Confession: I went into the The Ghost Writer's screening armed with every "that scene made me feel like I was just slipped some 'ludes and anally raped" joke I could muster. Okay, maybe just that one. I was frustrated with and also a smidge proud of my inability to push aside the director's personal life so the film could shine on its own merit. However, it seems Roman Polanski beat me at my own game by using his personal troubles to fuel the film's journey from basic political thriller into something much more complex...and...right back to basic political thriller again. Perhaps Mr. Polanski hasn't completely outwitted us. For now.
No more played-out rape jokes after the jump! Promise!
No more played-out rape jokes after the jump! Promise!
The film opens with shots of a gloomy sea surrounding the Eastern U.S. island which former British Prime Minister, Tony Blair--I mean, Adam Lang (Pierce Brosnan) has been practically exiled to in order to escape the criticism of his home country that he pandered too much to U.S. interests during his term. These seas swallowed up Lang's memoir ghostwriter just days earlier in an unfortunate drowning accident. Or was it an accident? Enter a new ghost, played by Ewan McGregor, who begins delving into the life of Lang and his wife, Ruth (Olivia Williams) to craft the book.
After news breaks of Lang's alleged collaboration with the CIA to illegally seize and torture suspected terrorists while in office, and the ensuing formal inquiry into his actions is announced, the ghost must stay at Lang's compound as hordes of protesters and reporters surround their camp. The more time he spends around Lang, his wife, and Lang's assistant, Amelia (a rather pointless Kim Cattrall), the more he suspects that his predecessor's death was not an accident. While sleuthing, he discovers that Lang's first ghostwriter may have uncovered evidence linking Lang to the CIA--evidence the former P.M. has every reason to prevent from escaping the island.
The political issues in the film allow the audience to smugly pat itself on the back for having been so informed about contemporary U.S./U.K. global relations. In that sense, Polanski is able to get his digs in at the U.S. and Britain in a clever way. However, it is in the crafting of the media frenzy that follows the announcement of the investigation of Lang's supposed war crimes that Polanski shines. He is in his element, orchestrating a whirlwind of reporters and protesters that slowly increases in intensity so much so that by the time the ghost is able to escape the den I found myself breathing a sigh of relief along with him, surprised that these scenes of screaming masses had caused me to hold my breath. Polanski subtly developed a sense of claustrophobia and terror within his audience without resorting to dramatics with throngs of violent screaming paparazzi-esque vultures. Unfortunately, once the film becomes more of a spy vs. spy game than a slowly unwinding mystery, Polanski's work begins to falter.
We are ejected from Polanski's carefully crafted world and deposited into the cruel world of a made-for-TV thriller, except this time I was watching it in a crowded movie theater in street clothes and not home alone on Saturday night in my pajamas with a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread. I realize that the film must go somewhere, and we can't all play in a taut, witty, mysterious political world forever, but the movie tries to hit too many plot points, and it starts to fall apart. McGregor and Brosnan are on their games, but they just can't manage to overcome the products of a story trying to make too many "mysterious plot twists." Williams is a delight as Ruth, Lang's snippy wife, but her performance is nearly overshadowed by the glaring monstrosity that is Cattrall's attempt at a British accent.
Polanski has made a film that is enjoyable overall and one that truly benefits from his eye as director (and as a prisoner of the public eye). It is just unfortunate that a jam-packed storyline got in the way of the simple, intricate tone of the film's first half. I left the theater feeling like the film had taken a page from your basic run-of-the-mill political mystery/drama/John Grisham novel and mimicked it. The film's final scene elicited several gasps from the audience, and no doubt will be a polarizing one with those who see The Ghost Writer--but it left me rolling my eyes at the obviousness of it all. Then again, maybe I'm the one whose spent too many Saturday nights watching Lifetime original movies.
--Jessica Hixson
After news breaks of Lang's alleged collaboration with the CIA to illegally seize and torture suspected terrorists while in office, and the ensuing formal inquiry into his actions is announced, the ghost must stay at Lang's compound as hordes of protesters and reporters surround their camp. The more time he spends around Lang, his wife, and Lang's assistant, Amelia (a rather pointless Kim Cattrall), the more he suspects that his predecessor's death was not an accident. While sleuthing, he discovers that Lang's first ghostwriter may have uncovered evidence linking Lang to the CIA--evidence the former P.M. has every reason to prevent from escaping the island.
The political issues in the film allow the audience to smugly pat itself on the back for having been so informed about contemporary U.S./U.K. global relations. In that sense, Polanski is able to get his digs in at the U.S. and Britain in a clever way. However, it is in the crafting of the media frenzy that follows the announcement of the investigation of Lang's supposed war crimes that Polanski shines. He is in his element, orchestrating a whirlwind of reporters and protesters that slowly increases in intensity so much so that by the time the ghost is able to escape the den I found myself breathing a sigh of relief along with him, surprised that these scenes of screaming masses had caused me to hold my breath. Polanski subtly developed a sense of claustrophobia and terror within his audience without resorting to dramatics with throngs of violent screaming paparazzi-esque vultures. Unfortunately, once the film becomes more of a spy vs. spy game than a slowly unwinding mystery, Polanski's work begins to falter.
We are ejected from Polanski's carefully crafted world and deposited into the cruel world of a made-for-TV thriller, except this time I was watching it in a crowded movie theater in street clothes and not home alone on Saturday night in my pajamas with a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread. I realize that the film must go somewhere, and we can't all play in a taut, witty, mysterious political world forever, but the movie tries to hit too many plot points, and it starts to fall apart. McGregor and Brosnan are on their games, but they just can't manage to overcome the products of a story trying to make too many "mysterious plot twists." Williams is a delight as Ruth, Lang's snippy wife, but her performance is nearly overshadowed by the glaring monstrosity that is Cattrall's attempt at a British accent.
Polanski has made a film that is enjoyable overall and one that truly benefits from his eye as director (and as a prisoner of the public eye). It is just unfortunate that a jam-packed storyline got in the way of the simple, intricate tone of the film's first half. I left the theater feeling like the film had taken a page from your basic run-of-the-mill political mystery/drama/John Grisham novel and mimicked it. The film's final scene elicited several gasps from the audience, and no doubt will be a polarizing one with those who see The Ghost Writer--but it left me rolling my eyes at the obviousness of it all. Then again, maybe I'm the one whose spent too many Saturday nights watching Lifetime original movies.
--Jessica Hixson
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