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Jake Gittes (Chinatown)

Created by Robert Towne

“Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown.”

Generally considered one of the greatest movies of the seventies and arguably the greatest private eye flick ever made (the only other real contender is John Huston’s The Maltese Falcon) 1974’s Chinatown, which unleashed the character of Los Angeles gumshoe J.J. “JAKE” GITTES upon the world, is a superb private eye mystery and modern-day film noir thriller. It’s not neo-noir–it’s noir to the bone.

Its original screenplay by Robert Towne (which won the film’s only Academy Award, although it garnered 11 nominations, including Best Picture)) is a throwback to the best Hollywood film noirs from the pens of Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler in the 30s and 40s. Under Roman Polanski’s direction (and his crucial rewriting of the ending) added an unhealthy dose of nastiness to what might have been a merely handsomely-mounted period piece, and it became a classic film that transcended genres, setting off reverberations that still echo today. The film was inspired by the 1908 Owens River Valley scandal, but moved to 1937, but the gradual unearthing of secrets under many layers and facades of corruption and deception, both political and personal,  during a routine PI investigation struck a responsive — and timely — chord during the Watergate era.

The cast is superb, with Jack Nicholson as the slick, slightly sleazy and moderately successful divorce detective, who gave up on doing the right thing a long time ago, back when he was a cop in Chinatown. Faye Dunaway is the woman, Evelyn Mulray, not so much a femme fatale, as the femme blessée, another person walking wounded, a victim of evil, not its proponent — although at first that’s not readily apparent. In a great nod to tradition, John Huston plays Noah Cross, Evelyn’s father, rich and powerful, the true symbol of the heart of darkness in this film. And Polanski himself even shows up, in a memorable cameo, as the knife-wielding thug in a white suit who demonstrates to Jake just what happens to people who stick their noses where they don’t belong.

Yet, as great as the acting is, as haunting as the score is, as rich as the period detail is, it’s Towne’s dark, brooding plot, and the masterful skill with which Polanski brings it all home that is the true triumph. In 1937, Los Angeles is in dire need of water. Meanwhile, Jake is hired to follow the LA water commissioner, whose wife claims he’s cheating on her.

The lies and betrayals quickly pile up, as Jake pursues his investigation into what he thinks is just another wandering husband job. For Chinatown is more than just a locale, or a bad memory of Jake’s; it serves as metaphor for “the great wrong place”, in much the same way Hammett used Poisonville in Red Harvest or Raymond Chandler used Bay City. Chinatown is where evil reigns, and the law does “as little as possible.” As several characters say, you may think you know what’s going on, but you don’t.

Towne’s plot veers from blinding sunshine to the darkest of shadows, and it all ends in what is perhaps one of the most downbeat and powerful conclusions in film. The amount of wickedness finally revealed is staggering, as we’re subjected to the corruption of politics, money, sex, innocence and even the land itself. Jake is finally back in the oft-alluded to Chinatown, unable to do much but bear witness to the carnage, while the police mop up the mess, and the bad guy rides off into the sunset.

The Maltese Falcon ended with Spade mournfully musing about “the stuff that dreams are made of,” but at least Spade could find consolation in having done the right thing. For Jake, and the other survivors of Chinatown, there are no more dreams, just nightmares and a sense of futility and powerlessness, in the face of such absolute corruption and unassailable power.

His partner tries to lead him away, saying the only thing left to be said. “Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown.”

It’s a great noir line, summing up not just an entire era’s despair and disillusionment, as the wide-eyed idealism of the sixties was finally nailed shut in the wake of assassinations, pointless wars and Watergate, but also perhaps an entire film genre’s. For isn’t noir, in the end, about the fact that evil is always there, and although a good man may go down those mean streets, there’s no guarantee he’ll win, or even survive?

It is to cry.

Towne’s original ending had Evelyn getting off for her father’s murder–he’s just winged in the final movie version–and then a rain was to have fallen on the city, metaphorically relieving it of its drought. Supposedly, Towne referred to Polanski’s darkening of his script as “the tunnel at the end of the light.” In the end, the survivor’s can only rage against it all, and go on living.

THE TWO JAKES

Chinatown ends with the memorable line “Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown.”

But people couldn’t forget Chinatown. Towne and Nicholson’s alleged original plan was to trace the history of California through three films, all featuring Jake, but it was only in 1990 that The Two Jakes, the second film, finally surfaced.

The long-delayed sequel builds on the first film, resulting in one of the most powerful and effective follow-ups to ever come out of Hollywood; a true sequel in every sense of the word; picking up on and expanding upon the narrative and thematic concerns of the first film.

How do you deal with the past when, as Jake points out, ”You can’t forget the past any more than you can change it.”

Unfortunately, Chinatown‘s success, both artistically and commercially, almost ensured the negative reception of the much-maligned sequel. It was almost universally panned when it first appeared, although as the years went by, people who loved the film began to stick their necks out.

It was a troubled production almost from the start, with producer Robert Evans, writer/director Robert Towne and star Nicholson all falling out while Polanski himself was in exile in Europe. It was left to Nicholson to pick up the pieces, and take over the director’s chores. That it turned out to be such a focussed and concentrated film, with every scene falling into place like dominoes, seems to have escaped the notice of most critics. Evidently, its biggest fault was that it wasn’t Chinatown. But then, few films are.

It certainly wasn’t your standard private eye flick, either. As Roger Ebert put it, “It’s an exquisite short story about a mood, and a time, and a couple of guys who are blind-sided by love,” as Jake finds himself at the top of the heap, professionally speaking, the “leper with the most fingers.”

It’s postwar Los Angeles – the 1940s of the baby boom and housing subdivisions – and Jake has moved up the social ladder. He’s still digging up the dirt in divorce cases, as jaded and cynical as ever. “I suppose it’s fair to say infidelity made me what I am today,” he jokes as the film begins, but he’s not laughing. Sure, he has his own building now, and he even belongs to a country club. He has a fiancee and a gut. But the past haunts him. And then, in a barely decipherable aside in a conversation between two adulterous lovers, caught forever on a piece of recording tape, the past comes calling.

With a vengeance.

UNDER OATH

THE EVIDENCE

OOOPS!

FILMS

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Report respectfully submitted by Kevin Burton Smith.

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