This isn’t a story about movies that are “so bad they’re good” as other reviewers have opined. It’s not about picking apart and denigrating the craft behind a movie. And if you’ve come here looking for hilarity at the expense of a filmmaker, his cast and his crew, prepare to be disappointed.
This is about dedication. It’s about not being willing to watch a dream die. It’s about the emotions that truly great films stoke inside all of us. And it’s about killer eagles and vultures.
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There’s a shot in The Ghost Writer that says a lot about director Roman Polanski. In it, a worker is gathering sea oats and beach grass that the gusty wind has blown onto the deck. As he places it in a wheelbarrow, the wind again blows it back out and scatters it across the deck.
As hard as Polanski tries, the wind keeps blowing his demons out into full public view. The only way he has ever known to deal with that is to make movies, and good ones like The Ghost Writer.
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