YOU must have noticed that in thrillers there is usually something that doesn’t quite make sense. There was no reason for Amanda to wear a hat to the corner grocery, for the Brownstein twins to have missed school because of their mother’s migraine, for there being an expert on Byzantine art on the bus that day. But that is how thrillers are-mostly.
I am happy to report that in L.A. Confidential there is nothing of the kind: everything is credible, fits in with all the rest, and goes from exciting to enthralling. The plot is absorbing, the characters are believable and even worth caring about, and the dialogue is tough and witty without ever sounding strained. This is as close to art as a policier can get, and that should be plenty for everyone. James Ellroy’s underlying novel is, I gather, more complicated; all the more credit to the writers, Brian Helgeland (whose Conspiracy Theory failed to impress) and Curtis Hanson (who also directed), for getting at the essentials, and getting them right.




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