This is where Jake Gittes once worked for the Los Angeles DA's office, before becoming a private eye. His job there: to do "as little as possible," because, as everyone eventually learns, everything is a mystery, and nothing is as it seems.
But now Jake is a successful PI doing "matrimonial work" for the city's elites. The wife of the city water commissioner hires him to catch her husband cheating, when suddenly the commissioner drowns under suspicious circumstances, and his supposed mistress disappears. A few twists later, Jake becomes involved with the widow, as he tries to find out what her sinister father may have to do with the case, and why everything seems to be about water.
But this is a Chinatown case, metaphorically at least. He is told quite directly that "You may think you know what's going on, but, believe me, you don't," but this warning is unheeded. Jake is good at what he does, and we can see his skill as he slowly untangles the mystery. But just like Jake, we see that at every turn the evidence has misled us, and all our intuitions were wrong. This is the story of a smart, competent man utterly confounded by events and people, leading to a tragedy that we could somehow feel coming, even if we couldn't quite see how. And all he's left with at the end are his assistant's consoling words, "Forget it, Jake, it's ... Chinatown."
This movie works on so many levels. The acting is superb, especially John Huston as the quite realistically creepy villain. The casting is inspired, with Faye Dunaway's slightly stiff acting perfectly conveying the widow's simmering neurosis. Other characters populate the scene, striking just the right notes: the two plainclothes cops, one more corrupt than the other, the fat coroner with the cigarette and cough to match, the annoying clerk at the hall of records, the Okie farmers struggling to keep their land, the Chinese servants who know more than they're telling, and even director Roman Polanski as a punk with a switchblade.
Jerry Goldsmith's music is flawless, and even the mysterious incidental sounds plucked on the harp of a piano are unforgettable. The cinematography captures the feel of 1930's Los Angeles through a slight orange filter, like a faded color photograph, the costumes and props are true, the neighborhoods seem real, and the history reflects the actual controversies of the day. The plot itself seems to wind around with all the natural grace of an octopus. This is great film-making.
But now Jake is a successful PI doing "matrimonial work" for the city's elites. The wife of the city water commissioner hires him to catch her husband cheating, when suddenly the commissioner drowns under suspicious circumstances, and his supposed mistress disappears. A few twists later, Jake becomes involved with the widow, as he tries to find out what her sinister father may have to do with the case, and why everything seems to be about water.
But this is a Chinatown case, metaphorically at least. He is told quite directly that "You may think you know what's going on, but, believe me, you don't," but this warning is unheeded. Jake is good at what he does, and we can see his skill as he slowly untangles the mystery. But just like Jake, we see that at every turn the evidence has misled us, and all our intuitions were wrong. This is the story of a smart, competent man utterly confounded by events and people, leading to a tragedy that we could somehow feel coming, even if we couldn't quite see how. And all he's left with at the end are his assistant's consoling words, "Forget it, Jake, it's ... Chinatown."
This movie works on so many levels. The acting is superb, especially John Huston as the quite realistically creepy villain. The casting is inspired, with Faye Dunaway's slightly stiff acting perfectly conveying the widow's simmering neurosis. Other characters populate the scene, striking just the right notes: the two plainclothes cops, one more corrupt than the other, the fat coroner with the cigarette and cough to match, the annoying clerk at the hall of records, the Okie farmers struggling to keep their land, the Chinese servants who know more than they're telling, and even director Roman Polanski as a punk with a switchblade.
Jerry Goldsmith's music is flawless, and even the mysterious incidental sounds plucked on the harp of a piano are unforgettable. The cinematography captures the feel of 1930's Los Angeles through a slight orange filter, like a faded color photograph, the costumes and props are true, the neighborhoods seem real, and the history reflects the actual controversies of the day. The plot itself seems to wind around with all the natural grace of an octopus. This is great film-making.