The Ghost Writer: Critic Reviews

A well-made, sleekly retaliatory, pleasurably paranoid tale...

Mr. Polanski's work with his performers is consistently subtle even when the performances seem anything but, which is true of this very fine film from welcome start to finish.

Whether or not Polanski fully grasps the moral of his own excellent film remains to be seen.

This is the 76-year-old Polanski's first contemporary thriller in two decades and his first film in four years. It's an intelligent and deftly honed return to the genre, blending a contemporary plot and classic structure.

From the chic austerity of the Langs' undisclosed location to the gradually revealed nexus between academia, politics and corporate influence, The Ghost Writer offers an unusually astute glimpse of power at its most alluring and corrosive.

Another director would almost certainly have bobbled this devilish mixture of paperback suspense, political chicanery, and jet-black comedy. In Polanski's hands, it's an unholy pleasure: a diversion that stings.

What actually happens is less important than the barest glimmers of that old Polanski magic.

McGregor turns in his best work in recent memory, and Polanski's an expert at building the sort of intense atmosphere that leaves his audience in a state of edgy paranoia.

Mr. Polanski is a magician, his movie a synthesis of Mr. Harris's sturdy narrative, a Mamet-like appreciation for the shadows that lurk between words, and a drollery that most directors wouldn't even think about attaching to a thriller.

[Polanski has a] knack for taking pulp and transforming it into tense, paranoid drama.

From the second it begins, The Ghost Writer signals directorial authority and precision, subtly codifying the film's existential style and substance.

The best thing Polanski has done since the seventies, when he brought out the incomparable Chinatown and the very fine Tess.

Polanski at 76 provides a reminder of directors of the past who were raised on craft, not gimmicks, and depended on a deliberate rhythm of editing rather than mindless quick cutting.

This is a real triumph in tone.

The mystery is unraveled a bit too conveniently, and the fatalistic Chinatown ending feels more rehearsed than revelatory.

Doesn't demand much from the viewer, but its smart dialogue, nimble syncopations, and tricky suspense are - while you're there in the theater, in the dark - thoroughly satisfying.

So elegant, so deliciously scary, so masterfully controlled that you feel tingles of bliss even as your skin crawls.

The swirl of visual poetry, political intrigue and personal zeal that Polanski creates gets under your skin and brings an icy hand up your back. This is moviemaking.

Brosnan, long past his James Bond days, has ripened as an actor; he's outstanding.

Overall feels uneven, sprawling and strangely incomplete.

Polanski simply transfers Harris' undistinguished prose direct to the screen and, though the pace picks up marginally in the second half, there's little wow factor in the revelations as they appear.

Roman Polanski, you are the mayor of Chutzpahtown.

It's not one of Polanski's masterpieces, but The Ghost Writer doesn't dilute his reputation as a master of suspense.

Polanski is in total command of his medium, something that hasn't been a sure thing since the 1970s, The Pianist notwithstanding.

Polanski's 'The Ghost Writer': Cosmpolitan Composition