“Forget it Jake, it’s Chinatown” – these five words may seem simple, but they’re essentially the foundation on which the entire New Hollywood movement rests, specifically because they’re the last words we hear before Jerry Goldsmith’s iconic droning score accompanies us through the concluding moment of one of the defining works of cinema produced at this crucial point in the industry’s history. Chinatown, which is celebrating its 50th anniversary this year, remains as brilliant and subversive today as it did when it was first released. The trio of Robert Towne, whose screenplay is possibly the greatest ever written, Robert Evans and Roman Polanski (in one of only two masterpieces he ever made) worked together to create perhaps the defining drama of the 1970s, at least in terms of laying the foundation for half a century of cinema. Even attempting to begin a discussion about this film feels impossible – it seems like everything that can be said about Chinatown has been repeated ad nauseum for years, with several critics, academics and theorists unravelling every thread and inspecting each nook and cranny, exposing its detail and complexity that has shifted it to the position of being such a landmark production, and which continues to be discussed as a vital work of literature that defined entire generations of artists across every conceivable medium. Yet, whether viewing it with fresh eyes or revisiting the film, there is always something valuable to be found scattered somewhere in this fascinating crime drama, and we can very easily find value in every frame of this subversive and complex production that has truly withstood the test of time better than most films from the era. In this anniversary year, we have more reason than ever to take this voyage back to Los Angeles in 1937, following J.J. Gittes as he attempts to unearth answers to some troubling questions, pointing to the darker side of the human condition that he had previously done his best to avoid, or least become embroiled in, knowing that there is danger lurking around the corner for anyone who questions the status quo.

The film noir as a genre has been the subject of considerable debate – no one can quite pinpoint the moment it arrived, and its departure is similarly ambigious, at least in terms of when the genre was at its purest and most definitive. The boundary between pure noir and neo-noir is extremely thin, and while it may not be the first film that embodies the spirit of the latter (instead it was likely directors like Jean-Luc Godard and Robert Altman that made the first official entries into this sub-genre), it is certainly one of the most iconic. Interestingly, it is a neo-noir that is set during the period when most traditional film noir was contained, which gives Towne and Polanski the opportunity to combine elements of them both. While it didn’t necessarily have to be set in the 1930s, having this be the period in which the film takes place gives the filmmakers the opportunity to experiment, especially about some of the deeper themes that become uncovered as the story progresses. In 1937, the United States was in the back end of the Great Depression, but stood on the precipice of the Second World War, meaning that the country as a whole was in quite an ambigious space both socially and politically – and using this era, which was far enough from the production of this film to be viewed as a solidly historical period, but near enough that there was still some proximity to allow for some degree of authenticity, gives the film a sense of complexity that is far more than just taking a story and setting it at any arbitrary point in the past as a way of playing on audience’s natural love for period pieces. This is especially evident in how Chinatown references and pays tribute to the films that came before it in terms of the film noir genre – it is a beautiful, complex homage to those formative works, but it is not dependent on them in the sense that it can’t stand on its own. It forges an individual path that has allowed it to stand alongside the very films that it was made to honour, which is a great achievement and the sign of a brilliant work.

Yet, the reason why Chinatown has stood the test of time and continues to bear the title of arguably the greatest crime film of its era is not because audiences are sentimental to this era, or particularly enamoured with anyone involved in its production that they feel impelled to boost its reputation based on admiration. Instead, this is a film that speaks to the nature of society in a way that is deeply and profoundly resonant. It is a film set in the 1930s and made in the 1970s, but even watching it a quarter of the way through the 21st century, we find that it still speaks to contemporary society in a very unique and challenging way. The central premise of this film may be linked to events from the 1930s, but its foundation is almost universally resonant, as it touches on themes like political corruption, racketeering and mob mentality, as well as deeper psychological issues such as trust, deception and mental health. For a film made fifty years ago, it is remarkably cohesive and relevant, and perhaps even more so by contemporary standards – while it likely didn’t factor into the production at all, the fact that Chinatown was written and filmed concurrently with the Watergate scandal is remarkable, as this was one of the first truly notable moments where it became clear that politicians and those in positions of public service do not truly care about their constituents or the promises they make on the campaign trail, but rather than politics is a business like any other, and some take advantage of the power and influence gained in the process in shocking and unsettling ways. This is precisely why Chinatown still speaks to us to this very day – it is a bold and ambitious film that draws a very clear line between political corruption and criminal behaviour and shows how there is always more lingering below the surface than we are perhaps prepared to admit. The labyrinthine plot Towne composes is exceptionally complex, weaving through several themes and yet coming across as entirely effortless and quite captivating in interrogating a number of fascinating ideas.

Few actors defined the 1970s quite as much as Jack Nicholson, and from his breakthrough in Easy Rider, he became the face of the New Hollywood movement. His versatility in playing just about any role and genuine charm that made him such a magnetic screen presence allowed him to run the gamut of the industry at the time, which in turn led to one of the greatest streaks an actor has ever had, and which we have not quite seen matched in the years since. Chinatown occurred right at the peak of this period – he had played rascals and rebels, and in many ways, J.J. Gittes fit right in with roles like the ones he portrayed in Five Easy Pieces and The Last Detail – steadfast young men with the desire to resolve a particular problem, not putting too much thought into the consequences or the people who are going to crumble along the way. However, it also represents a more mature kind of role for Nicholson, since this character is much more principled and complex, and has a moral fibre that was usually missing in his more mischievous characters. There is an argument that this being his best performance in a lengthy career, which is a challenging concept but one that can easily be understood when we realize just how far he is willing to go to bring this role to life. The rest of the film is populated by a range of other great actors – Faye Dunaway is a brilliant femme fatale, bringing such complexity to what could have been a mere love interest and plot device, while the always exceptional John Huston once again proves he is as good of an actor as he was a director, with his performance as Noah Cross elevating what was intended to be a one-dimensional villain, transforming him into one of the most fascinating antagonists in the history of cinema. The performances in Chinatown are uniformly quite excellent, and Polanski pulls out exceptional work from everyone, from the leads to the small day players who may not have much to do but still make an impression as part of the fascinating tapestry that constitutes this film.

Even beyond the story and the incredible performances, Chinatown is a masterful work on a technical and creative level. Polanski’s direction is sharp and precise, and while he may not have been the first choice to helm the film, his background in European cinema, which tended to take a more bleak and harrowing view of criminal activity in comparison to some of the more conventional works produced in the United States around the time, allowed quite a fascinating perspective. However, a good director can only be effective if they surround themselves with masters of their individual crafts, and in addition to working closely with Towne, whose impeccable screenplay lends itself to many unique visual elements, as well as being given the benefit of Evans, one of the rare studio producers who prioritized the craft more than the profit, Polanski was able to collaborate with director of photography John A. Alonzo, whose cinematography is some of the most distinctive of the period, and the aforementioned Goldsmith, whose score lingers throughout every corner of this film, creating a sense of dread and unease. Interestingly, Chinatown is not solely defined by its plot – if anything, the narrative becomes almost secondary after a while, and it instead becomes driven by atmosphere once we have been suitably eased into the plot. The film does require us to get onto the individual wavelength of the story, and we find that many of its more ambitious ideas are contained in the unspoken, quieter moments. Yet, it still feels so incredibly rich and complex as a story, where the images weave together with the striking dialogue to create a multilayered work that is as intellectually provocative as it is visually striking, which is one of the many reasons why Chinatown remains one of the most analysed films of this period, since absolutely every aspect, from its gritty but striking cinematography to the narrative detail, is exceptional and genuinely brilliant.

Fifty years on, Chinatown still has yet to show a single sign of ageing. There is something valuable about a well-made period piece that we often overlook, which is the ability to strike the right balance between story and technique while allowing it to become timeless. The historical context behind this film is fascinating but not compulsory, but it can enrich the overall experience, especially since Towne shaped this screenplay to be reflective of many real-life figures and events, without becoming too invested in retreading the past. This is only the start of what is a genuinely brilliant film that redefined the crime drama – gritty and dark, but also oddly polished and made to flow exceptionally well, there isn’t a moment in Chinatown where it feels dull, or even a brief glimpse of unnecessary exposition, a rare feat for a film noir with so many narrative layers steeped in historical events. Anchored by one of Nicholson’s most complex and engaging performances, and driven by a sense of commitment to exploring the world through the eyes of someone who will go to any lengths to solve a mystery, even putting himself in severe peril for the sake of answers, the film examines what happens when a man dedicated to helping others finds himself embroiled in a dark and sinister conspiracy theory, which derails his entire understanding of the world that surrounds him. Dark but fascinating, and genuinely quite captivating from beginning to end, there is a reason why Chinatown is viewed as one of the greatest films ever made, its earnest approach to a complex subject, gorgeous technical details and generally strong narrative make for an engaging, thrilling and provocative production that continues to be defining of arguably the finest era in the history of American filmmaking.