158 minutes and it doesn't break a sweat, doesn't dazzle with a chase scene or bellow with a shootout, doesn't swerve into stylish paranoia or lure lazily into sex, spilling hard-won focus before ladling it back, like the rhythmic wind-unwind of a rotary dial phone. No, it doesn't do that. Somehow Zodiac is all clues, conversations, handwriting samples, scribbles, dates, letters and phonecalls - and it's riveting. The years peel and fall away, landing next to decaying leads, but there's a purpose here that links it all, a puzzle to be solved if only someone looks long enough.

David Fincher makes a film that will not be remembered for its stylish exuberance, but for its true-story untidiness, meticulous period detail and masterful narrative delivery.
In a sky of a million billion stars, a few points of light might just make a shape. Or they might not.

“Just because you can't prove it doesn't mean it isn't true.”