The Ghost Writer (2010)

3.5

THRILLER

U.S. Release Date: 02/19/10

Running Length: 2:10

MPAA Classification: PG-13 (Profanity, Sexual Content, Violence)

Theatrical Aspect Ratio: 2.35:1

Cast: Ewan McGregor, Pierce Brosnan, Kim Cattrall, Olivia Williams, Timothy Hutton, Tom Wilkinson, Eli Wallach, James Belushi, Robert Pugh

Director: Roman Polanski

Screenplay: Robert Harris, Roman Polanski, based on the novel by Robert Harris Cinematography: Pawel Edelman

Music: Alexandre Desplat

U.S. Distributor: Summit Entertainment

Review by: Carter Moulton

04/05/10

The Ghost Writer Director Roman Polanski is one of the few directors able to manufacture pure paranoia during the movie-going experience. It’s an uneasy feeling for the viewer, but it engages, draws us closer. Sure, making us jump out of our seats has traditionally been considered to “scary," but there’s something physical, instinctive about that reaction; true terror is the suspense leading up to the jump. True terror is accompanied by anxiety, suspicion, and ambiguity.  Alfred Hitchcock and Stanley Kubrick were masters at creating all three, and while Polanski’s latest film isn’t quite in that realm, it’s an example of the way movies should be made.

Based on the novel “The Ghost” by Robert Harris—who also helped Polanski adapt the screenplay—the film focuses on a ghostwriter (played superlatively by Ewan McGregor) and his unearthing of a political conspiracy. The film begins in London, with “The Ghost”—McGregor’s character remains nameless—inking a deal to complete the memoirs of former British Prime Minister Adam Lang (Pierce Brosnan).

Lang, who intentionally parallels former British Prime Minister Tony Blair, is resting at his ocean house off the Eastern coast of America, so The Ghost travels there to finish the manuscript. I say “finish” because The Ghost’s predecessor mysteriously drowned while working on the memoirs. When Lang is formally accused of a war crime, The Ghost finds himself in the middle of a mystery—a dangerous one. This isn’t your average political conspiracy—you know, the ones where you feel drowned in a bath of political banter; the moods and images Polanski orchestrates are the focus—and the achievement—here.

Brosnan is giftedly hazy as Lang, although he isn’t in the picture as often as you’d expect. Most of the details are gathered from surrounding characters in a Clue-like manner. Kim Cattrall is surprisingly strong as Amelia, Lang’s personal assistant, as is Olivia Williams as Ruth, Lang’s worldly, unhappy wife. Tom Wilkinson, who, needless to say, is superb, plays a key figure, and his exchanges with McGregor raise blood levels enough to be considered health risks.

Photo © Summit Entertainment

The Ghost Writer is beautifully photographed, with crisp color palettes supplementing the architectural compositions. Sea salt and lighthouse hues are sprinkled throughout Lang’s isolated island and the neighboring coastal town; Contemporary shades, artificial glows and matte blacks coat the inside of Lang’s beach house.

Polanski’s film feels a bit rushed. The Ghost Writer’s pacing is by no means the problem; poor editing that was inserted at the last-minute to obtain a PG-13 rating from the MPAA, however, is. (It should be noted that much of the post-production work was done while Polanski was under arrest due to his still-pending sexual abuse case from 1977.) An R-rated film at heart, there are times when the film's visuals don’t match the acoustics. For instance, Lang observably calls his adversary a “cheeky fuck,” but instead we hear “cheeky bugger.” Or McGregor, who leans up against a wall and sighs, “Fuck.” We hear “shit.” It’s like watching Happy Gilmore on TBS.

Also, a critical plot point is found via Google search. When it is revealed to another character, he gives a “No way, never in a million years!”-type response. It’s the third result down on Google—how secretive can it be?

Minor flaws aside, The Ghost Writer is still the best film of the year through March. Polanski’s images float off-screen and wrap us up. Paradoxically, he brings us closer by having his subjects farther away from the camera. It produces a voyeuristic quality similar to his horror classic, Rosemary’s Baby. Polanski wants the audience to embody The Ghost, so he often uses point-of-view shots or positions the camera over The Ghost’s shoulder. We see the repeated image of one of Lang’s house workers attempting to rake grass and keep it inside of a wheelbarrow amidst the howling ocean wind; we see an immobile black car on the side of a forested road begin to creep up behind our protagonist, all framed inside of a rear-view mirror; Ruth and The Ghost go for a walk on the overcasted beach, and the Lang-family bodyguard lingers behind them in the middle of the composition. These obstructed views only add to the feeling of realism and to threat of us, the viewer, being spotted. No one can be trusted, and there’s the potential for everyone to see us.

Polanski, 76, may never make a film again. Time will tell. But if this indeed is his last picture, his final scene in The Ghost Writer is an adequate memorial. The ending shot, and the most aesthetic shot, shows Lang’s manuscript blowing through the dusked London streets. They fly every which way through the moistened air. Like ghosts.