"Zodiac"

Fincher is telling a complicated story here, one that spans more than 30 years: The Zodiac committed his first murders in 1969 (he publicly claimed 13 victims, although the exact number may never be known) and was never caught, although the movie makes a strong case for the killer's identity, as Graysmith's books do. That dim, flickering light bulb of uncertainty adds an extra layer of creepiness to the Zodiac story. And to Fincher's credit, he does sustain a murky mood of dread, even beyond the movie's two-and-a-half-hour runtime: I left the theater feeling vaguely ill, complicit in the spectacle I'd just witnessed and wondering if, just if, the killer might still be out there.

But "Zodiac" didn't make me feel as if I'd been in the grip of a master -- only in the grip of a brash filmmaker with a sadistic streak. The picture is a mere hopscotch-jump away from Fincher's much-adored 1995 "Se7en": When he talks, in interviews, about how the Zodiac case gripped him as a kid, he's obviously not kidding. Like "Se7en," this is a story in which the hunted destroys the hunter: The Zodiac case unravels the lives of the people who try to crack it, or at least frays them at the seams. But unlike "Se7en" -- and unlike Fincher's other fanboy favorite, the absurd "take back the might" macho-apologist and faux-Marxist "Fight Club" -- "Zodiac" at least resembles a real movie, as opposed to a stunt. The picture, shot by Harris Savides ("Elephant"), is muted and gloomy, in characteristically Fincher fashion, but it doesn't look as if it's been scratched up with a bent paper clip after the fact: It has a somewhat more straightforward, classical feel than Fincher's other pictures do.

But particularly considering how passionate Fincher is about telling this particular story, "Zodiac" should add up to more than it does. Fincher went to a lot of trouble here, including hiring his own expert in forensic linguistics to see if any new light could be shed on the case. But his exceedingly elaborate picture is also sometimes surprisingly careless: Early on, we learn that Graysmith, a divorced single dad, has two young kids, but we see only one. (Later, when he's found a new girlfriend, Melanie -- played by Chloë Sevigny, who adds some much-needed sparks of life to the movie -- we see three kids at the dinner table, one of whom belongs to Graysmith and Melanie. The phantom second kid from the first marriage can, apparently, be conjured at will.) And Fincher shows how one of the Zodiac's intended victims escapes alive -- she's one of the few survivors who have actually seen his face. We see newspaper accounts about her, but we never see her being questioned, a detail that could have at least been wrapped up in a line of dialogue.

Those might seem like minor quibbles. But are they so minor in a movie in which a vintage '70s-era Chronicle newsroom was re-created in loving detail, reportedly right down to the Chronicle-logo pads and pencils nestled in the desk drawers? That sounds a bit like Michael Cimino's bewitched undie fixation during the making of "Heaven's Gate": He insisted the underwear folded in the characters' dresser drawers be authentically period, even though these unmentionables were never seen, nor even mentioned, on-screen.

Directors often say they insist on those kinds of details to help the actors build their characters. But a movie loaded with such bits and bobs is more often just a highly decorated palace in which a director's king-size ego might dwell. Fincher may be stylish, but he's not an actor's director. In his quest for perfection on "Zodiac," Fincher in some cases shot as many as 70 takes, looking to get just the right something from his actors. If a director needs 70 takes, what he's looking for either doesn't exist or won't be visible to anyone but him.

Miraculously, all the performances here achieve at least a base level of proficiency: Downey, playing an exceedingly bright reporter undone by drink and drugs, is a wonderfully casual and relaxed presence in the midst of Fincher's excessive orchestration, and Ruffalo adds layers of interesting shading to the principled, frustrated cop he's playing.

But Gyllenhaal, normally a surefooted actor, at times looks a bit wobbly, as if he's lost his place in the plot. Actors aren't the biggest part of Fincher's plan, and maybe that's not supposed to matter, anyway: The movie isn't really about these characters, struggling to solve a series of bizarre, grisly crimes; nor is it even about the killer himself. "Zodiac" is all about Fincher's personal enthusiasms and obsessions. It takes a mighty big ego to steal the show from a serial killer. Apparently, Fincher's just the guy for the job.

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