Reviewing David Fincher’s “Gone Girl” is like walking on eggshells -- eggshells filled with explosive spoilers set to blow at the slightest crack. So I’m going to have to choose my steps wisely here, lest those shells break open and those spoilers spill out with catastrophic, movie-ruining consequences. Of course, as any film critic should know, discussion of spoilers should be strictly avoided when reviewing any movie, but the sheer mystery-shrouded, whodunit, don’t-fucking-spoil-it-for-me-or-I’ll-kick-the-shit-out-of-you nature of “Gone Girl” means that one cannot review it in full without risking revealing the juicier details of the plot (and indeed getting the shit kicked out of oneself). Rest assured, I will tread with the utmost of care and reveal as little as possible -- that is, if I haven’t revealed too much already.
The first thing that should be said is that the film is, frankly, terrific -- I’d happily place it among Fincher’s best films, and considering his best films are the brilliant masterpieces “Se7en,” “The Social Network,” “Zodiac” and “Fight Club,” that’s no mean feat. The second thing that should be said is that fans of Gillian Flynn’s original book, among whom I count myself, will be pleased to hear the film sticks close to its source material -- it’s a thorough, faithful adaptation, with only a few minimal changes here and there; though considering it was Flynn who wrote the screenplay, that’s hardly a shock. The third thing that should be said is that Rosamund Pike is sensational: I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she gets an Oscar nomination for this come February, or maybe even a win. And the fourth thing that should be said is that Tyler Perry is actually, genuinely, properly good in this movie. You read that right: Tyler “Madea” Perry gives a good performance here, and he does it without wearing a wig or a flower-patterned granny frock.
The central mystery concerns whether or not Missouri bar owner Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck, on very fine form) killed his beautiful wife, Amy (Pike). On the day of their fifth wedding anniversary, Nick comes home to find smashed glass on the living room floor, an ottoman flipped onto its side, and his wife missing. Concerned (but weirdly laid-back about the whole thing), Nick calls the police, who upon close inspection discover that a pool of blood has been mopped up from the kitchen floor. Coming under the watchful, ever-judging scrutiny of the public eye in the midst of a media frenzy, and with investigators poking more holes in his story the longer Amy is missing, Nick becomes the prime suspect of the investigation -- all the while he stubbornly insists that he had nothing to do with his wife’s disappearance.
As in the book, the film jumps back and forth (albeit not as frequently) between Nick’s perspective and Amy’s diary, which, read aloud by Pike, charts her and Nick’s relationship from their flirty first meeting right up to her disappearance. Both are classic unreliable narrators, often contradicting each other: Nick tells investigators he never once struck his wife; Amy’s diary says he threw her into the staircase banister during an argument about them having a baby. Knowing who or what to trust proves difficult, especially with the certain roles certain characters are playing -- though, as per my no-spoiler promise, I will say no more. On a related note, however, I will say that Flynn’s meaty script, like her book, is full of all sorts of sharp, insightful and witty observations on romance and relationships, and the various roles that one must play in order to keep a “happy” marriage. As a depiction of a modern relationship, it’s scathingly cynical, and in typical Fincher style, delightfully fucked up.
Affleck and Pike just sizzle together, be they sharing their first, sugar-coated kiss or screaming bloody murder into each other’s faces -- sweetly charming yet believably screwed up (with one a teensy bit more screwed up than the other), they’re a great screen couple whose relationship we watch crumble to bits. And Fincher has surrounded them with a great supporting cast: Kim Dickens is steely cool as Detective Rhonda Boney, the sharp-minded chief investigator of the case. Carrie Coon has a lovable snark as Nick’s close, ever-supportive twin sister Margo. Tyler Perry boasts a smooth charisma as Nick’s attorney, a suave Johnnie Cochran type whose main method of prepping his clients for TV interviews is flinging jelly babies at them. And Neil Patrick Harris is slitheringly creepy as Amy’s ex-boyfriend and former stalker, a stinkingly rich weirdo who may or may not be a red herring (*poker face*).
As always, Fincher’s slick and moody direction is absorbing throughout: despite the whopping 149-minute length, the film never drags. And soundtrack duo Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, returning from Fincher’s “The Social Network” and “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo,” deliver another haunting joy of a score which lingers ominously in the background of almost every scene. The film has a dark energy to it, which works well with its warped sense of humour and especially well when, towards the end, it goes down a spectacularly twisted path. No spoilers, once again, but it must be said, Fincher and Flynn pull no punches with the violent nastiness and disturbing themes -- on three separate occasions, the audience with whom I saw the film audibly gasped in horror (while I giggled internally at the viciousness of it all).
I think I’ll end the review here, before I give the game away. All I’ll say in closing is that the film really is must-see: it's a fabulously enjoyable, brilliantly crafted mystery thriller bursting at the seams with all sorts of dark, delicious secrets. And to think, I almost let slip that it was the butler who did it.
Rating: 9/10
