De Palma makes heartless movies. There is no warmth of feeling for character nor commitment to the logical demands of a convincing plot. Technique is the artifical engine that pumps life into his always skillful, sometimes suspenseful, but never for me, likeable movies. Dressed to Kill (1980) remains the most profoundly misogynist movie I have seen. The most youthful heir to De Palma’s directorial style is perhaps Tarantino.

This lack of feeling extends even to genre. Dahlia is never more than noir-light. Its sepia tints and stark exteriors respect the technical style of noir but not its battered and bruised but finally, moral epicentre. Phillip Marlowe was in, but not of, the dirty world he worked with. He was trying to beat the corrupt system, not exploit it better than the rest.

The cold detachment of the visual tone of Dahlia echoes de Palma’s idol, Hitchcock. But not his lazy indifference to anything approaching an intelligible plot let alone stylish dialogue. Plot isn’t everything – you can blag it with believable characters, convincing performances, or just take us on an exhilarating wisecracking, witty, ironic, lippy ride. Dahlia has none of these. Josh Hartnett has the looks of a matinee idol and the charisma of a potato. There is a great deal of ACTING going on throughout Dahlia – not least from Scarlett Johansson whose instinctive talent in Lost in Translation has finally been reduced to a knowing twitchyness that simply grates. That fine actress Hilary Swank (Madeleine) struggles pluckily but soon loses out to a script to die before. Even she can’t restore credibility to scenes where Fiona Shaw as her mother goes so far over the top she needs a parachute and her supposedly Scottish father (John Kavanagh I) betrays the slippiest accent since Dick Van Dyke’s turn in Muhrry Pawpins.

Two boxers - volatile Lee (Aaron Eckhart) ‘Fire’, and Hartnett’s ‘Bucky’ Bleichert ‘Ice’ (no I’m not making this up), team up as cops and joint chums to Kay – Johansson, in now de rigeur Monro mode. Lee has stolen Kay from crook Bobby DeWitt who before Lee sends him down for 10 to life for a fishy bank job, carves his initials just above Kay’s right buttock. Just a sweet old-fashioned romantic.

Bobby’s imminent release is only one of a number of bewilderingly intersecting plot lines salaciously offering De Palma visuals on corruption, Lesbian porn, and incest. Sort of David Lynch-queasy without the mystery. The gem is a lesbian nightclub scene with DJ’ed kd laing knocking the gals and gals dead with a feisty “I’m in The Mood for Love”. Somewhere in the middle of this thickening dramatic stew, a casting couch wannabee and reluctant on-the-jobbing amateur porn actress Elizabeth Short (Mia Kirshner) gets beaten to death, cut from ear-to-ear, bifurcated and disembowelled. Frankly a bad case of over-kill. This is the 'Dahlia' of the title and is apparently based on a real, unsolved murder. Elizabeth looked like Madeleine and apparently they knew each other biblically to see what it would be like. Meanwhile Bucky falls in love with Kay but into bed with Madelaine. Lee becomes obsessed for family reasons with the de-construction of Elizabeth and DeWitt gets out of jail looking for the proceeds of his bank robbery which Lee has thoughtfully deposited under the bathroom floor. Lee gets DeWitt then his come-uppance through a mixture of garrotting, cut throat and a 6 floor head-first stairwell free fall dive – without pike. Culprit – a shadowy anorexic Sandeman Sherry figure in a very chic black hat.

Some more people get killed. Fiona Shaw puts herself and us beyond more thespian misery with a derringer to the uvula and this farrago of impenetrable plot, fatuous characterisation and phoney emotion just sort of staggers to an end. The music’s not bad and the advertising graphic is simply brilliant. If you want similar themes properly realised with great acting, real suspense and some genuine style – rent Chinatown on DVD and give this one a miss.

Another great review Zet. I am a bit wary of this movie, as I loved Ellroy's book, and from what I've seen, it just doesn't seem to gel with the grittiness of the novel. I will watch it, and let you know my thoughts.

JB

Cool Waxy. Interested to know what you think. I can't imagine the dialogue is up to Ellroy's written standard even in the narration which is better than the rest.

Z

I have to agree with this, with the addition that the boxing scenes at the start seem gratuitous. I can't remember the last time I walked out on a film before the end.

Sheila

Sheila

A testament to your taste methinks.

regards

Z

Just been to see 'The Devil Wears Prada' because I made a mistake about 'Borat' being on. What an appalling film. I will write more about it later - in response the crit I glimpsed earlier.

Sheila