by Jillian Butler, Ampersandology
I review The Ghost Writer for the Scope -- a challenge since its director is none other than Roman "Insert Inappropriate Joke Here" Polanski.
The whole buzz around the film raises a good point though -- how much does a work of art rely on the context of its creator?
We've since learned Alfred Hitchcock was kind of a weirdly specific misogynist, Woody Allen had his whole "marrying underage stepdaughters" phase, and Peter Bogdonovich turned into a lovestruck teenager around a pretty blonde, destroying both his marriage and creative sounding board in one fell swoop.
Oh, and if any of these niggling bad habits slip your mind, in the case of most filmmakers, they tend to helpfully telegraph these neuroses helpfully on-screen anyway-- try watching Manhattan, where the Woody Allen substitute has an affair with a 17 year old, with the knowledge that a decade later, Allen would be leaving Mia Farrow for her adopted, and much younger, daughter.
Creative people tend to have creative skeletons lurking in the closet. Polanski's crimes don't negate the fact that he possesses a remarkable artistic vision, makes (mostly) stylish, challenging films, and is a valuable director in the history of cinema.
But truthfully? His crimes do make it very hard to separate the headlines from the creative output. And that's a problem that's not easy to ignore.
I review The Ghost Writer for the Scope -- a challenge since its director is none other than Roman "Insert Inappropriate Joke Here" Polanski.
The whole buzz around the film raises a good point though -- how much does a work of art rely on the context of its creator?
We've since learned Alfred Hitchcock was kind of a weirdly specific misogynist, Woody Allen had his whole "marrying underage stepdaughters" phase, and Peter Bogdonovich turned into a lovestruck teenager around a pretty blonde, destroying both his marriage and creative sounding board in one fell swoop.
Oh, and if any of these niggling bad habits slip your mind, in the case of most filmmakers, they tend to helpfully telegraph these neuroses helpfully on-screen anyway-- try watching Manhattan, where the Woody Allen substitute has an affair with a 17 year old, with the knowledge that a decade later, Allen would be leaving Mia Farrow for her adopted, and much younger, daughter.
Creative people tend to have creative skeletons lurking in the closet. Polanski's crimes don't negate the fact that he possesses a remarkable artistic vision, makes (mostly) stylish, challenging films, and is a valuable director in the history of cinema.
But truthfully? His crimes do make it very hard to separate the headlines from the creative output. And that's a problem that's not easy to ignore.
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