Here's what Roger Ebert had to say...
Roman Polanski's "Chinatown" is not only a great entertainment,
but something more, something I would have thought almost
impossible: It's a 1940s private-eye movie that doesn't depend
on nostalgia or camp for its effect, but works because of the
enduring strength of the genre itself. In some respects, this
movie actually could have been made in the 1940s. It accepts its
conventions and categories at face value and doesn't make them
the object of satire or filter them through a modern
sensibility, as Robert Altman did with "The Long Goodbye."
Here's a private-eye movie in which all the traditions, romantic
as they may seem, are left intact.
At its center, of course, is the eye himself: J.J. Gittes,
moderately prosperous as a result of adultery investigations. He
isn't the perenially broke loner like Philip Marlowe, inhabiting
a shabby office and buying himself a drink out of the office
bottle. He's a successful investigator with a two-man staff, and
he dresses well and is civilized and intelligent. He does,
however, possess the two indispensable qualities necessary for
any traditional private eye. He is deeply cynical about human
nature, and he has a personal code and sticks to it.
There is also, of course, the woman, who comes to the private
eye for help but does not quite reveal to him the full
dimensions of her trouble. And there are the other inevitable
ingredients of the well-crafted private-eye plot, as perfected
by Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett and practiced by Ross
MacDonald. There's the woman's father, and the skeletons in
their family closet, and the way that a crime taking place now
has a way of leading back to a crime in the past.
These plots work best when they start out seeming impossibly
complicated and then end up with watertight logic, and Robert
Towne's screenplay for "Chinatown" does that with consummate
skill. But the whole movie is a tour de force; it's a period
movie, with all the right cars and clothes and props, but we
forget that after the first ten minutes. We've become involved
in the movie's web of mystery, as we always were with the best
private-eye stories, whether written or filmed. We care about
these people and want to see what happens to them.
And yet, at the same time, Polanski is so sensitive to the ways
in which 1930s' movies in this genre were made that we're almost
watching a critical essay. Godard once said that the only way to
review a movie is to make another movie, and maybe that's what
Polanski has done here. He's made a perceptive, loving comment
on a kind of movie and a time in the nation's history that are
both long past. "Chinatown" is almost a lesson on how to
experience this kind of movie.
It's also a triumph of acting, particularly by Jack Nicholson,
who is one of the most interesting actors now working and who
contributes one of his best performances. He inhabits the
character of J.J. Gittes like a second skin; the possession is
so total that there are scenes in the movie where we almost have
telepathy; we know what he's thinking, so he doesn't have to
tell us. His loyalty is to the woman, but on several occasions,
evidence turns up that seems to incriminate her. And then he
must pull back, because his code will not admit clients who lie
to him. Why he's this way (indeed, even the fact that he's this
way) is communicated by Nicholson almost solely in the way he
plays the character; dialogue isn't necessary to make the point.
The woman is Faye Dunaway, looking pale and neurotic and
beautiful, and justifying for us (if not always for him) J.J.'s
trust in her. And then there are all the other characters, who
revolve around a complicated scheme to float a bond issue and
build a dam to steal water from Los Angeles, in a time of
drought. Because the film depends so much on the exquisite
unraveling of its plot, it would be unfair to describe much
more; one of its delights is in the way that dropped remarks and
chance clues gradually build up the portrait of a crime.
And always at the center, there's the Nicholson performance,
given an eerie edge by the bandage he wears on his nose after
it's slit by a particularly slimy character played by Polanski
himself. The bandage looks incongruous, we don't often see a
bandaged nose on a movie private eye, but it's the kind of
incongruity that's creepy and not funny. The film works similar
ground: Drifting within sight of parody every so often, it saves
itself by the seriousness of its character.
https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/chinatown-1974
Very highly recommended. If you haven't see it, you really
should.
--
Ted H.