Uncomfortable rape scene. Subdued Daniel Craig. Director David Fincher's meticulous attention to cinematic detail. A dildo shoved in the dark, dank, dreadful crevice of an awful person, by the victim of the aforementioned uncomfortable rape. A murder mystery yarn that unwinds in a slow burning cavalcade of subtly realistic dialogue, and figure-it-out-for-yourself-
This encapsulates the whole of my observation of Fincher's adaptation of the '09 Swedish flick of the same name, that was based on the first book in a trilogy of novels by the late Stieg Larsson.
The skinny girl that has a tattoo of a dragon on her upper back is the story of Harriet Vanger, a scion of one of Sweden's wealthiest families, who disappeared over forty years ago. All these years later, her aged uncle continues to seek the truth. He hires Mikael Blomkvist (Craig), a crusading journalist recently trapped by a libel conviction, to investigate. He is aided by the pierced and tattooed punk prodigy Lisbeth Salander (brought to life beautifully by Rooney Mara, who was second to Scarlett Johansson because the latter was "too pretty" to play the part. Hey Hollywood, fuck you. I prefer Mara now, thanks. Jags). Together they tap into a vein of unfathomable iniquity and astonishing corruption
Historically, American remakes of foreign pictures are met with various results, both commercially and critically. Majority of the time, they're outstandingly poor recreations of what was a seminal work by an independent filmmaker with a metric ton to prove. Someone with creative chops that rival even the best of our generation and before. Uwe Boll comes to mind immediately. (If you're bright enough, you'll sincerely hope I was joshing your chain. If not, then you're already too brain damaged for that joke to land in the softest portion of your gray matter.)
I digest (sic), Fincher exquisitely delivers on what Fincher does best: character involvement and progression, complicatedly divine cat and mouse play between killer and investigator, lowlife degraded scum-ridden beauty (what?), and a run-time that never feels too long. This movie was a satisfyingly complex and entertainingly atmospheric journey down the distorted depths of man's deepest derogatory decisions (how ya like those "D's"?).
Acting, pacing, writing, directing, with a bombastic musical accompaniment that's sure to win Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross another Oscar; this movie is a visual and audio tour de force. Fincher's in top-form. Now, for his next trick, a new Alien movie starring Zombie Ripley (that bullshit Resurrection doesn't register with me. You're better than that, Whedon!). Or a new Fight Club with Zombie Tyler Durden (mind equals blown). Mayhaps we get a new tale from the Se7en universe with headless, Zombie Gwyneth Paltrow?This encapsulates the whole of my observation of Fincher's adaptation of the '09 Swedish flick of the same name, that was based on the first book in a trilogy of novels by the late Stieg Larsson.
The skinny girl that has a tattoo of a dragon on her upper back is the story of Harriet Vanger, a scion of one of Sweden's wealthiest families, who disappeared over forty years ago. All these years later, her aged uncle continues to seek the truth. He hires Mikael Blomkvist (Craig), a crusading journalist recently trapped by a libel conviction, to investigate. He is aided by the pierced and tattooed punk prodigy Lisbeth Salander (brought to life beautifully by Rooney Mara, who was second to Scarlett Johansson because the latter was "too pretty" to play the part. Hey Hollywood, fuck you. I prefer Mara now, thanks. Jags). Together they tap into a vein of unfathomable iniquity and astonishing corruption
Historically, American remakes of foreign pictures are met with various results, both commercially and critically. Majority of the time, they're outstandingly poor recreations of what was a seminal work by an independent filmmaker with a metric ton to prove. Someone with creative chops that rival even the best of our generation and before. Uwe Boll comes to mind immediately. (If you're bright enough, you'll sincerely hope I was joshing your chain. If not, then you're already too brain damaged for that joke to land in the softest portion of your gray matter.)
I digest (sic), Fincher exquisitely delivers on what Fincher does best: character involvement and progression, complicatedly divine cat and mouse play between killer and investigator, lowlife degraded scum-ridden beauty (what?), and a run-time that never feels too long. This movie was a satisfyingly complex and entertainingly atmospheric journey down the distorted depths of man's deepest derogatory decisions (how ya like those "D's"?).
Give me a zombie movie Fincher!
SCORE: 4/5
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