Review of Girl With the Dragon Tattoo From Person Who's Never Read the Books Or Seen the Swedish Movies. (Bonus: A Review of The Artist)

(Disclaimer to the Film-Nerds Who Might Read This: If you've read any of my music album reviews, you should know this is not a serious, critical movie review. It's a personal play-by-play of my reaction and experience of the movie. I'm not expecting or trying to write anything earth-shattering here. I'm also not going to give away any plot, so don't worry about that.)

I know many people who've read the books and seen the Swedish movies and lots and lots of people I don't know who have as well. The reviews I heard of the books were mixed: enthralling thrillers, but often confusing or convoluted. Many people thought a U.S. remake of the 2009 Swedish movie was 'too soon!' and 'unnecessary!'

Personally, I planned to read the books eventually, but they sounded disturbing and I tend to prefer fantasy or memoirs. So when I realized I had an extremely strong desire to see the U.S. movie despite my usual rule about engaging pop culture phenomena chronologically (this would mean reading the books, then seeing the Swedish movies, THEN seeing the 2011 version of GWTDT), I pinned it on 3 irresistible pulls: 1) David Fincher (director), 2) a movie full of Daniel Craig sporting woolen knit sweaters (always preferable to a tux in my opinion), and 3) every picture I saw or interview I heard about of Rooney Mara as Lisbeth Salander intrigued me like no other. What little I surmised of her character seemed to lie somewhere between Noel Fielding/Tim Burton (strange and puzzling but about as dangerous as a sleeping kitten) and Marilyn Manson/Lars von Trier (I'm afraid and the less I know the safer I'll feel.)

So I went and saw it on Friday night at a late 10:35pm showing by myself. And I LOVED it. Yes, there were a few super disturbing scenes, one in particular that (once I own the movie) will always be fast-forwarded through, much like Mufasa's death in The Lion King (only 10 times worse), but I was completely sucked into the story and the lives of the characters, and left the theater with adrenaline and awe rushing through me.

I've only ever seen Rooney Mara in her short part in The Social Network, and while she was fine in that, I didn't think she had the chops to really handle this character--which was quite arrogant of me considering I knew nothing about her! But oh. my. word. I couldn't keep my eyes off her. She stole every single scene she was in, and I believe because of her performance the film felt like it was it was only 40 minutes long. Shocking, considering it's 2 hours and 38 minutes long. I could tell some other people in the nearly empty theater were groaning about the length, but I was disappointed when the credits rolled! I wanted more.

I raced straight home and had a strong urge to go to the gym--I had loads of physical and mental energy to burn. But it was 1:30am, so I decided to clean my entire bedroom. My mind raced thinking about why I had connected so strongly to Lisbeth, found her so compelling and awesome, and somehow...dear to me. I wanted to know more about her life, see her interact with more people, etc. (Plus, I had a lot more questions about the plot, but knowing me, that might be chocked up to not catching all the pertinent information in the movie.)

I really, really, really wanted to see it again (which worried me a bit, considering how dark and disturbing it is). But with Oscar season coming up I decided I see one of the Best Picture nominations. So the next day I saw The Artist, which should have been right up my alley: old movies! Sweet love story! Charming, cutesy, clever! But guys, I could barely stand it. It was only 1 hour and 40 minutes, and I wished it had been 30 minutes. Scenes and gags and character realizations seemed to take YEARS. I felt like my life was slowly being sucked away by mime and tacky farce (and this from a person who loves and OWNS Mel Brooks' Silent Movie). Yes, the lead actors had appeal. But it wore thin about 20 minutes in and then stretched on in agonizing eternity. I was bored and grumpy and sleepy (the moods, not the dwarves) by the end.

Was my disgust with The Artist a direct result of being sucked into the fierce, dark, twisted, instinctual, gripping world of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo? Maybe. I just had such a visceral, physical, and residual imprint from the film that it has affected my mood, the music I listen to, and my aesthetic since seeing it Friday. Tonight at the gym I ran on the treadmill for the first time in EVER. I don't think I've ran for any reason since 2009 unless for the sake of food or punctuality. I ran for about 20 minutes straight with only "Immigrant Song" repeating on my iPod.

So, to sum up, I'm not sure I can recommend this movie to every one. You might see it and hate it or think the Swedish version's better (I still don't know if it is!) or think I'm crazy for liking a movie with such harrowing content. But I can't wait to see it again.

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