The Ghost Writer is a perfect test my stated ability to separate the personal from the professional when it comes to the arts. Not being a big fan of fugitive rapists clearly I’m not enamored of Roman Polanski, the person.
Polanski the director?
That’s a different story.
He’s a remarkable director and for me it’s with this kind of intelligent, A-list thriller that he really shines. Almost without peer he’s able to create an air of tension and paranoia that permeates every inch of the screen and here he manages to extend it to the final frame.
The Ghost Writer tells the story of a Tony Blair analogue (Pierce Brosnan) holed up on a Martha’s Vineyard analogue trying to finish his eagerly awaited memoirs. His ghost writer is found dead and his replacement, played with typical charm by Ewan McGregor, arrives only to be thrust into the middle of a Blair-sized controversy (nothing he does is ever small and his movie doppelganger is no different.) Murder, palace intrigue, political spin and some good old fashioned human emotion follow. Echoes of our current controversies will be felt throughout the film, but it’s put together well enough that it never feels awkward or corny. It just feels real. Which is great, because it’s familiar so we understand the stakes, but it’s not really burdened by the bias of history and the personalities of the recent past.
The Ghost Writer is complete film- well acted, intelligent, thought-provoking and, most importantly, entertaining. This is the kind of movie that makes me excited for the very idea of cinema when I leave the theater.
Simply, see it if you haven’t and if you have, maybe you should see it again, just to see what you missed the first time.
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