[In the following review, Turan observes that The Ninth Gate creates a stylish and intelligent atmosphere, but ultimately lacks dramatic momentum and fails to hold the viewer's attention.]

Better than Harrison Ford, John Travolta or even Leonardo DiCaprio, getting the devil involved in your picture is a sure way of getting it made. Not necessarily as a producer or financial backer (though that probably wouldn't hurt) but merely as a subject. From 1899's “Chorus Girls and the Devil” (little more than the title survives, unfortunately) to the current The Ninth Gate, Satan has always been the movie business' go-to guy.

Adapted (quite loosely, apparently) from El Club Dumas, a literary thriller by Spanish novelist Arturo Perez-Reverte, The Ninth Gate is at least the second encounter with the evil one for Roman Polanski. The director of the classic Rosemary's Baby still has a liking for the outre and the bizarre, but that's as far as the parallels between the two films go.

For though The Ninth Gate is well-crafted with a genteel and moody air, it's best understood as a kind of anti-thriller. Lacking noticeable energy or drive, its almost visceral distaste for dramatic momentum is puzzling, especially in a film about the black arts. It's got an old-fashioned European sensibility—most of it is set on that continent—all well mannered style and very little involving passion.

It's hard to tell whether star Johnny Depp was a contributing factor to this lethargy or merely found it to his liking. Wearing glasses and a small goatee, with his hair graying at the temples, Depp quietly disappears inside the chain-smoking character of Dean Corso, a protagonist so buttoned-down he's always difficult to read.

Which is ironic in a way, because Corso plays a book detective, a specialist in finding and procuring very old and rare volumes for collectors willing to pay extravagantly for them. An elegant, soulless weasel who finds a reputation for unscrupulousness to be a professional asset, Corso is proud to say he believes only in “my percentage.” That's just fine with client Boris Balkan (Frank Langella), who himself believes “no one is more reliable than a man whose loyalty can be bought for hard cash.”

Balkan is a fabulously wealthy collector with a twist. “All my rare editions have the same protagonist,” he tells Corso with an appropriately icy smile. “The devil.” The pride of his collection, just bought from recently deceased rival Andrew Telfer, is a 17th century item called The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of the Shadows.

Published in 1666, The Nine Gates is no ordinary antiquarian volume. Its author, Aristide Torchia, took the trouble to adapt it from a book supposedly written by the devil himself (who knew he had the time?) and was burned at the stake for his pains. Only three copies are known to exist, Balkan says, and he believes only one of them is genuine. Authenticity is important because the real book is said to have the power to summon the devil himself from the terrifying nether world.

Devotees of this book are understandably rabid about getting their hands on it, so when Corso accepts Balkan's commission to go to Europe and examine the other two copies, it's a given that: a) sinister forces will be unleashed in his path and b) because it's a movie after all, beautiful women will factor into the equation.

First to reveal herself is Liana Telfer (Lena Olin), the coolly seductive widow of previous owner Andrew Telfer. Then there is a character known only as the Girl, an enigmatic blond wearing a parka, jeans, running shoes and mismatched socks. Played by Emmanuelle Seigner (Polanski's wife), the Girl knows a heck of a lot about the book and appears and disappears almost at will. You figure it out, because Corso is in no hurry to.

Those similarly in the mood for something languorous and atmospheric will not be angry with The Ninth Gate. Working with dark side cinematographer Darius Khondji (Seven, The City of Lost Children) and veteran composer Wojciech Kilar, Polanski has concentrated on the subdued and the spooky. And he's thrown in some bizarre acting touches, like having veteran production manager Jose Lopez Rodero play both Pablo and Pedro Ceniza, identical twin book dealers.

Because its several libraries were created by expert production designer Dean Tavoularis and his team, book collectors will be pleased by the film's visual tribute to old and beautiful volumes, its habit of bathing them in the kind of warm and flattering light usually reserved for actresses like Madonna.

Finally, however, The Ninth Gate is too laid-back and unconcerned about the pacing of its story to be satisfying. Polanski and his co-writers Enrique Urbiz and John Brownjohn seem supremely indifferent about bringing things to any kind of dramatic conclusion, and while a thriller that's not high-powered is an intriguing concept, in reality it can hold our attention for only so long.