Chinatown is certainly a masterpiece, perhaps the greatest genre film ever made. Jack Nicholson is magnificent as the conflicted hero, John Huston equally so as the basest of villains, and Faye Dunaway is a gorgeous enigma as the woman in the middle. Perhaps it is inevitable that any period film about crime in Los Angeles be compared to Chinatown, just like every gangster movie is compared with The Godfather. It may, in fact, be unfair to L.A. Confidential to compare it with its celebrated forebear. How many films can really look good compared to an acknowledged masterpiece? Only another masterpiece, which L.A. Confidential is not.
On its own merits, in fact, L.A. Confidential barely even passes muster. Certainly the production design is superb, as is the cinematography, but nothing less than superb was expected. Jerry Goldsmith, who composed the score for both Chinatown and L.A. Confidential seems only the echo of his former self in the new film (in a love scene between Kim Basinger and Russell Crowe, he musically quotes his earlier score).
Where L.A. Confidential really comes up short, however, is in the plot and characters. Where Chinatown had one hero, the complex and interesting J. J. Gittes, L.A. Confidential has three (Crowe, Guy Pearce, Kevin Spacey), each one representing a single personality trait. Crowe is the mindless seeker of revenge, Pearce the cool and collected crimefighter, Spacey the worldly businessman and publicity hound. While Chinatown's villain committed tidy little murders to get away with a big crime and make it look legit, L.A. Confidential's murders aren't explained until the denouement: sloppy screenwriting, or a plot (from a novel) badly suited for film adaptation in the first place? Kim Basinger, I must admit, is even more ravishingly beautiful than Miss Dunaway was, but her role suffers, as her character doesn't hide a secret on par with that of Evelyn Mulwray.
The cast is variable: Kevin Spacey, after playing roles that allowed him great variety of expression in films such as The Ref and The Usual Suspects, has a monotonous portrayal as a semi-crooked cop. He does experience a change of heart, but the transition is poorly shown onscreen (I blame the screenwriters). Russell Crowe also plays a symphony on a single note as a musclebound, muscleheaded cop. Of the heroes, Guy Pearce does the best as the straightarrow. In fact, his role is also mostly mundane: only in one scene, in which he interrogates three murder suspects, does he reveal any complexity, specifically the fact that his bookish character really is an excellent detective.
Basinger is fabulous as the femme fatale. Her sexuality has always been an integral part of her performances, but here it is tempered with guilt. Depending on how the year pans out, Basinger may have earned herself a shot at an Oscar. James Strathairn is intriguing as a fey, dry villain. Beyond that, the pickings get slim. Most unfortunate, perhaps, is James Cromwell as the ultimate stereotypical Irish police captain.
The most telling difference between the classic Chinatown and the non-classic L.A. Confidential is pacing. While the newer film takes over thirty minutes before the plot is recognizably in motion, in Chinatown, it is up and running inside of five minutes. What a pity that such a gorgeous shell as this film should be so empty. Though it is at least marginally superior to most summer fare, it is hard to believe how generously the critics have treated L.A. Confidential. Personally, except for individual elements, particularly Basinger's performance, I find the film impossible to recommend.
Two stars
Copyright 1997 by Dale G. Abersold
