Lizbeth the Great

2012_1_03 Lisbeth the Great

On Dec. 31, a few hours before midnight I closed out my notebook on movies seen in 2011. For some reason it was way below my average for the last few years, which was 250 films. This year it was 216 films and/or episodes from cable serials. Almost all the cable material came from recorded programs by Mike Keenan. The first film I saw in 2011 was “I am a Born Liar,” a doc about Fellini. The last was another doc, “Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work.” Both were attained through Netflix.

On Jan. 1 I recorded these notes:

• J.C. Martin selected eight books of Southern Arizona authors for his section in the Sunday paper. I was not one of them. It instantly threw me into a fit of failure, a state of mind I thought I was beyond. Apparently not, which is exasperating. For one thing my disappointment could be premature.
• Fincher’s long-awaited version of “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo” made less money than expected over its first weekend of release--$28 mil. The most likely reason for that was the type of movie it is: not exactly Christmas fare. It was released now for one reason: to be a contender in the race for the Oscars.
• Mark Harris wrote a great piece in the latest EW on the film. It was perhaps the best feature article I have ever read in the rag. He reminded me that Stieg Larsson’s original title for the trilogy was Men Who Hated Women. It was
• Less colorful than what the publisher thought would work better but it had the advantage of being painfully accurate.
• Harris selected eight kick-ass females from previous films that contributed to the Identity of Lisbeth Salander. I recognized five of them.
• Rooney Mara has that unusual first name from a relative, none other than Art Rooney, a previous owner of the Pittsburgh Steelers.

From Jan. 2:

Kai and I went to see the 10 AM showing of “Dragon Tattoo” at Foothills mall. I had read that the opening two minutes, while the credits run, was as abstract and powerful as the credits of “Seven.” It was a real blast of imagery combined with loud grunge music. It was quite a display but how it related remains problematic. It was a flashy capsulation of his blue-black style.

Lisbeth would certainly qualify as a Grunge/Goth character; she always dressed in black, down to her underwear, daring the world to criticize her, wallowing in her asocial weirdness. Rooney has a more womanly body than Noomi had, who was slight and flat chested. One could believe Michel would find her sexy under that Goth exterior. The picture of her in her ordinary persona revealed a sun-kissed bloom of a pretty girl. As Lisbeth it appears she did everything she could to avoid the sun. She came from an underground world, like Kate Beckinsale in her vampire role. Only her underworld is that of computer hackers. That pale, ghoulish look is designed to show her disdain for convention and social niceties, to put normal people off, to keep them at arm’s length. She wants to be seen as a demonic apparition. Yet, the Swedish girl’s image still dominates in my mind’s eye. In time both images will probably merge into one.

What really separates the two films is the cinematic and directorial artistry of David Fincher and a superb cast. It is a much darker film, more full of dread—even the winter scenes seem filmed in hell. If it wasn’t raining or snowing, it was nighttime. Fincher excels at that dark atmosphere.

Christopher Plummer was a real plus, especially in describing his reprobate family, which was actually worse than he thought. I’d like to see get a nomination for best Supporting actor.