Fri, Sep 22, 2006 - Page 16 News List

Murder most lurid

Brian De Palma, the master of modern horror, appears to have run out of steam with his latest movie

By Manohla Dargis  /  NY TIMES SERVICE , NEW YORK

Actors like Aaron Eckhart and Scarlett Johansson, above, didn't get the direction they needed for Black Dahlia.

PHOTOS COURTESY OF FOX

The union of Brian De Palma and the murdered woman known as the Black Dahlia should have been a marriage made in movie heaven or, preferably, hell. A master of modern horror, De Palma has a flair for the frenzy of violence, specifically when visited on the female body, which makes him seem an ideal fit for this spectacularly cruel crime. At their finest, his films are marvels of virtuosity, alive to the contradictory, at times disreputable pleasures of the movies. Blood runs through his work, but so does juicy life. In The Black Dahlia, though, that life has been drained from the filmmaking, much as the blood was drained from the victim’s body.

On Jan. 15, 1947, a housewife pushing a baby carriage saw what she thought was a store mannequin lying in a weedy lot in South Los Angeles. This waxy white shape was the neatly severed body of a 22-year-old woman named Elizabeth Short. Betty, as she was often called, had moved from Massachusetts to Southern California to look for work and to meet her absent father. What she found was nice weather and lots of men who were probably hoping for more than a smile in exchange for a hot meal. She was restless and broke, and wore her hair and clothes black, which is how she earned her nickname. It was the kind of moniker that later looked particularly striking emblazoned in newspaper headlines.

You meet Betty Short (Mia Kirshner), or at least an idea of her, only briefly in The Black Dahlia. Like the James Ellroy novel on which the film is based, the story mostly turns on the violent ups and downs of two detectives hot on the case, Bucky Bleichert (Josh Hartnett) and Lee Blanchard (Aaron Eckhart). In the boxing ring where they mix it up on behalf of their superiors, the men are called Mr. Ice and Mr. Fire, respectively, for their wildly different temperaments. (Given the performances, Mr. Droopy and Mr. Hammy would be more fitting.) When not chasing leads, Bucky and Lee like to play house with Lee’s girlfriend, Kay (Scarlett Johansson), a plush blonde with a throaty laugh and battle scars.

Film Notes: The Black Dahlia

Directed by Brian De Palma

Starring: Josh Hartnett (Bucky Bleichert), Scarlett Johansson (Kay Lake), Aaron Eckhart (Lee Blanchard), Hilary Swank (Madeleine Linscott), Mia Kirshner (Elizabeth Short), Mike Starr (Russ Millard) and Fiona Shaw (Ramona Linscott).

Running time: 119 minutes.


The first novel in Ellroy’s LA Quartet, a series of pulpy page-turners that begin in the early 1940’s and end more than a decade later, his Black Dahlia is dedicated to his mother, Geneva. He was just 10 in 1958 when she was murdered, and her body dumped, like that of Betty Short, by the side of the road as if it were garbage. His mother’s unsolved murder haunted him, and it led to an early, obsessive interest in Betty Short. Like the other books in the quartet, including LA Confidential, made into a 1997 film by Curtis Hanson, The Black Dahlia hurtles along, propelled by that obsession and by rage. There’s craziness in this book: it feels as if it were written by a man possessed.

De Palma can be a director of dazzling creative lunacy, but there’s little craziness in this restrained, awkward film. With the diverting exception of Hilary Swank, who plays a slinky degenerate named Madeleine Linscott, the leads are disastrous. Johansson and Eckhart are actors who need as much help from their directors as they can get, the kind of help that De Palma, as the uneven performances in his films indicate, cannot always provide. Eckhart flails about, mistaking volume for passion and inviting regrettable comparison to Russell Crowe running amok in LA Confidential. Johansson tries to fashion her character by flourishing a cigarette holder; Hartnett, who provides the narration, flounders on the shallows of his interpretation.

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