ZODIAC: The movie review

 

'Zodiac' is the serial killer version of "All the President's Men," with Woodward and Bernstein played by a cop and a cartoonist, respectively. It's not only "based" on the infamous Zodiac killings in California; it seems to radiate the case's odour and provocation. The killer, who was never apprehended, left so many clues that Sherlock Holmes might have solved the case while sitting in his sitting room. Only a newspaper cartoonist with enough tenacity and perseverance could build together a convincing case against a man who was maybe guilty.

 

The film is a cross between a police procedural and a journalistic drama, yet it avoids most of the tropes of both. Its most astounding achievement is assembling a befuddling labyrinth of facts and suspicions over a long period of time and making the voyage through this maze terrifying and suspenseful. I could see myself being hopelessly engrossed in the Zodiac investigation's minutiae, but director David Fincher ("Seven") and his screenwriter James Vanderbilt navigate the haze with ease. In a film with so many characters, Laray Mayfield's casting is vital; we remember a face once we've seen it, just like the solitary eyewitness in the case.

 

The film begins with a terrible, bloody homicide, which is quickly followed by others — five murders that the police believe Zodiac committed, while more have been linked to him. This film, however, will not be a bloodbath. In the early moments of the film, the killer does his work, and when he starts sending encrypted letters to newspapers, the cops and reporters try to do theirs.

 

David Toschi (Mark Ruffalo) and William Armstrong are the case's primary inspectors (Anthony Edwards). Toschi, who was well-known at the time, was the mentor for Steve McQueen in "Bullitt" and the inspiration for Clint Eastwood's Dirty Harry. Ruffalo portrays him as a steadfast officer who follows the rules because he believes in them. Edwards' character, his companion, is more personally beaten down by the killer's ruthlessness and taunting.

 

Although we meet a number of people at the San Francisco Chronicle, the main characters are ace reporter Paul Avery (Robert Downey Jr., bearded, chain-smoking, alcoholic) and editorial cartoonist Robert Graysmith (Jake Gyllenhaal). These are actual people, and the movie is based on Graysmith's books on the case.

 

The newspaper office intrigued me because of its precision. For one thing, it's generally rather vacant, and it was true on a morning paper in those days that the office started to heat up as the deadline approached. The cartoonist, who was expected to come up with a few ideas for presentation at the daily news meeting, and the office alcoholics, who had been up all night or were just starting their recovery drinking, would have been among the few early comers. Yes, 40 years ago, reporters drank at their desks and smoked, smoked, smoked.

 

When the first cypher arrives, Graysmith is a new member of the team. He's like the new kid at school who is fascinated by the big boys' secrets. We believe he'll solve it since he doodles with a copy of the cypher, but he doesn't. He deviates from his route by listening in on officers and reporters, befriending the boozed-up Avery, and even chatting his way into police evidence rooms. His preoccupation persists long after the investigation has ended, eventually leading his wife (Chloe Sevigny) to move herself and their children in with her mother. Even after appearing on TV and hearing heavy breathing over the phone, Graysmith looks naive to the danger he may be inviting into his home.

 

The way "Zodiac" avoids chases, shootouts, grandstanding, and false climaxes and instead follows the plodding course of police work is what makes it authentic. In the same manner that Woodward and Bernstein knocked on a lot of doors, made a lot of phone calls, and met a lot of unusual people, the detectives and Graysmith take strange paths in their investigation. We're concerned about Graysmith's naivete and risk-taking because he's unarmed and civilian, especially during a journey to a basement that is, in its own way, one of the best moments I've ever seen along those lines.

 

Fincher displays times, days, and dates at the bottom of the screen, which only help to emphasise how the case appears to go on forever. Time-lapse photography of the Transamerica building's construction is also available. All of this builds to a heart-stopping moment when two men merely glance at each other. It's a more satisfying ending than, say, Dirty Harry killing Zodiac in a football stadium.

 

Fincher isn't the first director who comes to mind when thinking about this material. He directed "Alien 3" in 1992, when he was 30 years old, and it was the least successful of the Alien films, but it caught his attention ("Alien 3" is one of the best-looking bad movies I have ever seen). "Se7en" (1995), a superb film about another serial killer with a pattern to his crimes; "The Game" (1997), with Michael Douglas caught in an ego-smashing web; "Fight Club" (1999), loved by most but not by me; Jodie Foster's ingenious terror in "Panic Room" (2002), and now, after a five-year gap, his most thoughtful, involving film.

 

He appears to be reacting to the current crime movie's slice-and-dice technique; his composition and editing are more classical, and he doesn't employ nine shots when one will suffice. On top of everything else, Fincher is an excellent stylist, and here he finds the appropriate pace and style for a movie about perseverance in the face of evil. Actual crime books attract me, partially because of the way they gather foreboding facts, and because Fincher recognises that true crime is not the same as crime action. That he makes each character unique is evidenced by the attention paid to Graysmith's choice of mixed drink.