Los Angeles. The early 1950s. Four detectives. Newly promoted Ed Exley (ex-Neighbour Guy Pearce) is by the book. He will never amount to anything, chief Dudley Smith (James Cromwell) laments, until he’s prepared to plant evidence or kill. Exley’s nemesis is Bud White (Russell Crowe), a scared, brutally effective detective who thinks with his fists. Meantime, super-sharp ‘Trashcan’ Jack Vincennes (Kevin Spacey) is the starstruck cop more interested in TV’s Badge of Honor than in actual policing. Each is investigating the Nite Owl coffee shop massacre in which a disgraced colleague was gunned down. At first they fetch-up a trio of chancers, but these oily tentacles snake further: to a rich pimp (David Strathairn) and his stable of hookers ‘cut’ like movie stars, to the drug empire of gaoled gangster Micky C, and even as far as the department itself.

In its favour, L.A. Confidential has a wonderfully elaborate, rule breaking screenplay, spinning intelligent, adult writing in ever more intricate loops. The four leads and full supporting cast are superb: the dapper, self-assured Spacey, and dangerous, complex Crowe are especially good, and Cromwell is ambiguous and disturbing. It is rather a boy picture, though at least Kim Basinger is almost a revelation as Lynn Bracken. Hanson finds in her a compelling, truthful glamour. This Los Angeles is saturated in the garish neon and flashbulbs of gossip rag ‘Hush-Hush’ run by occasional narrator Danny De Vito. The film doesn’t linger on period detail; its thrust is nothing if not contemporary.

But there’s something mildly disappointing about the finale. L.A. Confidential is tough-minded and enthralling, but little else. Where Chinatown bathed in an evil that finally spilled out its frames, Hanson ties up his loose ends just a little too neatly. It is excellent, but only while it lasts - and that, ultimately, is the difference between a good film and a truly great one.