Review: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

I've been trying to come up with a way to discuss with some cohesion the so called 'serial killer' films of David Fincher, a category in which Se7en and Zodiac are now joined by The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. But there is no way to do that because these 3 films could not be less alike. Se7en is considered by many (myself included) to be a modern classic of the crime genre. Its dark, foreboding portrait of urban and moral decay is the setting for a fascinating investigation in to the nature of sin. Zodiac is about obsession, about the way some mysteries have no solution, but some poor folks can't stop searching for one regardless.

And so what is The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo about? 'What was the book about' might be a better jumping off point, and from there we can leap to lingering anti-semitism in Sweden, or that children really get their values from their parents, or perhaps simply that sometimes, one bad turn deserves another. Oh and violence against women is bad, both because, well it just is but also because god help you if Lizbeth Salander finds out. As the heroine of this story, Lizbeth draws our complete attention, no matter the terrible circumstance.

If you've read the novel, then you know this already: rape figures centrally as a crime committed and then revenged. You will see rape, more than once, if you sit down and watch this, and I won't bother saying whether you should or shouldn't shield your eyes - that is irrelevant. We've all got different thresholds for this kind of thing. I can say that I don't pale easily at the movies, and some of the scenes here made me profoundly upset and uncomfortable. That was clearly the intention, no punches pulled.

Fincher has cast this take on Stieg Larsson's novel wisely. The subject matter has the potential to be pulpy, but the stars here are just too credible to conduct the current of the story in any way that other than earnestly. It's no surprise that Daniel Craig, Stellan Skarsgard or Christopher Plummer are up to the task, so the question lies with whether relative newcomer Rooney Mara can match the chops. The answer is: And then some. I said Lizbeth holds our attention, and playing her, Mara immediately has pushed herself into a deserving spotlight. We last saw her portraying Mark Zuckerberg's girlfriend in the rapier opening scene of Fincher's The Social Network and it's an understatement to say she has completely transformed herself here. She is more than capable of all the ferocity and vulnerability demanded of the character, no small feat.

That is the best reason to see this film. So overwhelming is the character of Lizbeth Salander that it makes the main plot of solving a 40-year old missing person case, and tracking down a serial killer seem like mere window dressing. Having not read the novels, I think I might now understand some of the fascination.

As for other elements of the film - it is breathlessly paced, and thoroughly well realized from top to bottom. The feel is consistently cold and lonely, and the score, once more a collaboration between Nine Inch Nails front man (or only man I guess) Trent Reznor and producer Atticus Ross is another great addition to the recent increase in non-traditional scores. This is electronic, but also somehow organic, and the textures all suit this story well - it's all short moments of warmth amidst horrible expanses of cold.

Like most David Fincher films, this is easy to recommend or to not recommend - those who read the novel or who typically like his style will find lots to like. For some, though, this is certainly unpalatable.

Review: Shame

Professionals cannot agree on what constitutes sex addiction, or whether it is a real disorder, but don't tell that to Brandon (Michael Fassbender) - he's not a well-adjusted man, no matter how you might label what's wrong with him. Sex is meaningless for him, just a means to an end - and even the ends are joyless here. Shame concerns itself with the way Brandon lives day to day, if you can call it living, and what happens when his private world is infringed upon by his younger sister (Carey Mulligan).

Another film about addiction might look very similar to this one - with a central character who sneaks away on breaks at the office to do a line in the men's room, to stay out late shoving chemicals into his body, whose personal relationships are perfunctory or else nonexistant. But the vice here is sex. So Brandon is at all times preoccupied with getting his next 'hit' - he does sneak off at work - to the men's room - but to masturbate. He chums around with his boss (James Badge Dale) to troll for his next lay. He is out all night, screwing wherever and whoever he can. At one point this is not limited to women, and only in this film would that not be a comment on homosexuality. To Brandon, sex has no character, let alone orientation.

Fassbender has been described as courageous for taking on his role in Shame, a second collaboration between himself and director Steve McQueen, and that may be an understatement. There are long, long takes of him doing little, but they gradually steep the audience in his colourless, soulless existence. Fassbender is nude a lot, having sex a lot, and it never ever looks like fun, even a little. He clashes painfully with his sister because she is as much extroverted as he isn't. She interrupts his life of hiding and he deals with it badly. We have seen flashes of this type of performance from him in films like Jane Eyre, or (surprisingly) X-Men: First Class - he's a terrific choice for a tormented anti-hero. He pairs very well with Carey Mulligan, whose performance is not angry, but frustrated. She perfectly captures the way you can love family, the way you have to, because who else will? Of course she needs her brother, too.

These siblings are implied to have shared a past responsible for their deep sadness and dysfunction - Brandon, more quietly, while Sissy stands in lounges and sings her pain aloud. Never will you hear the lines 'I wanna be part of it, New York, New York', with more heartbreak. Their past isn't illuminated for us, the film isn't concerned with that.

The emotions Brandon exhibits, as barely as he does, inform the shape and colour of every scene as executed in camera, editing, and direction. Long takes where the camera barely moves for 7 minutes arrest us while Brandon goes through his day. Similarly, a single shot follows him while he goes for a late night run. We get no reprieve. That contrasts sharply with the moments when he is manic, frustrated and unfulfilled. The editing jumps, suddenly nothing can be done fast enough. The whole experience pulls your feelings around with detachment and volatility. McQueen traps us with Brandon, doesn't let us look away.

If your good moods are fragile, this is impossible to recommend. Roger Ebert put it best when he gave the film four stars then said he could never watch it again.

For more on Shame, listen to this week's Sticks + Stones Podcast, available on the internet (which is everywhere!!) - Also discussed: The Muppets, Take Shelter, Melancholia, and the films we're looking forward to this month. Listen here!