Maybe there is something odd about writing a review for a film that was a critical flop thirteen years ago, but I feel the need to defend "The Black Dahlia." As a staple of movie channel weekends, it has become a guilty pleasure, and many of the qualities that repelled contemporary reviewers have aged into respectability.
Yes, the dialogue is turgid and the performances alternately wooden and overdone. Yes, the female characters are caricatures of male fantasies. Yes, the costuming and art direction favor gorgeousness over believability. But these stylized mannerisms are exactly what make this film feel like a 40's studio film noir, rather than a 21st-century meta-noir. "LA Confidential" is one of my all-time favorites, and this is no "LA Confidential," but they are attempting different things. "LAC" would have baffled a 1940's audience; "Dahlia" could have run as second billing with any number of solid, enjoyable noirs from back in the day.
Brian DePalma alternately annoys the heck out of me with his frequently lazy craft and impresses me with his occasionally brilliant style and ambition. "The Black Dahlia" is not a masterpiece, but DePalma is a better director than most, and he has done far worse.
Review of The Black Dahlia
