“Behind every great fortune lies a great crime.” – Honore de Balzac
Or, in the case of Noah Cross (John Huston), several crimes. Hell, a goddamn laundry list. Everything from A to Z, with a few newly invented categories for good measure. He is, perhaps – or fuck it, in fact – the most abhorrent villain in the history of the cinema. Stealing water during a drought, sure, that’s bad enough. Good for a knuckle-rapping and maybe a short stint in the big house. But since he’s the richest man in town, not even that. His schemes are all but enshrined in law as quaint traditions. No, the real offense against God and man is that he sired his own grandchild. It’s a daughter, technically, but that technicality involves saying – out loud – that he raped his own daughter to continue the family line. Such a turn likely shocked audiences back in 1974, and it would likely do the same today, but in the world Cross has created (penned by Robert Towne, filmed to exquisite perfection by Roman Polanski), it’s just part of the furniture. Something one does. Because when one holds all the cards, morality is whatever the holder says it is. Power takes, power exploits. Power engages in incest because it dares you to suggest it can’t.
However many times I’ve seen Chinatown, I’ve never been able to envision another actor playing this role. Maybe Orson Welles during his bloated years, but to be the personification of unchecked evil, you have to sound like John Huston. Only he – with the requisite height, width, and vocal power – could, simultaneously, make you hate the sumbitch while also understanding why and how he’s co-opted the whole enchilada. He’s more than the man in the smoke-filled room; he’s turned every last place he inhabits into an exercise of control. Deals get made, but not until he arrives. And upon his departure, you clam up nice and tight, lest he get wind you’ve been operating without him. He’s the Robert Moses of 1930’s Los Angeles, dictating policy with such airtight authority that a mere glance is enough to get the ball rolling. His desires, as such, arrive well in advance. His presence only confirms the obvious.
And sure, while we can (and must) find him repugnant, let’s be absolutely crystal clear. Not a damn thing happens without him. He’s the past, present, and future of capitalism, and had he never existed, it’s unlikely we’d even have the medium of film to capture his essence. Consider his most potent retort to Jake’s incredulity: “You see, Mr. Gittes, most people never have to face the fact that at the right time and the right place, they’re capable of anything.” It’s the truest statement ever uttered by a homo sapien, and the perfect counter to the self-righteous among us who insist they’d have bucked the tide against all comers. Been the lone voice against the mob. Protected the innocent while the guilty stormed the gates. No, if you’re right and honest and good, it’s just as likely it’s out of never having had the chance to choose otherwise. But presented with certain facts – not hypotheticals, but life as lived – most travel a similar road. It’s less an excuse than an unveiling of man’s inherent nature.
Yes, big men act bigly. Naturally, I hate using a crude Trumpism for my purpose, but isn’t Trump himself an extension of this creed? He’s but the next in line to uphold the way of the Cross. And if there’s no one willing to put an end to it, who’s really to blame? Actions require counteractions, and simply shrugging and moving on is clearly, from Cross to Trump, how we’ve chosen to do business. Sorting it all out just isn’t our way. Our new resistance is simply to lay down and take it. And from the very first frame, Cross knew it. Sure, he’d have to drown a man for getting a little too close, but again, all part of the process. Graveyards are full of those who stood in the way of progress, and to this very day, no one remembers a single one of them. But Cross, like Rockefeller or Carnegie (or Musk), comes to knowing lips as readily as rock stars. We claim to despise them, but history insists we remember. Like turning a page, that remembrance turns to lionization. Authoritarianism emerges in quite the same way. Has, and does.
While we remember Cross’ most infamous quote, it’s important to state that he utters an equally insightful line immediately preceding it: “I don’t blame myself.” Not for the rape, not the murder, and certainly not for the transformation of our civilization. It’s the rationalization we always hear and always will: just as taming a land requires taming a people (mass murder, if we want to avoid euphemisms), ensuring prosperity means ceding all control to a chosen few. What’s good for the top will, at some point, find its way to the bottom. The Great Man theory of history, provided the Great Men themselves get to tell the tale. By their own standards, they are the essential figures; the only ones who truly matter. By doing for themselves, they are doing for others. It’s utter fiction, of course, until we realize, with a shot, that it’s inconveniently true all too often. Or just often enough. Is an empire ever possible with small men? Courteous men? Rule followers, strictly upright? I fear we haven’t the courage to risk finding out.
“Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown.” A final line that will live as long as the movies themselves, and the bullet point to everything that came before. Fight the good fight, sure, just to show we’ve got some life left in us, but ultimately, it’s all futility. They win. Always. Consider Cross’ ultimate philosophy. None of this is for the trinkets, after all. Like Jake says, how much better can he eat with ten million versus a mere five? The future! That’s what it’s really about. Posterity. Lasting monuments to our self-importance. Grabbing hold of what hasn’t yet happened to make the present endurable. All glory is fleeting, unless we’ve wrapped up what’s yet to be. Lock that down, it’s all just noise. The little people scurrying about, believing there’s a shaft of light just wide enough to change the outcome. But then we see Noah Cross. If he’d do that, the very worst thing a human being could ever possibly do, what hope have we all? He’s gone there, without so much as a second thought. That’s an unstoppable force, folks, without any real way to reverse course.
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