Zodiac

David Fincher’s Zodiac should be much more than it is. Based on a bestselling book about the unsolved San Francisco murders of the sixties, it has a great premise. It stars Jake Gyllenhall, Mark Ruffalo, and the always-brilliant Robert Downey Jr. It has the director of Se7en and Panic Room on its side.

Yet, somehow, it falls short.

It’s a worthy story – Jake Gyllenhaal’s political cartoonist manages to become involved – and eventually obsessed - with the case of apparently uncatchable murderer Zodiac, who sends codes and threats to newspapers in a deadly mockery. It is Robert Graysmith's (Gyllenhaal) story, and his uneasy alliance with Inspector David Toschi (Ruffalo) and drunkard writer Paul Avery (Downey Jr), which drives the film, as he peers under every stone and pores through every file.

At its heart it’s a meticulous crime mystery, but it spends too much time being redundant and going over all the facts instead of providing some actual interest. There are a few thrilling scenes at the start but it’s as though we’re watching the rest of the film under a microscope, too distracted with the details to really connect with our characters or see the big picture.

In the end (which fizzles forgettably), it’s its own worthiness that causes the downfall. Fincher knows the story is great, but makes it far too cool for its own good, and the constant updates on the timeline are annoying rather than helpful – especially as Avery seems to be the only one aging over the long years of the investigation.

It simply thinks too highly of itself, when the only thing especially extraordinary is the interminable three hour running time.