fuck you, you fucking fucker.
but why? —- the main Q. on everybody’s lips post-announcement of a hollywoodized all-the-rape-no-subtitles re-treatment to stieg larsson’s worldwide literary phenomenon, especially since there already is an internationally beloved, barely-two-year-old swedish language adaptation to its credit. and why? still is a pretty relevant inquiry to make in our financially-motivated age of hyper-reproduction, with david fincher’s version offering little more on paper than sony’s own multi-million $$$ take on yet another firm, swift kick to everybody’s dildo-occupied arses.
but that doesn’t make what’s up there onscreen any less compelling, especially when we consider fincher’s growing artistry with every cinematic endeavour he embarks upon. if the social network was his sprawling sociology thesis, the girl with the dragon tattoo is a precise, closed-book exam. all of the material has been fervently studied, fincher is just here to ace the test — and as expected; upgrade the drab television-movie quality of neils arden oplov’s swedish-language effort, which, whilst somewhat befitting of the source’s paperback pulpiness, failed to translate that deep, dark thematic edge visually.
as fincher graduated from filmmaker to filmdesigner some time ago, it’s fitting for the girl with the dragon tattoo to be one of his slickest and most effortless thrillers. finding bite both sonically (reznor & ross: 2, you: 0) and in sharp, arresting imagery (that fucking credit sequence!), fincher’s work exemplifies a rare fusion between blueprint and vision that feels oddly ordained. it’s every bit as generous as it should be (even with that difficult string of LOTR:ROTK-esque mini-climaxes) but tighter and more seamless — humming floor-buffers bleeding into industrial drones of dread.
it’s kinda hilarious that someone as detail-meticulous as fincher deliberately neglects addressing blatant english accents on many of his swedes (daniel craig, you ignorant pom), yet in truth, little harm is done besides slightly blunting the most specifically swedish of all the source’s stings — it’s commentary. the tight-knit familial island is the first clue of larsson’s narrative to suggest how close to home his criticisms of generational male violence really were, but to be fair, fincher was never expected to tap into anything but the universal horrors of sadistic misogyny, and does so with suitably ghastly explicitness.
it’s necessity can be argued, but i like to think of it as fincher yet again staking claim in the genre he’s continually dominated and defined over the years, taking the largest slice of cultural real estate he could find and pissing on it. mara and rapace can still duke it out for definitive but all things considered, it’s the feel-bad movie of christmas that scores bragging rights as the conclusive hard-edged feminist cyberpunk revenge thriller of our times. but then again, don’t hold your breath.
trailer here.
