Zodiac’s a Killer

Zodiac

(R)

originally published March 7, 2007

We all know Hollywood loves sequels. We also are aware of how rarely they surpass - or nearly catch up to - the original. Giving birth to Quentin Tarantino, Darren Aronofsky, Robert Rodriguez, Wes Anderson, Sofia Coppola, David O. Russell, Spike Jonze and David Fincher, the 1990s, American filmmaking’s follow-up to its blockbusting 1970s that included Martin Scorsese, Francis Ford Coppola, Steven Spielberg, Robert Altman, Brian De Palma and George Lucas, has proven to be as underwhelming as The Matrix Revolutions . Tarantino and Rodriguez are self-medicating with genre geek-fests (most of which I can get behind if rarely re-watch). Aronofsky takes seven years to craft a film, The Fountain , as easily forgotten as it is transcending. Given bigger stages on which to perform, Anderson, Russell and Coppola fille stumbled creatively, critically and financially. As much time as Jonze has spent making music videos for MTV, he might as well be a 14-year-old girl. At least Coppola père, Spielberg, De Palma and Lucas gave us 20 or so astounding years and movies before their talent starting crapping out. I know the economics of the filmmaking business have changed incredibly from the pre-blockbuster days, but so has independent cinema as an increasingly viable alternative outlet. Maybe the sun has set on the director who can simultaneously wow the critics, the audience and the studio honchos.

Fincher is a poster child for the lost generation of the '90s. Tossed onto the set of Alien 3 without a script, the wunderkind did everything he could to make that flick anything but a stinker (he wasn’t so successful). His follow-up, Se7en (can I just tell you how much I hate that whole number in the title crap?), redefined the serial killer film more than any picture since The Silence of the Lambs .

He then produced a tight, fun, little mind trip, The Game. It was Fincher’s next film, Fight Club, that garnered the auteur the number two spot, right behind Tarantino, in the Young Turk’s Club. Easily one of the greatest pictures of the decade and an exemplar of a sharp artistic mind at the top of its craft, Fight Club aroused some tremendous expectations, which Fincher weathered by releasing another concise little thriller, Panic Room . Five years later, Fincher finally releases his sixth feature, an overlong, not-quite-epic thriller about Zodiac, a serial killer who threatened San Francisco in the 1960s and 1970s. Based on the book by Robert Graysmith, a political cartoonist for the San Francisco Chronicle , Zodiac pursues the parallel investigations of Graysmith, played by Jake Gyllenhaal, and the police, led by Inspector David Toschi (Mark Ruffalo). Like a modern-day Jack the Ripper, The Zodiac, who has never been captured, communicated with the media, taunting the police with cryptic messages and threats. (Zodiac so captivated the city he was the lightly veiled inspiration for Dirty Harry ’s Scorpio, who made good on Zodiac’s threat to terrorize a school bus.) Brutally beginning with the Zodiac’s terrifying second murder, Fincher’s film, based on a sprawling screenplay by James Vanderbilt ( Darkness Falls , Basic , The Rundown ), has to switch gears pretty quickly. Like Jack the Ripper, Zodiac only has five canonical victims. Less than an hour into this 160-minute film, the murdering’s done, and Zodiac ’s victims become the personal lives of Graysmith, fellow newsman Paul Avery (Robert Downey, Jr.), Toschi, and his partner Bill Armstrong (a wonderfully wry Anthony Edwards). The film

explores how the search for a killer can become an obsession as deadly as the killer himself.

Always a vibrant stylist, Fincher stages much of the film in confrontational, straight-on shots that directly interrogate the audience. He also does not skimp on the chills. The reenactments of Zodiac’s killings, especially the daytime murder by the lake, are harrowingly real, and Graysmith’s stupid, late-movie visit to the house of a potential suspect (played by the voice of Roger Rabbit, Charles Fleischer) freezes with terror and anticipation (David Shire’s shrieking Bernard Herrmanian score assists Fincher with a beautifully arced alley-oop). But filmmaking is collaborative, and Fincher benefits tremendously from his talented cast. While Gyllenhaal and his support - Brian Cox, Elias Koteas, Philip Baker Hall, the surprising Donal Logue (“The Knights of Prosperity” star proves he’s got some chops) and San Francisco circa the '70s, recreated via period soundtrack, fashion and fancy modern CGI - provide the film with a rock-solid foundation, the opposing talents of the showy Downey and subtle Ruffalo provide the film with its patina. My respect for Downey grows with each film. He seems to understand how to simultaneously over- and underplay a quirky character in ways of which Nicolas Cage can only dream. Shamefully, Ruffalo, possibly the most underrated performer of his generation, will languish near the end of that long, distinguished line of actors whose flawless feats look too easy to be laudable and therefore, award-worthy.

A refreshing new take on the serial killer thriller, Zodiac is witty, intelligent and stylish. It’s also roomy and long-winded. Vanderbilt took on too much, squeezing too much of Graysmith’s book into his screenplay (I could do without most of Chloë

Sevigny’s scenes), and Fincher could use some stronger-willed editors. They could’ve snipped a bit more selectively. I doubt Zodiac will wind up shortlisted for many awards by year’s end, and I’m not the only film-lover who expects more from a David Fincher film.

Drew Wheeler