Roughly a year ago, I went to see a film called The Ghost Writer and I absolutely hated it. The movie ended on an overwhelmingly depressing tone that totally nullified the protagonist’s actions and actually punished him for having the nerve to try doing something. It led me on a journey with this intrepid young writer eager to find the truth, encouraging me to think that he might actually be able to get to the bottom of whatever was happening and live to tell about it. It was wonderfully acted, well-written and superbly crafted in every way. But then it’s like the narrative took it all back, saying “No, you can’t make a difference. They’re big, you’re small and you can’t ever win.” It felt to me like an act of betrayal.

I admit that I haven’t thought about that movie in a long time. But then I saw Chinatown, another film by Roman Polanski. And now I’m done with him. I’ve seen enough. Fool me once, Polanski, shame on you. And he fooled me twice, so shame on me. Yes, he’s an outstanding filmmaker. Yes, he’s a masterful cameraman. Yes, he can cast his films wonderfully and coax great performances out of all his actors. But any filmmaker who so frequently and openly insults his audience for investing two hours of their time on engaging cinema is a filmmaker I can in no way support.

Let’s take it from the top: Chinatown starts out as a classic noir. Our hero is Jake Gittes, a private investigator, hired by a woman who clearly knows more than she’s letting on and the case rapidly spirals out of control. Our PI goes on to untangle a web of political intrigue and marital infidelity, all while trying to avoid getting killed by mysterious people who think he knows too much. The film is set in the 1930s, so of course everyone smokes and the PI has to solve his case the old-fashioned way. Seriously, if the film was shot in black and white with some voice-overs here and there, the stereotype would be complete.

Still, I think that noir is a very underappreciated genre in this day and age. In this world of digital photography, genetic evidence and “CSI” in all its spin-offs running constantly on prime-time TV, there’s something fun, thrilling and nostalgic in watching a crime get solved through analog methods. Moreover, there’s so much more danger and tension in watching a hero who doesn’t have a bulletproof vest, a semi-automatic pistol or backup that he can call without looking for a rotary-dial phone. I think my favorite example is early in the film, when Jake has to track someone remotely. Nowadays, the job could be done via the GPS tracker in his cell phone. In this movie, Jake sticks a pocketwatch under the back wheel of his mark’s car. The car backs over the watch, breaking it and showing the exact time when the car took off. Brilliant.

Of course, a lot of what makes our PI’s investigation work is due to Jack Nicholson. Cajoling information out of people is naturally a huge part of Gittes’ job, and no one can do charm with a sinister edge like Nicholson. What’s more, his acting talent is such that with only the most subtle emotions, he clearly shows the wheels turning in Gittes’ head. Not only is that incredible, but it’s imperative toward selling us an intelligent and capable detective. This is easily one of his career-defining roles and it’s clear to see why.

Everyone else in the cast is similarly impressive, particularly Faye Dunaway as our resident femme fatale. It’s quite interesting how Dunaway plays her role, at once so cold and distant, yet so sympathetic and enchanting. It all adds up to a woman who’s keeping a lot of secrets, never to be trusted no matter how close she might get to our protagonist. And it’s absolutely breathtaking to watch her as all the lies and half-truths finally come undone, even if her exchange with Nicholson veers dangerously toward slapstick for a moment. John Huston also deserves a mention. Noah Cross has his secrets just as everyone in this movie does, but Huston plays him with a very disarming affability. He’s just old enough to create the appearance that he’s totally harmless and uninterested in anything other than his own peaceful retirement, yet not so old that some act of vengeance or violence would conceivably be beyond him. Perhaps more frightening, Huston plays him with a certain kind of ambiguity, such that it’s hard to tell just how hard Noah could hit back if he should ever choose to do so. It’s a wonderful performance.

The story is presented beautifully. Yes, there are some slow moments and drawn out shots — typical of ’70s films — but at least those shots usually have some sort of purpose (that first scene of a backyard fountain put me off at first with how long it was. Turns out that was actually crucial foreshadowing). Still, this camera work is staggering and the score is effectively used, particularly when there’s no score at all. The film as a whole was very well-paced, meticulous in how it strategically dispensed just the right information or showed the right plot twist at just the right time.

But then came the ending.

Everything is falling into place, with so many subplots converging at one spot in Chinatown. The bad guy is just getting his due and the good guys are driving off into the sunset, but all of that changes with a single freakishly accurate gunshot. Not only do the wrong people die, but the bad guy gets to keep on living with all his grand plans unaffected and Jake is powerless to do anything about it. The guy narrowly avoided death on multiple occasions and nearly lost his nose for the trouble, yet he doesn’t get so much as a paycheck for it. I cheered Jake on as he gathered the evidence and solved the case, only to see him forced into leaving the case open and justice undone. Our hero walks away completely empty-handed, having accomplished precisely nothing, and all that anyone can say to offer any consolation is “Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown.” Translation: Life sucks, the world is cruel and you can’t do a thing about it, so keep your head down and don’t fret about how powerless you are.

Go fuck yourself, Roman Polanski! GO. FUCK. YOURSELF.

I wish I could recommend Chinatown. I honestly do. The vast majority of this film’s running time is flawlessly made and captivating to watch, with phenomenal performances from all involved. But with those last few godawful minutes, Polanski effectively takes back whatever goodwill he had for the audience and I’m doing likewise. I understand that that pull-away ending is what makes this film so famous. It’s what makes the film art. And if you agree with that statement, then bully for you. I honestly wouldn’t stop anyone from seeing this movie and watching the superb craftsmanship on display.

But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I don’t care how memorable the ending of a film is if the only thing I can remember about it is how much it pissed me off.