Now is the winter of our film-going discontent made glorious summer by...by whom exactly? Anybody? Anybody? Really, I'd settle for a hint of spring at this point. Instead, what we get with Roman Polanski's latest, Ghost Writer, is lots of steely fall. And in the place of a would-be political thriller, there is this tepid offering from the 76-year-old director. Starting as it does with a ferry that plies the waters between an island and the Massachusetts shore, I was reminded of Martin Scorcese's Shutter Island. But where Scorsese fails with a bang in his current money-maker, Polanski goes down with barely a whimper. Throughout much of it two-hour length, I found myself thinking, "What is a supsense movie without suspense?" "What is a thriller devoid of thrills?" The answer would be Ghost Writer. Ewan McGregor, generally as colorless as the muted landscape and leaden skies of the island on which most of the film is set, is the second ...