THE BLACK DAHLIA (2006)
Brian De Palma’s adaptation of the James Ellroy novel concerning the notorious 1947 murder. One might approach this combination with a bit of excitement and anticipation; these two would seem to bring out the best (or worst, depending on taste and point of view) in each other. The Brian De Palma who made Body Double, Carrie, Blow Out and, of course, Scarface would be well suited to dig into the grimy and sleazy sexual underworld of the Ellroy story, with its lesbian clubs, decadent LA rich, bottle blond former prostitutes, and pornographic one-reelers (“stag films” here, naturally).
But that De Palma, the flashier, trashier man of little restraint, is hard to find in Black Dahlia. In fact, this one is a bit too restrained. Where Blow Out suffered a little from De Palma’s excesses (look to Coppola’s Conversation for a better importing of Antonioni’s Blow Up) and Scarface was nothing but these excesses, Black Dahlia seems to be the work of the Untouchables De Palma or the Mission:Impossible De Palma: the leaner, meaner–not leaner or meaner in running time or number of plot lines, mind you, just more austere in stylistic fireworks, played more straight–De Palma. The problem here is that, for whatever reason, the scripting and plotting don’t allow for that feel. The events here are turgid and incomprehensible. Little that happens here is even remotely plausible, and while that might be damning for many films, it could have been an asset here, had De Palma really laid on the style.
Stylistically, something between Blow Out (which only suffered because it took itself seriously) and Raising Cane (not quite self-serious enough) would have made Black Dahlia a lot more fun. And fun is what it needed, since it offered nothing but obfuscation when it got around to the murder itself and toward solving it.
There are worthwhile flourishes here, however. The shootout set-piece is one highlight, and reminds us that De Palma might be a much better director if he had better scripts, or at least ones, not written by Oliver Stone, which play to different strengths than his usual. Another is the familiar fall to horrific death two characters, gripping each other, make; this one, seen many times before, has a fresh and gory twist. The more lurid elements here, though, are surprisingly mundane, and relatively (for De Palma, anyway) subdued. The “stag film,” which seems anachronistic in its explicitness and accoutrements, is a startling exception.
Acting throughout keeps to a narrow band between passable (Josh Hartnett; Aaron Eckhart, who is out of place here; Hilary Swank, in a role and performance that would have robbed this film of nothing had it been left on the cutting room floor) and just below expectations (Scarlett Johansson, who’s been keeping the bar pretty high for herself, only has one or two stand out moments). But that is due in part to De Palma’s style as a director (he is never quite as comfortable with actors as he is with a dolly) and the knotty, overstuffed script.
Leaving the theater, the audience is likely to feel slightly duped: they haven’t learned anything about the Dahlia murder, and they surely haven’t had nearly as much fun as they could have here, considering the latent possibilities.
HDFEST RATING:
Overall: C+
Acting: C
Originality: C
Enjoyability: B-
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