4/10
Sometimes "you can't make that into a movie" isn't a challenge but a fact.
16 September 2006
Let me say I am a huge James Ellroy fan. I own everything he's written. The Black Dahilia is a good book — not his best, but a good book. L.A. Confidential was a book that 'couldn't be made into a movie' but was — against all odds, made into a great movie.

The Black Dahlia is just a mess. A mess made by talented people is a mess, nevertheless. This is the noir Showgirls. You may find some campy amusement in some of the roles. You may wonder aloud if the director was on the set, or even in the casting sessions. You may wonder if the producers know anyone who could have been able to come to a screening and say: "this makes no sense, it has bad acting, it has bad casting and it needs massive editing and maybe some additional scenes." I frankly don't even have hope for a 'director's cut' because I don't think this film can be saved. Shame on Brian DePalma for wasting an opportunity to make a great film out of a great book.

Was everything about it bad? No. Uncharacteristically of recent Hollywood work, there is a good sense of time and place, uninterrupted by jarring anachronisms. The color palette is muted and really extraordinarily beautiful. Scarlett Johanson's lips and bust are as captivating and ever-present as we wish her acting chops were. Eckhart is badly used. Hartnett is one-note and doesn't elicit empathy. Swank is great to look at, Mesmerizing, really, but unconvincing. There are good performances in minor roles. The cars are nice. Lots of Lipstick Lezbos. Like I said, think noir Showgirls.
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