The Black Dahlia

THE BLACK DAHLIA, drawn from a riveting James Ellroy novel, is a slow, tedious slog of a police procedural that’s done in by its combination of flaccid acting and jarring set design.

Several of THE BLACK DAHLIA’s key roles fall so resoundingly flat that it’s hard to believe professional actors performed them. Two of the Dahlia’s friends land with thuds, as does the femme fatale and her mother (!). The friends may have been a masterstroke on director Brian DePalma’s part, of course: they’re supposed to be bad actresses, and they’re played by bad actresses. Oh, the meta! The femme fatale, VALLEY GIRL’s Hilary Swank, manages zero chemistry with the man she’s supposedly seducing, and the mother can’t decide if she’s trying to channel Margaret Dumont or Dame Edna Everage.

In the middle of this mess, we have Josh Hartnett and Aaron Eckhart - one of whom seems not quite innocent enough for the role he’s supposed to be playing, and the other not quite crafty enough for his. They’re both in love with Scarlett Johansson, a normally intriguing actress who delivers a performance so lacking in enthusiasm that’s it’s hard to imagine her own mother falling in love with her.

No one brings much in the way of life to this movie, and the shortcoming gets reflected in the set design, which is either another meta-joke or a poor choice to rely on CGI landscapes and studio back lots to create a world that feels just a little too fresh, a little too clean for Los Angeles in the ‘40s.

But you know, I could forget these issues if the story itself were engaging. Unfortunately, such is not the case. While Ellroy breathes life into this story, the movie never sells me on its characters’ actions, priorities, or dilemmas. I just didn’t care about any of these people, and that’s death for a whodunit. If you’re interested in the Dahlia case, read the book. If you’re looking for a good detective movie, rent CHINATOWN again.