My Evening With Zodiac (2007)

On April 11th, 2026, I was granted a privileged opportunity from my dear comrade, Edwin. Through sheer patience and fanatical manifestation, I was ordained an afternoon to sit at the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures to enjoy a screening of David Fincher’s Zodiac. Getting that notification that I would be attending ignited a fervor in me that was electric. A chance to witness a mesmerizing thriller that was profoundly influential in my adoration for procedurals. It also carried a bleak undertone with it considering the subject matter involving the news media. It’s not an understatement to say that the constant crisis in a twenty-four-hour news cycle leaves someone’s emotional state torn and tattered. I was ruminating on this as I drove on that sunny day down to the theater. How would a story firmly existing in a bygone age hold up with the crushing weight of the twenty-first-century despair? Well, these answers would be somewhat unveiled in a symbolically theatrical fashion when the Q & A brought out none other than Bong Joon Ho to curate a discussion with Fincher himself. The room was in awe as these two masters engaged in a thought provoking conversation that would potentially enlighten the audience about the framework of the film. Specifically, Fincher mentioned that he was seeking to construct a reality faithful to that period of the late sixties and seventies as he perceived it. The two factions being the investigation and the reporters hyper-focused on breaking the story. These were the individuals who shaped his cultural understanding of his childhood “boogeyman” through our information networks. A personal reckoning to understand a period of time that was so formative to his mind. This began to leave me ruminating in my seat. Art is our mirror to acknowledge the complexity of humanity while dissecting its individual components. A rapturous process that gives us the catharsis to comfortably

claim, “I grappled with this tough question.” A delightful discussion that primed me to ingest the world that was Zodiac. A complicated period that ultimately birthed similar facets to what plagues us to this day. All starting with that infamous investigation that tortured everyone involved with it. A grandiose cocktail of graphic violence and absent conclusions.

Questions with vacant answers after enduring a startling tragedy carry an insufferable burden on all of those involved. Zodiac, directed by David Fincher, harbors a fidelity in relation to its reconstruction of the time period. Only compounded by his conviction in detailing the journey of those who had to live through the Zodiac murders. These aren’t simple stories recreated for numb citizens victimized by constant twenty-first-century sensationalism. It’s an ambitious attempt to make the audience contend with the absolute failure of catching a sadistic criminal. An individual that used violence to violate the sanctity of life in the pursuit of pleasure. The world of Robert Graysmith and Dave Toschi, played with career - defining effort from Jake Gyllenhaal and Mark Ruffalo, both exist in this never - ending stream of disappointment that incites further rage as it mounts over a decade - spanning investigation. The consistent failure of police officers in apprehending suspects, the obtuse nature of having to coordinate between counties for an investigation, and the ghastly nature of Zodiac’s tauntings leave everyone brimming with rage. Fincher, and his actors, transmit that energy right into our core. A kamikaze dive into our soul that leaves us yearning for a sense of security lost. Specifically, I think of any of the sequences involving Detective Toschi learning valuable information at the most inconvenient time. The worst aspect being how late it was allocated to his unit. Imagine how different the progression of a highly scandalous murder case could’ve developed if you simply knew sooner? The look in Mark Ruffalo’s eyes spoke to me on a spiritual level. Contending with tragedy whilst being the arbiter of its solution primes a very complicated emotional reckoning. What can one do when the universe declares cosmically to handicap every effort along the way? Fincher’s films for me have always carried a venomous nihilism with startling conviction. His exploration of this period and the various issues arising out of the

media, or investigative, sphere grant a palate for some of his best ruminations on that hope and nihilism that swirl all around us.

The arc of Robert Graysmith’s swelling obsessiveness grants an even more maddening dive into our incessant impulse for answers. Easily his most relatable character for me on a personal level. Under a psychological framework, I could sense that similar drive within myself. I’ve always believed people to be naturally attached to satiating curiosity. We seek finality even if the road leads to mortifying conclusions. We just need the itch to stop as one scratches away at a healing wound. Jake Gyllenhaal is at his most fidgety with his endless pursuit to fulfill his borderline manic crime-fighting. Each new detail leads him to a cryptic conclusion that only enforces disorienting results. Ultimately, it’s an exercise in futility. We inch and claw closer to the final result, seeking to validate our ravenous appetite. Yet, the cruelty of existence is sometimes contending with the gnawing acceptance of inadequacy with the results. It’s the startling realization that the answer was never what we truly sought. We simply couldn’t accept that those answers offer no absolution for that distraught obsession. Every scene of Graysmith is also complemented by the stunning work of cinematographer Harry Savides. His cinematography is a transformative effort that compounds the intriguing layers of deceit between the idyllic worlds of San Francisco and Southern California. Urban sprawls and suburban enclaves are dimensions harboring secrets that would make your stomach churn and writhe in pain. The color grading oscillates between sunny dreaminess and concrete grittiness. It’s easily Savides’s best work outside of his work on Birth and Elephant, respectively. I think of the shot where Graysmith’s wife, played by Chloe Sevigny, glances at the state his research leaves him in. A room fluttering with high volumes of paper and scribblings. A nightmarish box he’s placed himself in. Trapped by the utter impossibility to secure a definitive end to this journey. The precision of the editing leaves no room for any shot to be wasted. It’s so razor-sharp in its direct meaning that you never sense anything is being elongated. Magnificent stuff.

Zodiac is a film that leaves you in a state of loneliness. Nobody can understand what you endured or bring comfort in any conceivable way. The frustration that erupts is similar to Bong Joon Ho’s “Memories of Murder”. The crevices of information that are left unexplored are just as perplexing as the answers that are fulfilled. Nothing is neat about solving crime. No ounce of brutality or wit will bring you the boogeyman you’ve conjured in your brain. It’s a gamble of one’s luck that can leave you face-planting. Both of these films have a “killer”. Yet, it’s as elusive as when the film begins. They desperately seek to believe that they found “the one”. The horrifying notion being that their desperation leads them to convincing themselves that they found their killer....rather than it being anything concluding a truthful analysis. The decades that pass leave the threads to wither away into the dust of time. What was once a powerful news story is simply another circus act to be “remembered”. I think of all the people who suffer and have their pain transferred to the twenty-four-hour news cycle. How many answers have been left to the whims of an unlucky streak in its solution? How much ambivalence allowed a detail or two to be left discovered at a later, and less convenient moment? Worse, what level of depravity must be accomplished for the public to stay engaged beyond the brief media cycle?

The conclusion to Zodiac granted me a sobering reprieve from the questions jabbing my ribs as I practically raced my way down to that multiplex. Sure, the mind-numbing volatility of disinformation, tenacity for grotesque sensationalism, and anti-intellectual artistic impulses prevail in our culture politically, socially, and artistically. An extraordinarily flagrant set of issues needing to be dealt with urgently. The film allowed me to look at the past and share that empathy with the frustrations of each character. They probably had evenings spent in a cold sweat, worried sick about the world they lived in. The self-reflection involved with the successes and failures in guiding the next generation through these developments. At one point, I softly asked myself internally, “Does every generation die believing they failed?” I do believe the world is a good place rippled with mistakes. I was able to realize during my viewing that even with failure, we can die with the gift of knowing we fought for what was right. Unlike the conclusion of Memories of Murder, I do think the overall ending of Zodiac leads us to acceptance rather than absolute devastation. Graysmith, Toschi, and countless others dealt with the pain with brash courage. A valiance that should never be forgotten. We have that energy in all of us. Even if we sometimes feel ensnared by a cosmically morose process.