The less said about the plot of Gone Girl the better. Suffice it to say it is a biting, grisly crime film equally concerned with the nature of secrets in marriage, public media image, and the criminal mind than with the nuts and bolts of linear narration. Yet the story is so mind-blowing it would cross over onto the outlandish we’re it not for the knowing hands of director David Fincher, and the faithful-to-the-novel screenplay adaptation by the best-selling book’s author, Gillian Flynn. (Cognizant, it was a story chock full of surprises, I chose not to read the novel beforehand, wishing to savor every twist and turn.)
Fincher (The Social Network, Seven, Zodiac, Fight Club, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo) does not disappoint here. With his less-is-more manner of unveiling twists, he constantly plays with our heads. Edits are razor-sharp as time shifts occur without an iota of disruption to the proceedings. Regular Fincher collaborator Trent Reznor’s offbeat score is understated yet chilling. The casting is impeccable. In a star-making turn, Rosamund Pike is the real treasure here yet Ben Affleck holds his own, matching her every acting move. The movie gains an extra intensity with Pike’s presence versus an established star actress. In a role where we need to buy some pretty outrageous developments, she nails the role without proving to be a distraction and her lack of celebrity lends a just-a-regular-girl quality that gives extra immediacy to her most surprising character revelations.
Pike plays Amy Dunne, far wealthier and more sophisticated than her more submissive spouse, Nick (Affleck). Not long after Nick loses his job as a magazine writer, they uproot from New York City to his hometown in Missouri to be closer to his dying mom. Once the inspiration for her parents’ famous young reader book character Amazing Amy, Amy was actually a child who gave up the cello at age 10 while prodigy Amy became a world-class master of the instrument. At an early age, she develops a talent for role-playing that will extend to devising sophisticated treasure hunts for Ben. The film establishes the euphoria of Amy and Ben’s courtship, and aside from an unsettling opening scene, provides little else about the present-day couple when Amy suddenly disappears.
As secrets begin to unfold in rapid-fire manner, Ben takes solace with his twin sister, Margo (a very good Carroe Coon), trying to figure things out while a police investigation and seemingly omnipresent true crime TV coverage ensue. Ben eventually hires high-power defense attorney Tanner Bolt (an excellent Tyler Perry). In the film’s most amusing scene, Bolt hurls gummy bears at Nick while rehearsing him for an appearance on a Nancy Grace-style show. Yes, it’s one of those movie TV shows that seems to be “on” every time someone in the film turns on a television yet Fincher gets license here because he handles the whole larger issue of media saturation convincingly.
Gone Girl is so much more than a did-he-or-didn’t-he proposition. Amy is steadfast, cunning, controlling, the occasional crack in her armor revealing a profound sense of vulnerability. Nick is agreeable if in an often vexing manner, surprisingly anger-prone, yet sneakily self-assured. Things are not as they seem, then they change again. And again. By the end this viewer felt worn-out, practically battered–mostly in the same satisfied way after watching any perfectly rendered thriller. What’s different about Gone Girl is after it’s all over, a lingering uneasiness presents itself. Most good suspense movies work toward unfastening their knots. Gone girl concludes with the actual fixing of a noose around our expectations.
Some may criticize the film by projecting their ideology on what is perceived to be a statement on gender politics. Gone Girl actually goes for a far more universal flailing of human nature in all its frailty. While domestic hell hasn’t been portrayed this caustically since The War of the Roses, Gone Girl essentially doesn’t take sides. Always dark, Fincher is far more content with seeing just how deep his darkness can go. Deception, exploitation and accommodation have rarely been portrayed this bleakly. Or this deliciously.