memoir gets published it's all a bit anti-climactic.
And so, the final ten minutes, at a party, feels like a desperate attempt of the writer, and director, to make all this effort more than just another polished intrigue. At the last minute, a highly improbable final discovery occurs, followed by an even more improbable and shocking last ten seconds. Surprised, we sort of say, okay, I get it, and that's that. Not exactly the reaction you'd want to have after a decent two hours preparing.
I say no more except that the final seconds are also an homage to Stanley Kubrick's "The Killing." You'll see. Nice touch.
A very conventional political thriller, well done, smartly paced, but a bit drab or slow at times, too.
And familiar.
So you go into this kind of movie looking for what distinguishes it, like the understated performance by Ewan McGregor. And the really gorgeous setting, which looks so much like either Martha's Vineyard or Nantucket you'd swear it was. But in fact the utterly incredible house was built for the movie on a sandy island in northern Germany called Sylt. Most of the movie, in fact, was shot in Germany, including Berlin (which was meant to be London), for the simple reason that the director, admitted sex offender Roman Polanski, couldn't travel to the U.S. without being arrested. There are a few driving scenes and scenic inserts that were filmed on Cape Cod (in the U.S.) without Polanski's presence.
It's interesting that Polanski wanted to make a film that had to be set here even though it made things difficult. Doubly so because his protagonists are all British, making weakly disguised references to Tony Blair (Pierce Brosnan doing a routine job--he really can't act worth beans if an actual emotion is required) and his wife (Olivia Williams, who is absolutely terrific, award material).
Which brings us back to McGregor, playing a ghost writer for the ex-prime minister's memoirs. He's really terrific at playing someone with savvy but also naiveté. He's smart but at first so trusting he gets into what is obviously a dubious job, his predecessor having just been killed. But we are lulled, too, until events internationally unravel the situation and he discovers some inside information. Of course, this puts him in more danger, and us in more suspense.
It's good, very good, but we have been here before. The details are different, but the intrigue is the same. Yes, we know about this shadow government where people are manipulated and assassinated while the news coverage is rose and contrived. Yes, we have seen the detemined innocent set out to prove the truth. Even the direct facts, that this young writer is going to rewrite his predecessor's apparently finished memoir, and then begins with the most basic interviews of the subject, don't shape up.
You'd never know this was directed by Polanski. Or would you? If you look at his earliest films you'll find some edgy, almost cruel quality ("Repulsion") but if you see "Chinatown" you'll actually have a parallel to this one--a well made film in a conventional container (that one has an amazing Jack Nicholson to lift it up). There is of course "Rosemary's Baby," which was lifted by a really creepy story. For "The Ghost Writer," Polanski's last film, you keep thinking there will be a real twist, something large and bizarre or just chilling, but it doesn't really happen. In fact, when the memoir gets published it's all a bit anti-climactic.
And so, the final ten minutes, at a party, feels like a desperate attempt of the writer, and director, to make all this effort more than just another polished intrigue. At the last minute, a highly improbable final discovery occurs, followed by an even more improbable and shocking last ten seconds. Surprised, we sort of say, okay, I get it, and that's that. Not exactly the reaction you'd want to have after a decent two hours preparing.
I say no more except that the final seconds are also an homage to Stanley Kubrick's "The Killing." You'll see. Nice touch.