Polanski's films certainly have something unique: they are good or bad, after a vision of the mix of cutting and directing music is recognizable. When I put on The Ghost Writer (as always "good" translation from Ghost Writer) I did not even know that it was a film by Roman (holy ignorance), but ten minutes later I was absolutely certain.
Coming to the point, is not that this is an example of cinema's most senior director of Krakow: Despite the distinctive features of its grammar are directing us all, something in the course of the work is out of hand and close to an interesting start, the film gradually loses appeal until unsettling to a final, futile, better still horrible. Fortunately, the cast functions as it should, and it is a relief, since the film structured like a play: indoors, a general inertia, bearing absolutely dialogues. Ewan Mcgregor confirms his talent but also the versatitlità that distinguishes it, that ability to be at ease both in the role of Jedi's most famous of all time as those of a writer of modest hopes which it commissioned a review of a scorching autobiography of former British Prime Minister. The latter, played by Pierce Brosnan in great shape in a few minutes he can give the character a believable and original size, hiding much of a secret. The conditions are perfect to kick off the classic polanskyane situations, without a general sense of the protagonist's persistent inadequacy, paranoia, conspiracy theories and delusions of persecution.
A film without doubt pleasant for most of his life, which unfortunately end up wasting on by three quarters, slipping to a final unwarranted: even want to call a plot twist, this is a examples are the lowest I've come to the hands. Recommended, however, if only for the undeniable effect of the plots of the magnetic film, perhaps in a lonely night and in bad weather.
