The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo Review: Breathing Fire In The Land of Ice and Snow

The debate surrounding the release of David Fincher’s American adaptation of Stieg Larsson’s monstrously successful novel The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo has largely focused on the caustic protests fans of the 2009 Swedish version have spewed since the announcement of this updated stateside installment. Sorry, skeptics, but Fincher’s vision is dark, dazzling and boasts a deft elegance that Niels Arden Oplev’s efforts simply didn’t, despite both directors capturing the engrossing nature of Larsson’s labyrinthine mystery. Contrary to popular opinion, Fincher’s film is not a remake, but rather a reimagining of the late Larsson’s book, much like last year’s Coen brothers western True Grit was an adaptation of the Charles Portis novel and not a rehashing of the 1969 John Wayne classic. Trying to compare the 2009 Dragon Tattoo with this one, amusingly tagged “The Feel Bad Movie of Christmas,” only succeeds in steering focus toward the notable difference in tone and aesthetic in each film instead of their respective dedication to the phenomenon of the source material.

One of the most polarizing aspects of the dual franchises is the role of titular hacker extraordinaire Lisbeth Salander, perhaps the most fascinating and original character to recently emerge in contemporary literature and cinema. While Noomi Rapace personified Salander with a gritty assertiveness that oozed undeniable charisma, newcomer Rooney Mara is nothing short of a revelation in her portrayal, giving the role a sense of haunting vulnerability to match the whip-smart instinct and social nihilism that makes Salander so compelling a figure in the first place. Fincher took a risk casting Mara, a relative unknown who made an impression on the director after slaying the glorious opening breakup scene in The Social Network. It paid off. Dragon Tattoo belongs to Mara, but she’s in good company with Daniel Craig as disgraced journalist Mikael Blomkvist, who enlists Salander’s help in investigating the unsolved disappearance of an aristocratic industrialist’s long-lost niece.

The chemistry between Salander and Blomkvist and their evolving, complicated relationship (this is anything but a love story) serves as a nice backdrop for the increasingly macabre murder mystery unfolding before them. In Stockholm, Blomkvist has just endured a libel conviction and is preparing for career-ending aftermath when he’s recruited by Henrik Vanger (Christopher Plummer) to probe the case of the missing girl, 16-year-old Harriet Vanger, who vanished more than 40 years prior in 1966. The Vangers are a dysfunctional, peculiar, sadistic clan teeming with ex-Nazis, perverts and recluses, save for the pragmatic and benevolent Henrik, who has been haunted by Harriet’s absence for the latter half of his life. With his reputation as a hard-nosed reporter seriously tarnished, Blomkvist accepts Vanger’s offer to stay on their remote island near Hedestad, a blustery, treacherously frigid town even for Swedish standards; one character dryly refers to it as “the North Pole.” As Blomkvist fails to fool any of the prickly Vangers with a tenuous cover story that he’s been hired to write Henrik’s biography, his continued probe into the family uncovers unspeakable violence against women that had been hidden for generations and, plotwise, provides duality with Salander’s troubled past with violence and abuse.

The case itself sounds simple enough, but the long-winded and often clunky structure of Larsson’s original text provides a challenge for Fincher and screenwriter Steven Zaillian (American Gangster, Schindler’s List), who slickly manage to make the 160-minute run time zip by as quickly as Salander’s motorcycle through the icy streets. Watching Blomkvist and Salander’s own growing obsession with the case as they discover the depths of depravity the Vangers will reach is nothing less than exhilarating, despite a nearly dizzying setup that may muddle the more subtle details for Dragon Tattoo novices. Blomkvist’s own character arc, the subtext of which chronicles his professional redemption, is far more subdued than the salacious atrocities Salander endures. We learn she remains a ward of the state at 23 due to disturbing behavior in her youth and previous arrests for violence and drugs, yet Mara captures Salander’s fragile core underneath her contrarian exterior. Those familiar with the book and original film are already aware of the personal strife Salander overcomes in this installment of the series, but her drastic methods of revenge still elicit visceral horror and twisted compassion from even seasoned Dragon Tattoo veterans. Audience members at my screening audibly roared with supportive glee at Salander’s breakthrough scene, in which she confronts her rapist guardian with, ahem, a taste of his own medicine.

The multi-layered, brooding nature of the story seems tailor-made for Fincher, whose visual artistry often accompanies his knack for compelling storytelling and makes him the obvious choice to helm this material. The opening title sequence, presented as an H.R. Giger-inspired fever dream and set to Karen O’s cover of Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song,” is enough to set the tone for a morbidly captivating romp through the land of the midnight sun. Aided by another masterful score courtesy of the Oscar-winning team of Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, Fincher presents Larsson’s tale with an assuredly cutting-edge and forward-thinking panache that the more rudimentary 2009 version lacked. The best scenes crackle with such sumptuous heft and suspense that even those of us already familiar with the story forget we already know what’s going to happen next. Here’s hoping both Fincher and Mara are ready to play with fire.

Images courtesy of Merrick Morton, Columbia TriStar Marketing Group, Inc. and IMDbPro.