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Slight
of Hand THE BLACK DAHLIA: Directed by Brian De Palma. Written by Josh Friedman, based upon the novel by James Ellroy. Cinematography, Vilmos Zsigmond. Music, Mark Isham. Starring Josh Hartnett, Aaron Eckhart, Scarlett Johannson, Hilary Swank and Mia Kirshner. Universal Studios, 2006. R. 121 minutes.
Are we still a willing audience for film noir — or, for that matter, a Brian De Palma film? De Palma, a member of the New Hollywood generation that includes Scorcese, Coppola and Spielberg, hasn't made a great film since Carlito's Way (1993). One would think that film noir, with its emphasis on corruption and the reassuring power of cigarettes, would suit the director of Scarface (1983), given his taste for suspense and tough-as-bullets protagonists. But De Palma seems confined rather than liberated by the noir mode, and The Black Dahlia disappoints on a number of levels. Arguably L.A.'s most infamous unsolved murder, the Black Dahlia investigation was so open-ended that at one point Woody Guthrie was a suspect. The Black Dahlia was the name given by the press to Elizabeth Short, the aspiring actress who was brutally murdered in 1947. The reference is pure Hollywood, sensational and crassly promotional: The Blue Dahlia was a popular noir film in theaters at the time of Short's grisly death. The case became the basis for James Ellroy's breakout novel, the first of the cycle that includes L.A. Confidential. The filmed version of Ellroy's book has been in development for years, inking De Palma only after he released Femme Fatale (2002) — a femme fatale, of course, being a principal element of film noir. The Black Dahlia has a long dramatic setup, complete with a street riot, a boxing match and the wise-guy narration of Bucky Bleichert (Josh Hartnett), a beat cop with the LAPD. Bucky gets partnered with Lee Blanchard (Aaron Eckhart), a rising star at the department, but Lee's grim and evasive demeanor clearly marks him for trouble. It's a promotion for Bucky, but it comes with a leash, since Lee answers only to himself. Between the two men stands Kay Lake (Scarlett Johansson), a former prostitute and Lee's sultry girlfriend. Neglected by Lee, Kay soon feels drawn toward Bucky's gentler harbors. These are the good years, the simple years of one success after another, which should give you a good idea of the convolutions ahead in The Black Dahlia. When Short's body is found, what was bent in Lee finally breaks. He risks everything to solve the murder, but it isn't his to solve. After a series of breakdowns, none of which are particularly convincing, Eckhart virtually disappears from the movie, leaving the film on Hartnett's shoulders. I'm afraid it's more weight than Hartnett can bear. Hartnett's eyes are too innocent, his face too unlined. If Hartnett is lucky, he might become a lightweight Brad Pitt, another model with depth and grit. For now, he's a young Richard Gere without the edge Gere showed in early films like Days of Heaven (1978). The revelation in The Black Dahlia is Hilary Swank. As Madeleine Linscott, Swank gives the darkest performance of her career. I didn't even recognize her, and I knew what to look for. Sexy, confident and exuding the boredom of the ultra-wealthy, Swank's Madeleine makes the film a deeper and stranger experience. She gives The Black Dahlia the other gear that De Palma keeps reaching for, a gear he loses whenever Swank is offscreen. As the femme fatale, death surrounds her. When Madeleine says, "I like you, Bucky," you feel her cursed circle widening. You want to tell Bucky to run. Unfortunately, The Black Dahlia isn't content with strangeness. It's constantly reacting, explaining and pushing us forward without taking us anywhere new, ultimately making it a predictable exercise. It's too straight, but it's less than faithful: Sadly, important aspects of Ellroy's novel are changed outright, including the placement of the clue that leads Bucky toward his suspect. Sure, De Palma's elaborate tracking shots are here, including a terrific circular take in Echo Park. But overall, the film keeps tumbling headlong into melodrama — note the long hold on the ejected teeth after the boxing match — and the score, instead of serving the action, keeps pressing the movie further into your gut. I only felt pushed away.
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