The Ghost Writer’: At 76, Polanski better than ever

When I hear the name Roman Polanski , several things come to mind:

He’s the elfin, knife-wielding bad guy of “Chinatown.”

He’s the director of “Chinatown.”

He was the husband of Sharon Tate, the actress who was murdered by the Manson Family.

He’s the international fugitive, wanted for skipping on his bail while waiting resolution on statutory rape charges that date back to 1977.

Re. that last one: Polanski’s still serving house arrest in Switzerland, where he’s been since November, as Swiss and U.S. officials barter with his attorneys.

Polanski comes to mind because his latest film, “The Ghost Writer,” is playing at Regal’s NorthTown Cinemas. I saw the film last night and, as a result, am tempted to use the oldest cliche known to movie critics: I want to compare Polanski to Hitchcock.

I know, I know, but look: In most cases when critics make such comparisons, they’re just using shorthand. They apply the term “Hitchcockian” to basically any suspense film.

I’d argue that “The Ghost Writer” is different. It features one of Hitchcock’s favorite characters, a lone man (McGregor) caught up in something he doesn’t at first understand. It ambles along, introducing our protagonist (and, therefore, us) to a variety of other characters and bizarre situations (Eli Wallach?). It fills most frames with offbeat, odd and often weird images that may, or may not, add something to the overall story line. And it features a gradually growing sense of danger, which culminates in a climax that feels both complete and surprising at once.

Our protaginist is an ordinary kind of guy, a guy who makes a living making other people seem more interesting than they really are. He seems to hit his biggest payday when he gets hired to help a former British prime minister (Pierce Brosnan) write his memoirs.

But we know from the beginning, a visually rich opening sequence that features the yawning opening of an island ferry, a deserted car and a body washing up in the surf, that something is amiss. And from the moment that “the ghost” - as he calls himself - arrives at the ex-PM’s island compound, everything conspires to make his experience even weirder.

The people he meets, from the able assistant (Kim Cattrall) to the old man on the beach (Wallach) to an angry protester to a university professor (Tom Wilkinson) with a shady past, don’t unveil the mystery so much as muddle it. That’s especially true of the PM (Brosnan) and his controlling wife (Olivia Williams). But the ghost keeps at it, far past the time when a more sensible person would have moved on.

As he has done so many times, Roger Ebert probably said it best. He talks about the movie’s lackings (the occasional red herring, the reliance on too many similar black cars, etc.), and to that I would add the movie’s overall meaning: I’m not sure there is one.

But Ebert pays tribute to Polanski’s moviemaking abilities. As he wrote, “Polanski at 76 provides a reminder of directors of the past who were raised on craft, not gimmicks, and depended on a deliberate rhythm of editing rather than mindless quick cutting. The film immerses you in its experience. It’s a reminder that you can lose yourself in a story because all a film really wants to do is tell it.”

Take that, Michael Bay.

Below : The trailer for “The Ghost Writer.”