The Ghost Writer vs State Of Play

I saw The Ghost Writer partially because of the advance praise, and partially out of a little self-righteousness about Roman Polanski’s right to artistic expression. Hey, I understand completely that he’s a criminal, but if his movie is good, I can still watch it, right? Turns out, my acceptance of Polanski’s freedom is in direct correlation to how good his movie happens to be. I loved The Pianist, set him free! The Ghost Writer is pretty good! Um, okay, yeah! So you win for now, people who think Roman Polanski is a menace. So do I. But secretly, I’d be less with you if The Ghost Writer were better. Hey, I think Charlie Sheen seems like a creep too, but if Two and a Half Men looked funny, I’d watch it.

Ewan McGregor plays the title character, a writer hired to “ghost” the memoirs of a former British Prime Minister (Pierce Brosnan). It’s a job one dead guy has attempted before, leading McGregor to be understandably nervous about taking it on. The problem isn’t that the memoirs aren’t finished, it’s that they’re boring. McGregor wants to add some humanity and warmth to them, but is met with opposition from the Prime Minister, his wife (Olivia Williams) and staff, led by Kim Cattrall as some sort of Mid-Atlantic Smithers. As McGregor earns the trust of the Prime Minister and his inner circle, he finds out more than he bargained for, of course, not the least of which is the fact that the previous ghost died under distinctly suspicious circumstances. And then there’s the matter of the Prime Minister’s shady past. And the fact that he’s recently been charged with war crimes. And that his wife is so cynical and neurotic she seems guilty of…something. Not to mention they’re on Martha’s Vineyard, and it’s constantly storming, and the only way on or off the island is by ferry. Fitting, that The Ghost Writer was the next movie I saw after Shutter Island.

Eventually, it becomes clear that the Prime Minister can’t return to England, because he might be arrested, so he heads to Washington D.C., leaving McGregor alone to search for clues, both into the Prime Minister’s past, as well as the details of the potentially murdered ghost. A frustrating series of scenes ensues, in which McGregor asks questions, is met with obvious lies, backtracking, cover-ups, switcheroos and chases from cars with tinted windows. A lot of it goes something like this:

McGregor: So, you’re friends with the Prime Minister.

Character Actor with Sinister Motivations: No, I’ve never met him.

McGregor: But I have this picture of the two of you together.

CASM: Oh that, we met once. I wouldn’t call us friends.

McGregor: And there are all those pictures of you together in your living room.

CASM: There are? I hadn’t noticed.

There are ominous conversations elderly locals, a tense chase through a ferry, and the Prime Minister’s home, which is a series of glass walls, free-standing staircases, and a security system you don’t want to mess with. Polanski is commenting on his own life a little, I’m assuming, with the Prime Minister being haunted by his past, his fear of arrest keeping him from his home. Pierce Brosnan is well-cast in the part (he’s also based on Tony Blair), and is more intimidating than I’ve seen him before. I was surprised that his role is essentially a supporting one, deferring much of the drama to McGregor and Olivia Williams, the latter of which gets to do more than she has in a decade. After The Ghost Writer and An Education, Williams is finally getting the parts she likely craved following Rushmore and The Sixth Sense. Sometimes you’re a character actor waiting to happen and just don’t realize it.

The Ghost Writer is an effective thriller, I suppose, but not an impressive one. You won’t be surprised by a twist late in the film (you might even have figured it out by reading this review), and it’s tough to get overly invested in characters that, respectively, are hiding so much they can barely speak, lying to protect their boss, or died before the movie even started. McGregor’s character doesn’t even have a name.

Much of the good in The Ghost Writer should be credited to Roman Polanski. Obviously, he couldn’t film on Martha’s Vineyard, but he found someplace that doubles it nicely (a frequent shot outside a picture window is probably faked, but I’m easily fooled). And I was fascinated by certain aspects of the McGregor character. He’s constantly getting ambushed in one way or another—chased, mugged, seduced, etc—while in just as many scenes, he’s shown sleeping, preparing to sleep, or waking. Dude is tired. By the end, so was I.

Depending on where you see The Ghost Writer, it may or may not be PG-13. What’s the deal with that? I was unfortunate enough to see that version, which has the bulk of the expletives dubbed into more acceptable bloody language. After a while, the audience would laugh each time it happened. I have no idea what the strategy is in marketing a Roman Polanski movie toward a younger audience, besides the obvious dirty jokes a few of you just mumbled to yourselves.

State of Play is a similar film; it’s about writers searching for the truth about a politician who’s wrongly accused of bad things but guilty of different, worse things. I liked it more, though, because the story wasn’t complicated just for the sake of confusing the characters, and that those characters were given richer lives beyond just serving the plot they were dealt.

Russell Crowe and Rachel McAdams are reporters in Washington, DC, investigating a story that involves a senator (Ben Affleck, just go with it), a possibly-corrupt government security-contracting agency, and a dead girl who worked with the senator.

And while McGregor’s character was presented in The Ghost Writer sort of fresh-hatched, like he didn’t exist prior to the opening credits, Russell Crowe in State of Play is the embodiment of a lived-in character. Not only does he look and act like he could meet a newspaper deadline, he looks like he gets by on the diet of someone who has regular deadlines that are tough to meet (it includes carbs but not shampoo). McAdams, of course, is beautiful and better dressed, illustrating the divide between her blogger character and Crowe’s more traditional reporter (although, if they wanted to be truly accurate, she’d just be in her pajamas all day and muting Judge Judy when she gets a call). The central conflict of State of Play is will the reporters clear the senator in time (Affleck’s character has a history with Crowe’s), or will they find other dirt in the meantime? Helen Mirren (as their editor) and Jason Batemen (as a weasel of a witness) add to the fun. State of Play has a tighter dramatic structure than The Ghost Writer, more of a mystery, and makes much greater use of its location (State of Play’s director, Kevin MacDonald, is not currently in exile in another country, is not wanted on any charges, and can travel as he pleases. Show off.)

The Ghost Writer: C+

State of Play: B