Chinatown

In its total recapturing of a past, in its plot, its vivid characterizations, its carefully calculated and accelerating pace, its whole demonstration of a medium mastered, Chinatown reminds you again that motion pictures are larger, not smaller than life.

The film, set in the thirties, from a script by Robert Towne, is wickedly skillful, funny, and socially alert.

It is so big and so thrilling and so entertaining that years from now, when we look back on the really important films of the 1970s, Chinatown is likely to be one of the most fondly remembered.

Mr. Polanski and Mr. Towne have attempted nothing so witty and entertaining, being content instead to make a competently stylish, more or less thirtyish movie that continually made me wish I were back seeing The Maltese Falcon or The Big Sleep.

There was a time in the middle of the movie when I felt that it was lagging behind my expectations. But the ending is as stunning as any I have seen since Day of Wrath.

Richard Sylbert’s production design is magnificent. The Paramount release, first to bear the producing credit of production chief Robert Evans, has money written all over it.

The miracle of the picture is that the tale itself, composed of so many familiar elements -- and I mean 30-years-of-moviegoing familiar -- is grippingly convincing throughout. It is like going to your first movies all over again.

You are slowly drawn deep into the director's trap before he springs his surprises. It's a bit like strolling through a beautiful field of flowers and suddenly being told not to move another step because you are in the middle of a minefield.

A tremendously interesting movie to watch and to listen to. Roman Polanski, who directed, dredges up the dark slimy things that float beneath a sunlit surface.

The plot of Chinatown just misses the fascinating beat of first-rate works in the genre. It's a well-made film, however, rich in the thirties' atmosphere.