France/Germany/UK | 2010 | Directed by Roman Polanski
Logline: A ghostwriter hired to complete the memoirs of a former British prime minister uncovers dangerous secrets that put his own life in jeopardy.
Returning to the genre he knows and understands best, the brilliant Roman Polanski, now aged a stately 76-years-old, delivers a moody political thriller about deception, betrayal and the manipulation of absolute power. Like his horror-thrillers Rosemary’s Baby and The Ninth Gate, The Ghost Writer has mysterious layers and elusive elements, some of them red herrings, and some of them hidden carefully between the narrative fabric.
Based on the novel The Ghost by Robert Harris, Polanski’s tale of an unnamed scribe, played by Ewan McGregor, who is hired to ghostwrite the memoirs of British Prime Minister Adam Lang (Pierce Brosnan), who is plunged into post-office political strife when it is revealed he was directly involved in terrorist torture war crimes. The ghost writer accepts the work (despite the ominous death of his predecessor) as there is a handsome fee attached, but soon after being invited to reside at the PM’s off-season seaside Massachusetts hideaway in order to have direct access to the precious original manuscript he discovers there are dark and deadly shadows waiting to pounce.
Elegantly shot with Polanski’s signature European look; all brooding hues and prowling camerawork, The Ghost Writer encourages the viewer to make assumptions, ask questions, but is never allowed all the information. Polanski is a master at suggestion, and the attention of detail as a veneer for a darker purpose. Harris co-wrote the screenplay with Polanski, and although I haven’t read the book, I know the ending was changed. I admire the poetry of the novel’s ending, and despite my one reservation over the ghostwriter’s decision to signal the PM’s wife, thus exposing his knowledge of crucial information (essentially signing his own death warrant), I loved the visual bravura of Polanski’s ending, in itself poetic, albeit more obviously tragic.
I prefer the novel’s title as it encompasses far more than simply referring to the main character’s occupation. Obviously producers were concerned the majority of audiences would possibly mistake the movie for a supernatural horror, yet by adding the word “writer” they potentially scare off a whole other audience who might baulk at the idea of an intellectual movie about penmanship. It’s a shame that the film industry can be so much more conservative than the world of literature.
Curiously Timothy Hutton, James Belushi, Tom Wilkinson, and veteran Eli Wallach – all excellent actors – are all cast in tiny roles, whilst Kim Cattrall, familiar to most as a television’s most famous cougar, appears in her first dramatic movie role in years as the PM’s PA (and clandestine mistress). Olivia Williams stands out in the role of the PM’s wife Ruth Lang, the emotional cunning behind the shamed political leader. She exhibits a surefire slyness as well as exuding a subtle sensuality, which is put to good use (Ewan once again having no qualms at getting his kit off).
Author and co-screenwriter Harris worked for UK PM Tony Blair, and his novel is a thinly-veiled commentary on the political and personal shenanigans he witnessed and was privy to whilst working as a ringside journalist and editor for Blair. Apparently as an inside art department joke all the copies of Adam Lang’s autobiography My Life seen on-screen were fake covers sheathed over the real publication The Blair Years: The Alistair Campbell Dairies. Harris stresses the universality of both the novel and the movie adaptation’s themes, whereas Polanski was immediately attracted to the Raymond Chandler-esque qualities of the story, and of course a chance to return to the energy and drive of the classic thriller.
The Ghost Writer, part of the Sydney Film Festival, screens on Monday, 14 June, 4.45pm, EV8 (George Street).
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