But no mere period piece-even one with luscious Faye Dunaway-could ever top our list on historicity alone.
The crime is colossal in scope and based on true events rakish detective Jack Nicholson (never better) is quickly in over his head. In the film’s case, it’s “follow the water,” diverted from thirsty orange groves in the Valley to future suburban tracts. Chinatown is as ingenious as screenwriting gets: Robert Towne’s 1930s detective tale seamlessly blends glamour and action with then-current paranoia, the Nixonian moment when “follow the money” was the phrase on all lips. If Los Angeles is built on beautiful illusions (some might say lies), then call it a cosmic coincidence that the high point of intelligent Hollywood filmmaking-Roman Polanski’s staggeringly great neonoir-arrived in the service of exposing the city’s buried sins.
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