AFI Fest 15 Review: "Carol"

Director: Todd Haynes
Runtime: 118 minutes

As restrained and repressed as its time period and characters, Todd Haynes' Carol still has a beating heart at its center. You might just have to work a little harder than necessary to get to it. At times emotionally reserved to a fault, this adaptation of Patricia Highsmith's "The Price of Salt" thaws out just in time to deliver an understated wallop of an ending that catapults it from the ranks of the 'good,' and into the realm of the almost-great. 

Not counting his HBO miniseries remake of Mildred Pierce, Mr. Haynes hasn't released a narrative feature since his Bob Dylan fantasia I'm Not There, so to see him reemerge with such a beautifully controlled work might take a little getting used to. The director has returned to the relative time period of his excellent Far From Heaven, albeit from a drastically different angle. Far From Heaven sought to emulate the rich melodramas of Douglas Sirk, while Carol - despite its scenes of wealthy people in pretty clothes - brings to mind Inside Llewyn Davis. This is not the picture perfect vision of post-war America, but rather a grittier vision that further deconstructs the societal norms of the day. 

This is all evident in the Christmas-y color scheme, using rich reds and greens that are still made to look a little worn and desaturated. When young shop girl Therese (Rooney Mara) shows up for work at a pricey department store, even the showroom looks a little dingy (not to mention the staff cafeteria). It's not exactly gloomy, but rather that the artifice of everything in the store (as well as the artifice of the 1950s concept of a homogenized society) is made clear as day to Therese and the viewer. Sharing in that vision, despite belonging to the upper class, is Carol Aird (Cate Blanchett), who saunters into the store one December morning to buy a gift for her daughter. Out of a crowd of faces of parents and children, Therese and Carol's gazes meet, and very slowly, the dance begins. 

Ostensibly a story of forbidden love, Phyllis Nagy's script refuses to fall into the trap of radically altering the source material for the sake of a more conventional tale. This is a story about isolated souls finding a connection against the odds and in violation of every social more. Carol never becomes a psychological thriller, but Haynes is gifted at emphasizing small gestures in order to convey the utter seriousness of Therese and Carol's burgeoning relationship, as well as the risks of exposure. Quick glances and touches on the shoulder are stand ins for traditional romantic gestures, even when the two women are in private. It's a romantic game of cat and mouse, only with both players working together to avoid the crushing weight of "traditional values."

And, as much as my admiration for the film has grown since I saw it, it's all to easy to understand why many will find Carol a little too distant for its own good. Haynes' pacing never drags, but it does move at a steady, stately rate, without too much variation for the first half or so. Carol is all about the wind up to a purposefully muted release, and for some it will be too little and too late. But even as I can see where detractors are coming from, I continue to find little details that stand out. Carol's story is not complicated, but it is complex, and the film practically demands a second viewing just to absorb every little move involved in Therese and Carol's covert courtship.

Keeping the whole enterprise going, even when Haynes himself seems a bit unsure about how to best move it all along, are the two beautiful performances from the leads. Mara has a much more passive role, but her quietness is an asset that the film needs. She is our window into the more obvious drama of Carol's domestic woes, and she reacts accordingly. 

Meanwhile Blanchett, the actor to Mara's reactor, is nothing short of sublime in the titular role. It's a role that the actress could have done on autopilot, but instead, Blanchett invests every look and touch and vocal flutter with a lifetime of experience. Therese is still finding and shaping herself, while Carol has known for years what she truly wants and what it will cost to have it. Without ever reaching for a big moment, Blanchett captures the character's turmoil with heartbreaking restraint and intelligence. Arriving just two years after her towering work in Blue Jasmine, Carol once again asserts the otherworldly Australian as one of the leading performers of her generation. 

And even though I may have some quibbles with some of Haynes' lulls in the narrative, his overall work here is excellent. Working with a talented group of collaborators, he's created a beautiful, yet realistic-looking film every bit as refined and textured as one of Carol's pricey fur coats. Costumes, production design, and photography are all superb, without getting in the way of the film's slowly blooming emotional center. Carol favors the exploration of a human bond over the sexier details, so even when the one proper sex scene arrives, it feels not only justified, but intimate and tender. 

Yet even the consummation of Therese and Carol's affair pales in comparison to the magic trick that Haynes pulls off in the closing chapters. Carol goes in a few surprising directions, with certain events arriving in ways that don't initially appear satisfying. But the careful windup finally comes together when Haynes and Nagy take both leads through their respective low points, yet allow room for hope. There is sadness and regret in Carol, but by the end, it hardly comes off as a cinematic depressive. All of those furtive, smoldering glances and gentle touches on the hand lead to one final, wordless exchange that is nothing short of heart-stopping in its beauty, and a perfect ending to the year's most delicate, albeit chilly, romance.

Grade: B+

AFI Fest 2013: "Her"

Director: Spike Jonze
Runtime: 120 minutes

The future is a sleek, dark, sterile world. At least, that's what your average near-future dystopia would tell you. This being the case, director Spike Jonze deserves a lot of credit for his simple, ultimately warm look at where our society is headed, with his new romance Her. He also deserves credit for, in his first outing as a writer, delivering such a funny, heartfelt, and empathetic look at love and human relationships in our increasingly tech-obsessed world. 

Despite lonely protagonist Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix), Jonze approaches Her by doing a complete 180 from his previous film, 2009's Where the Wild Things Are. That film took a children's book and infused it into a tale filled with poignant, soulful mourning. By contrast, this tale of adults and their romantic lives is mostly a light comedy. 

Rather than opt for a future filled with nihilistic heaviness, Jonze and his collaborators have dreamed up a world filled with warmth. Rather than oppressive grays, Her is shot and designed to incorporate a wide range of soft, vibrant pastels. Some of Hoyt van Hoytema's shot compositions showcase the towering skyscrapers of Los Angeles, but the film is ultimately concerned with intimacy. 

For Theodore, that intimacy comes not from another person, but from a futuristic new operating system. Once activated, the program develops a personality, that grows as its spends more time with the given customer. Theodore's OS, for example, gives herself the name Samantha (voiced by Scarlett Johansson), and quickly becomes her own strong-willed personality. In line with the film's notions of simplicity, the artificial intelligence in Her takes no physical form. There are Blade Runner-esque androids. There's only the voice.

While Jonze gets to craft scenes and images, and Phoenix has room to visibly express himself, Johansson is left with only her voice. She's Her's make it or break it element, and thankfully, she succeeds with flying colors. Though she came to prominence in roles that emphasized emotional minimalism (Girl with a Pearl Earring, Lost in Translation), Johansson proves she's capable of creating a richly textured character without even appearing on screen. Jonze's script only helps the performance. He gives Samantha room to be her own person. Though she's technically there to be a voice for Theodore's computer, Her's progression makes her every bit as well rounded as her "owner," even though she comes into the movie with no background or baggage. 

Likewise, Amy Adams' Amy is also given room to have her own life. For a movie ostensibly about a man falling in love with his computer, Her's women are refreshingly independent. Though they have moments to comfort Theodore, Jonze writes them as full-bodied beings with more to do than act as emotional sounding boards for a man. Even Rooney Mara, as Theodore's ex-wife Catherine,  is never simplified or demonized. Though most of Catherine's scenes are silent flashbacks, Jonze never robs her of a voice. The reason for her split from Theodore is given a fair shake, with both parties shown enduring some form of emotional struggle. 

As valuable as the women are, however, Her is built on both Theodore and Samantha. And for a couple who never visibly share the screen, Phoenix and Johansson work wonders together. Phoenix throws himself into the goofy, aloof Theodore with the same force he gave to the tormented and animalistic Freddie Quell in last year's The Master. Despite being known largely for playing men riddled with demons, Phoenix makes for a surprising comedic and romantic lead. 

The performances and direction only heighten as the film dips into deeper territory. Her is, somewhat contrary to the marketing, a comedy, but Jonze never forgets to push beneath the surface charm. Yet rather than become fully dramatic in the later portions, it's perhaps more accurate to say that the film becomes empathetic. Jonze wrings some beautifully romantic and heartfelt moments out of his sci-fi laced scenario, yet there's never an emotional heaviness behind it. In fact, the film's few uncomfortable moments come when seemingly dramatic scenes are suddenly punctuated with obviously intentional comedy. You enjoy the comedy, but simultaneously can't help but wish that a serious beat had simply been allowed to settle and take root. 

Her isn't so much a searing study of human relationships as it is a gently comforting, though ultimately lighthearted romance. It's easy enough to dismiss Jonze's tone as nothing but frivolity. The film's lightness is underscored by moments of deep feeling that speak for themselves though restrained direction and beautiful performances. Her is a gorgeous technical package (with van Hoytema's cinematography taking best in show honors) ,but it would be nothing without committed performances lending some real soul to its deceptive lightness. In Phoenix and Johansson, however, Jonze has found a perfect pair around which to build his singular vision of our rapidly deepening relationship with technology. 

So many films have tried tackling society's progression with heavy-handed seriousness. Her, on the other hand, sees fit to view the future with guarded optimism and a lovely sense of hope, despite the inevitable complexities that arise along the way. The journey into the future is uncertain, but for Spike Jonze, it's humanity's constant needs that are the real driving force behind society's developments. As it turns out, those are more impressive than any grandiose advancements in technology or special effects. 

Grade: B+/A-

Review: "Ain't Them Bodies Saints"

Director: David Lowery
Runtime: 105 minutes

While festivals like Cannes or Venice often feature the latest works from established names in world cinema, Sundance has always prided itself as being a platform for new voices to make themselves heard. The downside to this is that Cannes tends to be overly harsh, while Sundance is often too lenient, even with the good films. Yet 2013 has seen the festival premiere an uncommonly promising slate of first and second feature films. 

The latest to hit American theaters is David Lowery's Ain't Them Bodies Saints, which earned strong reviews and won Bradford Young a prize for cinematography. It's easy to see why the film played so well at Sundance. Lowery's sophomore feature film is an accomplished tale of love and crime that immediately brings up memories of Terrence Malick's Badlands. Unlike Badlands, however, Saints is unlikely to go down as a classic. Instead, it's a tantalizing taste of new talent, rather than a full-blown success on its own terms.

Lowery's writing and directing may take cues from early Malick (among others), but Saints is easily distinguishable as a more accessible film. Malick reaches for the heavens; Lowery stays firmly earthbound. Even as fugitive prisoner Bob Muldoon (Casey Affleck) repeatedly tries to build himself up as a mythic figure, he finds himself cut down to size in ways both friendly and violent. More grounded is Muldoon's girlfriend Ruth (Rooney Mara), who he hopes to reunite with. Separated after Muldoon took the fall for their headline-grabbing crime spree, the pair have gone in different directions in the years they've spent apart. Muldoon is still caught up in the romanticized vision of their romance. He sees himself as Odysseus, on an epic quest to right wrongs and return to his unwavering loved one (as well as a daughter he's never seen). Ruth, however, is now far too grounded to have her head in the clouds.

Even when she learns of Muldoon's escape from prison, she insists to local police officer Wheeler (Ben Foster) that there's no way Muldoon would try and see her again. Thanks to Mara's quiet, stoic turn, Ruth's story retains a touch of ambiguity as the film builds towards it grim finale. In a complete 180 from her icy turn in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Mara is wonderfully natural as a young woman thrust into adulthood far too soon. After firing off a round of a local boy's BB gun, she lets a tiny smile etch its way onto her face, an elegant reminder of the life she had when violence seemed to have no real consequences. Her scenes with Foster (an underrated actor who ought to have made it big by now) are made more compelling by the way they highlight the uncertainty running behind her demure appearance. 

If Ruth's half of the story is all hushed voices and internal anxiety, Muldoon's half is - on paper - the more exciting and forward-moving portion. Yet it's in the scenes built around Muldoon that Saints runs into some serious hurdles that it can't quite overcome. After a tight opening half hour that establishes Ruth and Muldoon's pre-arrest romance (and some aftermath), Saints struggles to move effectively between its two halves. Lowery's direction is more effective in the more open-ended moments that make up Ruth's story, rather than Muldoon's West Texas outdoor adventures. The pacing falters, and scenes that aim to build either suspense or an ambiguous sense of dread tend to fall flat. 

And where Ruth's story has some compelling relationships to keep it moving, Muldoon's feels limited. Affleck's performance, unfortunately, fails to elevate the material. As the outlaw tries to create his myths and maintain a sense of control, Affleck seems slightly uncomfortable. The role requires a boyish sense of enthusiasm and half-hearted swagger, yet Affleck seems a little too sleepy. There's no sense of adventure or danger to his take on the character. As such, he seems too similar to Foster's milquetoast police officer.

As Saints carries on, aided by Young's photography (using only natural light) and Daniel Hart's lovely music, Lowery's script starts to burn through the goodwill established in the opening passages. A trio of nameless antagonists feel too removed from the main plot, and their inclusion is little more than a contrivance to enliven the final act. More compelling are the established roadblocks to Muldoon's goal: the law, and former associate Skerritt (Keith Carradine, a welcome presence). By keeping the conflicts relegated strictly to established forces, the story could have built an intensity rooted in its characters, rather than letting plot mechanics get in the way. As a result, the climax is overcrowded and rushed, and in need of further refinement. Unfortunately, said refinement would have to go past the editing room, and all the way back to the page. 

Yet something surprising happens as the film enters its final minutes. After the chaos leading up to the climax, Lowery somehow finds that special balance from the opening section again. Just when I was ready to write the ending off, I found myself once again engaged with the material, and unable to look away. Somewhere along the line, enough of Ain't Them Bodies Saints got under my skin to the point where I was invested, and moved, by its closing. Some films fumble their beginnings or endings. For David Lowery, the issue seems to be with parts of the middle. It's hardly a unique problem, and one that I look forward to seeing the writer/director (hopefully) overcome with his subsequent features. Ain't Them Bodies Saints may not be the unqualified success it was initially hyped as, but it does introduce yet another promising young voice into the independent film world, one who knows how to start and end a quietly compelling tale. It's a teaser of a career who is now in a position to really soar, and maybe even reach the heights of those who influenced him. 

Grade: B

Review: "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo"

When it was announced that Tomas Alfredson's vampire tale Let the Right One In (2008) would receive an English language remake, cinephiles were left scratching their heads. Alfredson's Swedish film was an outstanding entry in the vampire genre, one filled with memorable sequences and images, and a climax that left many shuddering in their seats. So even though Matt Reeves' remake (titled Let Me In) was generally well-received, the question still remained: how is the remake justified other than as a means to get money out of those audience members with a fear of subtitles? At the end of the day, there really wasn't. Mr. Reeves' film is not a bad; it's actually nicely done. The only problem is that it feels redundant, as though Alfredson's excellent take was being pushed aside after not even being given proper recognition. The question remains, then, is there ever a time when an English-language remake or re-adaptation is actually worth more than a few extra dollars? In the case of David Fincher's The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, the answer is a resounding 'yes'.

The film, a re-adaptation of the first installment of Stieg Larrson's hugely successful crime trilogy, isn't based off of anything remarkable. Though the trilogy does paint an intriguing picture of a highly corrupt Sweden, it also suffered its share of flaws that kept it from rising above rather pedestrian levels. The one aspect the stories have always had going for them, the real draw, comes down to one character: bisexual punk-hacker Lisbeth Salander. Previously embodied by Noomi Rapace, the role is now brought to life by Rooney Mara, who made her mark last year in the opening scene of Fincher's The Social Network. The question, then, was whether she would be able to move from that bit part to a leading role, and she has. Her stoic, steely gazes never grow repetitive or lazy, even though there's not as much meaning behind them as the story (or the series' die hard fans) would like us to believe. Mara is prettier and more delicate in appearance than Rapace, but this only makes her more effective when she unleashes her rage. She is, like just about everything else in this version of the story, superior to the Swedish counterpart, even if the character remains little more than a very cool idea.

For, like Mara's performance, Dragon Tattoo's story and characters are not exactly filled with great depth. Remove Lisbeth from the equation, and you have the potential to end up with little more than CSI: Stockholm. Thankfully, with the script from Steven Zaillian and under David Fincher's direction, the story reaches what is likely its best iteration possible. After a very brief opening scene, the film plunges us into a three minute credits sequence set to Karen O and Trent Reznor's cover of "Immigrant Song," filled with constantly shifting, inky images. It's dark, grungy, and weird, and it gets the film off on the right foot, even if the film itself never quite reaches the same high. It's telling, then, that the film's best moment comes straight from Fincher's mind, and not the source material. That said, in returning to the serial killer/crime genre (previously: Se7en, Zodiac), Fincher's meticulous gifts have elevated Larrson's story and characters as much as he can, all while making the whole affair come across as infinitely more cinematic than any of the Swedish versions.

A good deal of this has to do with Fincher's outstanding team of collaborators. First and foremost is cinematographer Jeff Cronenweth, who lights and colors the scenes in a way that makes the slightly washed-out nature of the digital photography still feel rich, as opposed to drained. Scoring duo Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross (who picked up the Original Score Oscar for The Social Network) return as well. Originally stating that they would try a more traditional, orchestral score, it's clear that the pair changed their minds later. Their music, more than fitting for the style, is filled with strange and ominous electronic sounds that only make the film, even in its more mundane moments, feel absorbing. How well individual pieces will hold up on their own is questionable, but when it comes to working with the images, it's just about flawless work. There's also the editing duo of Kirk Baxter and Angus Wall, who picked up the Best Editing Oscar for The Social Network, who help piece the film together beautifully, accentuating Fincher's more fluid pacing. These three elements come together beautifully in a near-wordless stretch where Lisbeth and Mikael, in different locations, finally realize who the hidden villain of the mystery is. So even though a great deal of the plot is burdened with exposition, scenes like this help restore a sense of story telling order.

One of the story's biggest hurdles is that it keeps Mara's Lisbeth and Daniel Craig's Mikael Blomqvist apart for such a long time. Here, however, the pair's time apart, though still a little too long, feels more purposeful and elegantly composed. Zaillian's script also makes the smart decision to show Lisbeth doing some research on an enemy of Blomqvist's before they even meet. It ties in nicely to how the script has changed the ending, and prevents the resolution of that subplot from feeling like a really cheap form of deus ex machina. Additionally, Zaillian's script makes changes to the two leading characters, both of which work for the better. Lisbeth, while still cold and reserved, has the occasional flash of vulnerability, which adds a shade or two of characterization missing from the Swedish film, even though it's nothing remarkable. More impressive is how Zaillian has handled Blomqvist. In both the books and the Swedish films, the character has stood out as a painfully obvious author-insert (Larrson himself was something of a crusading journalist/womanizer). This version of Blomqvist, despite sleeping with two women over the course of the story, still feels more fitting for the story. In making Mikael less of a ladies man while casting the much more charismatic Daniel Craig (although just about anyone would have been better than Mikael Nyqvist) in the role, the character finally achieves the right balance. Other roles, filled out by Christopher Plummer, Stellan Skarsgaard, Geraldine James, and Joely Richardson, are all nicely handled, even when considering their relatively limited screen time.

The biggest problem, as stated before, is simply the source material. Zaillian's alteration to the ending allows for resolution and adds a different angle to Lisbeth and Mikael's relationship that can be explored for the sequels (Fincher will likely direct the second and third films back-to-back, at a still-undecided time). A pity, then, that he didn't have the courage to depart further from the source material still. Had Zaillian, under Fincher's guidance, taken the characters and overarching plot, but completely reworked the scene-by-scene story, we could have had a truly brilliant entry in the cinematic crime genre. What we're left with however, is still worthy of admiration. The cast is game, the direction beautiful, and the artistic and technical aspects flawless. And most importantly, the film, through its differences in narrative and in style, feels justified. I'm not going to deny that making an English-language version of the film was a cash grab. It absolutely was. Thankfully, this is one cash grab that, despite its limitations, rises above its origins to the point where it deserves to become the definitive version of this story through level after level of icy Scandinavian hell. In Fincher (and Mara, and Craig, etc...) We Trust.

Grade: B/B+

David Fincher's Dragon Tattoo (fixed)

I initially wanted to hold off on commenting on the leaked red-band trailer for David Fincher's re-adaptation of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, but since I can't seem to stop watching it, I might as well go ahead. First, for those who haven't seen, here's the camcorder-video, taken from somewhere in Europe (where the trailer is already showing in theaters). **The red-band trailer has since been removed from Youtube by Sony. Here is the (non HD) green-band trailer:

Now, with any US re-do of a major foreign film, there's sort of an unwritten rule among movie lovers. We're supposed to decry, or at least be highly skeptical of, Hollywood's shameless need to rip-off foreign work, all so that American audiences don't have to *gasp* read subtitles (!!!). However, this is one remake where I'm inclined to throw skepticism to the wind, and fully embrace the new version. Why? Because it's not entirely a remake. It's more of a re-adaptation, meaning that the film makers, including screenwriter Steven Zaillian, went back to Stieg Larsson's book, rather than the Swedish film. And according to an interview several months ago, Zaillian made the bold choice to alter the source material, which is refreshing in an age when so many literary adaptations try to be slavishly faithful to the text.

And with Larsson's books, that's a good thing. The Millennium Trilogy has certainly become a major literary phenomenon, but I've never been entirely sold on the hype (and so begins the umpteenth iteration of my rant on these books). Lisbeth Salander, originally played by Noomi Rapace, is the main draw in the trilogy. A bi-sexual punk/hacker with a dark (daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaark) past, she's a wonderful idea as far as characters go. That said, in Larsson's books, she comes across as a great idea of a character who isn't fully utilized. This is, in part, due to the fact that she competes for narrative importance with Stieg Larsson, er, I mean, Mikael Blomqvist, a crusading investigative journalist. I was never that drawn to Larsson's painfully obvious author insert (or, Gary-Stu), and his portrayal in the films by the unbearably bland Mikael Nyqvist certainly didn't help matters. As far as stories go, the trilogy has plenty of interesting moments, but was somewhat undone by Larsson's drawn out plots. The second novel, "The Girl Who Played with Fire," despite being my favorite, begins with an overlong introduction set in the Caribbean that has nothing to do with the rest of the intricate plot. This section was wisely cut for time on screen, one of the few things that was good about The Girl Who Played with Fire, which was something of a train wreck over all. To sum it up, Lisbeth Salander is a great idea who deserves to be the star of a better series of books...

..or maybe just better movies. This trailer may not have any dialogue, but it speaks volumes about why I'm so excited for Fincher's take on the story, and why I think it will blow the Swedish version out of the water. The images, many filled with Fincher's signature of blue and green tints, are intense and gritty, and Rooney Mara looks appropriately eerie/otherworldly as Lisbeth. We'll have to wait until December to debate whether she's better than Rapace, but she certainly seems capable of filling the role. More immediately impressive is Daniel Craig as Blomqvist. Not only does he seem less bland in the role, but he could potentially make Blomqvist a more interesting character. Zaillian's script reportedly makes Blomqvist less of a womanizer, which should help the character feel like less of a blatant stand-in for Larsson. Also along for the ride, behind-the-scenes, are Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, who wrote the excellent (and Oscar winning) score for Fincher's The Social Network. You can get a small taste of Reznor in the trailer; the cover of Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song" is performed by Karen O and Nine Inch Nails, and adds a great, grungy vibe to the gritty visuals and icy locales. Sony is clearly having fun with the film's tough-as-nails image, labeling it the "feel bad movie of Christmas," and that only makes me more excited. All hail King Fincher.

Year of the (girl with the) Dragon (tattoo)

Stieg Larrson's "Millennium Trilogy" became a mini-phenomenon in the US and a mega phenomenon everywhere else, on both page and screen. And even after the the last of the generally limp Swedish film adaptations was rolled out Stateside in November and you thought it was all over...NOPE. Likely-future-Oscar-winner David Fincher's American film version is currently filming and will hit theaters this December (it was originally set for late 2012). But of course, with a new adaptation comes a new Lisbeth, and that brings us to the good stuff.

The folks over at Joblo.com have two medium-size images from W Magazine featuring our new Lisbeth, Rooney Mara, and they're pretty impressive. As far as looks go, I think Noomi Rapace still has her beat, but as far as performance goes, well, we'll just have to wait and see, but this film is already sounding much better than the original. First was the news that Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross would be composing the score, following their phenomenal work on Fincher's The Social Network. And even better, according to this article (or something pulled from W...?) scribe Steven Zaillian has actually made...wait for it...changes:

The script, which captures the novel’s bleak tone (its original Swedish title was Men Who Hate Women), was written by Academy Award winner Steven Zaillian, who wrote Schindler’s List, and it departs rather dramatically from the book. Blomkvist is less promiscuous, Salander is more aggressive, and, most notably, the ending—the resolution of the drama—has been completely changed. This may be sacrilege to some, but Zaillian has improved on Larsson—the script’s ending is more interesting.

"You're damn right it's more interesting."

I know I'm beating a dead horse here, but I've never been completely sold on Larrson's stories. Lisbeth Salander always seemed like a concept or emblem rather than a fully realized idea, who really deserved to be the star of better novels handled by a better author. And by making such drastic changes, Lisbeth may finally have found a better creator in two forms: a screenwriter and a director.

One last note: I also loooove the change in character for Mikael Blomqvist. The role always felt like a transparent author-insert (or "Gary Stu") for Larrson, and as brought to life by He Who Shall No Longer Be Named, not terribly convincing or interesting. The decisions to make the character less of a womanizer AND to cast the much more talented Daniel Craig in the role should balance each other nicely. Hopefully the same will be true for Robin Wright as Blomqvist's co-worker Erika Berger, a role whose poor writing in the Swedish films often left acclaimed actress Lena Endre looking confused most of the time.

"The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest" - REVIEW

The single eye-catching, fabulous image in The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest, is that of punk hacker Lisbeth Salander (Noomi Rapace) walking down a dingy corridor in full uber-goth regalia: lots of spikes, clinking metal accessories, dark eye make-up, and a mohawk that looks like it belongs on top of a Roman helmet. This is the ultimate Lisbeth, the borderline fantasy look of Stieg Larsson's creation, and like the character in the novels, it's sorely out of place in material that is far beneath it.

So many cinematic adaptations of novels are beaten up by those who read the source material first. It's usually a case of fans feeling as though the story or characters have been gutted for some less-than-artistic-reason. Sadly that's not the case with the "Girl" films, because their source material was never that strong to begin with. Lisbeth Salander really deserves to be the star of a much better series, and yet unfortunately she's trapped in a so-so trilogy and equally so-so film trilogy. In fact, the only thing overly positive I can say about Hornet's Nest is that it's a step up from the god-awful previous installment, The Girl Who Played With Fire.

Picking up immediately from where Fire left off, Hornet's Nest begins with Lisbeth being flown to a hospital, bloody, dirt-covered, and with a bullet lodged in her brain. As she begins to make her painful recovery, Mikael Blomqvist (the blaaaaaaaand Mikael Nyqvist) begins work on a publishing a sprawling account of the injustices Lisbeth has endured, seeing as her trial will begin as soon as her medical recovery is complete. Meanwhile, the Evil folks at The Section, a select group of corrupt members of the Swedish government, try to figure out how best to deal with the hospitalized Salander.

The big problem with all of this boils down to two major points, both of which are taken directly from the novel. The first is that the central duo of Salander and Blomqvist spend even less time together than they did before. If my memory serves me correctly, the pair share barely two scenes together. For Salander's part this is bearable, but not so for Blomqvist. As embodied by Nyqvist, the character has become even less interesting than he was in the previous films. Having him bounce off of Salander is the only thing that made Larsson's lame author-insert remotely intriguing. But the bigger problem here, though, is that Lisbeth's role feels diminished in what should be her story. We spend much more time looking at the team of the Millennium Magazine in this installment, and even though it's necessary, it doesn't really help that much. Lisbeth is the character worth rooting for; she's the victim of horrific injustice, not Blomqvist or Erika (Lena Endre, looking slightly confused in most scenes).

Worse, the film seems to be consciously trying to fix some of the mistakes that director Daniel Alfredson and screenwriter Jonas Frykberg made in Fire, namely, the involvement of the police force characters. Officers Bublanski and Modig, who are given so much time in the books and at least have a decent number of lines (well...sort of) in the film, are close to non-entities in Hornet's Nest, which only illustrates what a mistake it was to try and give them even table scraps in the last installment. And speaking of table scraps, that's more or less what Rapace has to work with. The story requires her to simply be silent for a good portion, and then when opportunities for her to shine arise, they rarely come through. Granted, the silence is part of the character, but here it just feels frustrating. The only thing really satisfying about the performance are the 3 (maybe four) times that Salander smiles, and I'm using that term lightly; they're a perfect fit for the character, and are among the few, if not only, little details in the film that work.

And then, when the film finally goes through its lumpy, misshapen plot, complete with a tacked-on fight after the legal drama is over, it ends on a frustrating note. I won't spoil it, but let's just say that while it's not supposed to be a big moment, the timing and editing don't really allow the scene to sink in, making the strange cut to a wide shot of Stockholm (over which the credits roll) feel like an awkward question mark. It's a shame really that such a remarkable character is being given such a thoroughly unremarkable send-off. As I've said before, these films only make me welcome the American remake even more. The saying goes, "if it ain't broke, don't fix it," but as far as the source novels and their Swedish adaptations are concerned, there's plenty that's "broke."

Grade: C