A Filmmaking Solution to an Unsolvable Crime

Much like the cipher codes favored by its title villain, David Fincher's newest film, Zodiac, may initially seem overwhelming to the casual observer, since neither can be widely appreciated until the relationship of each piece to the whole is understood. Fincher presents an absorbing, highly detailed serial killer epic, which deftly challenges both its in-movie investigators and its in-theater audience to solve the mystery.

The film begins in a suspiciously predictable manner: it's 1969, and two teens are in a car on an otherwise empty Lover's Lane. Their proceedings are interrupted, however, by a mysterious driver who blocks their escape with his shadowy vehicle. Cinematic experience dictates that the lovers will be killed, and they are, in a sleepily brutal, routine sort of way, by the Zodiac killer. The whole scene seems like a cliche, and yet it is based on years of research into recreating the actual crime.

While the film's major blemish may be its depiction of the murders, this only suggests that the Zodiac's killings were, in all honesty, already a little hokey, self-aware, and consciously cinematic. But that's the point. It wasn't just his crimes that ensured his legacy-which were more the stuff of campfire tales and urban legends-but what he did afterward, and it's here that the movie really shows its strength.

Jake Gyllenhaal plays Robert Graysmith, an editorial cartoonist working at the San Francisco Chronicle, where some of the Zodiac's first, tauntingly-encoded letters were sent. He happens to be in the boardroom when the first letter arrives and is instantly intrigued. His Graysmith is filled with earnest, puppy-like energy, and he is the case's most loyal sleuth, despite his lack of credentials, attempting to fulfill the viewer's desire for a satisfactory conclusion with ragged dedication.

Special recognition should be paid to Robert Downey, Jr. who, as Graysmith's journalist mentor, gives his role a swishy, appealing flair and ensures the movie never falls into grave seriousness. He's a vision of Hunter S. Thompson-in at least one scene, the connection is too close for a coincidence-if, perhaps, Thompson had chosen a more traditional subset of journalism. Mark Ruffalo as the ruffled, bow-tied homicide detective Dave Toschi, Anthony Edwards as his quiet yet competent partner, and American Psycho alumna Chloe Sevigny round out the capable cast.

Beyond the actors, the inundation of detail is impressive and not just restricted to the narrative-which, at nearly three hours, is about as tightly-packed as any film can be-but also its visuals. The investigators learn that the killer is a film buff, and thus, movie posters adorn nearly every home's wall, casting a leery eye at even the most trustworthy of characters. Geometric patterns are also common, with cipher-like symbols repeating throughout the production design-a crossed box on a barn wall, Xs on a suspect's trailer home, a lamp forming a half-filled diagonal square shape, a mesmerizing game of rectangular Pong. The mystery of the Zodiac and his ciphers, it seems, cannot be escaped.

Zodiac is a richly entertaining, highly ambitious film. Ultimately, it's an escapist fantasy-though not in the usual, fluffy sense. Because of the many details, plot lines, and suspects to follow, the movie requires active participation by the audience, and that leaves no time to think of midterms, exams, or any of life's other little problems.