Monthly Archives: May 2010


I keep getting confused about what to call this movie, because in the UK the “Writer” is left off, and I think I prefer it that way — it’s not only more evocative of the previous ghost writer but also more consistent with the way the term is used in the film.

The ghostly presence of McGregor’s predecessor is also accentuated by the wise decision never to show his face in a photograph or flashback — indeed the circumstances of his demise are communicated in an efficient sequence of no more than six shots: ferry approaching dock, cars being directed out, single car left abandoned on ferry, tow truck extracting it from ferry, police inspecting it on dock, and a body washed ashore. After that discreet prologue, the rest of the film is exclusively from the point of view of the corpse’s replacement.

It starts off a little disappointingly, with a cartoonish but mercifully short performance by Tim Preece as a London editor. The scripted dialogue could bear some responsibility but otherwise the screenplay has so many nice touches: for example, I didn’t realise that the protagonist had never been named until five or ten minutes into the movie, when he signs three documents and his signature is conspicuously blocked by his arm (indeed he remains anonymous throughout the film).

The architecture of the waterfront compound set on the sand dunes of Martha’s Vineyard (in fact Northern Germany) is so suited to Panavision composition that it feels like a purpose-built set. Pierce Brosnan’s acting seems all over the place, drifting in and out of accents, but I’m not sure if this was supposed to be indicative of the character’s theatrical background. It is Tom Wilkinson in a brief but effective scene and Olivia Williams, finally redeemed from her unfair role in An Education, who emerge as the best of a good bunch. I did not even recognize Eli Wallach until his name was credited for the first time (along with everyone else) at the end.

Specific sequences stick in the mind. One of the most memorable depicts the suspenseful 21st-century equivalent of finding a map with a marked trail leading to buried treasure. It is complemented by a car chase that remains distinguished but is no less dangerous.

Another shot departs from McGregor’s point of view only to follow the audience’s interest in a document invested with great import as it is passed from one hand to another under close-up scrutiny. This single lateral tracking shot is a short film unto itself in which the personalities of a dozen characters — revealed by initial reaction, brief consideration, decision, and action — are expressed with only the hands of actors.

The final shot, reminiscent of Chinatown, felt too easy to me until I remembered that McGregor had not (only) been retracing the steps of the previous ghost writer: since the beginning of the film it was his client’s biography he had been recapitulating personally besides just textually:


As someone trained to imitate others’ voices the Ghost is an “actor” who does not follow politics until he is plucked from obscurity to impersonate a Prime Minister, which he does not just in the autobiography but also in the form of public political statements; midway through the film he observes “finally something we have in common” about their mutual distaste for white wine, while he is actually wearing the PM’s clothes (presumably — where else did they come from?); it is Ruth who actually chose him for the job in the first place and becomes his confidante; and his ultimate fate is not the result of anyone’s political machinations (like the previous Ghost) but in fact the unexpected intervention of forces outside the control of the conspiracy.



Is this the most beautiful film ever photographed? I’m trying to think of a more ravishing film but coming up short.

Admittedly I haven’t seen any of Kieslowski’s other films for comparison (until now they were, with Kurosawa’s, my most embarrassing directorial lacunae) but next up is Camera Buff which has been sitting my shelf for two years waiting for the “right moment.” But back to the film at hand:

Double Life is the most visually warm movie I’ve ever seen. Every shot, regardless of color, seems to be lit by a fireplace’s glow. The visual approach brings together two elements I don’t think I’ve ever seen combined before: the extreme color saturation — golds, greens, reds — that feel more typical of stationary- and tracking-shot formalists like Jeunet, coupled with hand-held camera work typical of the spontaneity aesthetic. Since both the hues and movement emphasize the subjectivity of the viewer’s perspective, I’m surprised it never occurred to me how complementary they would be together.

Unlike the faux-documentary style of Greengrass et al, the hand-held camera here is not used to evoke confusion but instead imitates the freedom of a disembodied spirit — unrestricted yet under control. Never shaky, the camera is so steady in the hand of Slowomir Idziak that it is astonishing he never uses a stabilizer system.

It can’t really be surprising that this film jets straight into my personal Top Ten since it ticks so many of my boxes: doppelgangers, female protagonist(s), ghost POVs, golden lighting, Dante; it’s a Lynchian psycho-noir interpreted as a musical painting.

Visually (and thematically) it would make a great double-bill with De Palma’s Obsession or Glazer’s Birth. It might also interest some people to note that Amelie seems to have drawn from inspiration from more than one element, though the films themselves differ in tone.