With the bulk of David Fincher’s films there exists an
exciting tension that comes from the dichotomy between the pulpy familiarity of
the genres he plays around in and the classical, detail-oriented approach in
which he presents them. Whether it’s a gimmicky serial killer thriller like
“Se7en”, a paranoid chase mystery like “The Game” or police procedural like
“Zodiac,” Fincher always maximizes the drama of every scene with a precise eye
for camera placement and a deliberate pace that in today’s mode of mainstream filmmaking
would typically be seen as a liability. Come to think of it, amongst all the
comic book adaptations and the franchise blockbusters, Fincher is one of the only
filmmakers working today that's allowed to make large-scale, slow-burning pop-corn flicks for
grown-ups.
“Gone
Girl” is based on the best-selling airport novel and adapted by the book’s author
Gillian Flynn, and like aforementioned films, this is another exploration of
what would normally be seen as B-movie terrain, but crafted with an assured hand.
Every scene is meticulously blocked and designed
and the sleek, steel-cool tone of this potboiler gracefully glides along,
lulling you into every bear-trap that's built into the narrative. Surprisingly, even when
the story changes gears halfway through and solves what seemed to be the
propelling force of the drama, the characters are so conflicted with
interesting contradictions that the movie quickly recovers from the jarring
switch.
On the surface,
the plot seems like the type of stuff most lifetime movies are made of. Nick Dunne (Ben
Affleck) is a seemingly dutiful husband who, on the day of his wedding
anniversary, comes home to find that his wife Amy (Rosamund Pike) has gone
missing, with some evidence in the house suggesting a violent struggle. After a
few days of building media attention, Nick becomes the prime suspect and his personal
life, as well as the intimate details of his marriage, becomes scrutinized and
analyzed by every outsider looking in, including the small town detectives
working on the case (Kim Dickens and Patrick Fugit), his twin sister (Carrie Coon),
and his high-profile, celebrity lawyer (Tyler Perry).
As a
performance-driven film, the success of this stylish neo-noir is totally
dependent on the ability of its actors. Whether they're cast against
type or because of their extratextual association with their characters, such
as Ben Affleck, whose relationship with the public has always been a bit of
rollercoaster, the film mines every performance for latent connotations that
the audience might bring and uses them to either support the plot
or to purposely mislead you. Tyler Perry’s goody-goody reputation is played against
his confident lawyer role, while television’s Neil Patrick Harris plays Amy’s
all-too-concerned and creepy ex-boyfriend Desi. Rosamund Pike as the icy New York socialite-come-small-town-homemaker
not only keeps the story’s problematic sexual politics from getting in her way,
but, even as many of her scenes are shown in flashback, ends up stealing
the entire movie.
Despite
just how high-concept and silly this thing eventually gets, building slowly
from a mournful mystery to a shockingly violent fever-pitch, Fincher’s knack
for storytelling pulls you into this almost three hour spectacle without a
single minute wasted. In using the same technical team behind his last few
movies “The Social Network” and “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo,” his
collaborations have created a shorthand between the cinematography, editing,
and sound design that hums in near-perfect harmony. The sparse visual sense by director of
photography Jeff Cronenweth and the melancholy ambiance of Atticus Ross and
Trent Reznor’s score drenches every scene in tonal atmosphere, creating a
heightened dream-like reality in which this movie is afforded the pleasure of
straddling the line between observant social satire and sleazy, late-night cable-television
camp.
Originally Published in the Idaho State Journal/Oct -2014
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