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