As a zodiac-head it annoys me the movie centers almost completely on Greysmith's stuff and his obsession with Arthur Leigh Allen, who almost certainly was not the zodiac killer. From an artistic perspective, though, I respect using this as a jumping-off point for a script, one that exceptionally well-written. I particularly appreciate how the movie sort of tapers away at the end, in essentially the same way the Zodiac's killing spree and notoriety did. Fincher is always a personal favorite but he was on fire with this one.

Remember that there are millions of artists around the world languishing in impoverished obscurity and dying young who didn't win the "marry a rich evil person" lottery, and every single last one of them would write a less sophomoric, repugnant, ignorant and awful paean to self-indulgent arrogance than this woman did.

No breakfast consumed over its entire runtime. Bullshit

WOT DA FOCK IS DIS