Roman Polanski’s detective story is funny, unsettling and finely acted, with Jack Nicholson making confidence dangerously persuasive. The crowded plotting occasionally demands patience, but we would recommend it even to people who usually avoid detective films.
Roman Polanski’s Chinatown is a patient, disturbing detective film that deserves the full attention it asks for. Set in 1930s Los Angeles, it follows private investigator Jake Gittes into an irrigation scandal, keeping the investigation close to what he can understand. The case matters because the people involved remain interesting even when they are withholding information. We would recommend it even to people who usually find private-eye stories a little pleased with themselves.
Robert Towne and Polanski’s screenplay makes corruption interesting before asking us to find it appalling. The irrigation business could have become an interruption while we waited for the next suspicious person to arrive, but questions of ownership and control belong to the mystery. Some of the plotting is crowded, and there are stretches when keeping track of the enquiry becomes work. Sam O’Steen’s editing generally gives each new piece of information enough space to register, though it cannot entirely remove that congestion.
Jack Nicholson plays J.J. ‘Jake’ Gittes with intelligence and vanity in proportions that keep shifting. His charm makes the film funny without turning the investigation into an excuse for jokes. We laughed at his self-assurance, then became uneasy about how readily we had accepted it as evidence that he knew what he was doing. Nicholson makes that response possible by keeping Gittes recognisably fallible, even when he is enjoyable company.
Faye Dunaway’s Evelyn Cross Mulwray is harder company, and her guarded performance gives Gittes something his manner cannot easily settle. She makes us pay attention to the effort Evelyn puts into remaining composed, without announcing how we should read her. The writing sometimes keeps her at such a distance that she risks becoming another question for Gittes to answer, and Dunaway has to supply the person herself. John Huston’s Noah Cross is disquieting without much apparent effort; Huston understands how little he needs to do to hold our attention.
John A. Alonzo’s cinematography gives the crime story daylight, and the exposure makes it more troubling. Detective films often use shadows to warn us that something is being concealed. Here the city looks available for inspection, yet Gittes still has to struggle to understand it. Richard Sylbert’s production design establishes the period with enough assurance that we can stop checking it and follow the people. Anthea Sylbert’s costumes work similarly, helping the actors inhabit the period without making every appearance feel like a display.
Jerry Goldsmith’s score works because it does not keep telling us how much trouble everyone is in. Its restraint lets the unease persist without wearing out our nerves. Within the private-eye tradition, Polanski preserves the satisfaction of following clues while making the detective’s authority less reassuring than we expect. That choice keeps a complicated story involving corruption and family secrets from becoming merely a puzzle to be solved.
There is humour here, but we would not choose Chinatown for a soothing evening. Its 130 minutes ask for concentration and leave enough discomfort to make conversation afterwards preferable to immediately putting something else on. Give it an uninterrupted sitting, and allow a little time before deciding what to say.
