by Scott Recker
By far, the most daunting task of reading the novel The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo is the first 150 pages— that is, unless you have a thirst for Swedish politics and economics. But, if you hold on, you're rewarded with an intense story intertwining corruption, a family's dark history, broken social systems, and, of course, this decade's favorite anti-heroine, Lisbeth Salander, an anti-conformist loner who refuses to let her shitty hand of cards keep her down or dependant — not to mention her being the best kept secret in the private security industry as an uncanny investigator with a photographic memory. In David Fincher's American film, you don't have to wait for the payout — the master of compressing intricate plot info into short scenes that often let a single shot say 2,000 words, gets right to the point.
Famous journalist Mikael Blomkvist is down on his luck: He loses a libel case, which drains his bank account. If that's not bad enough, the case shakes Millennium's (the magazine he publishes) future so badly, it doesn't look like they will be able to stay alive for more than a few months. That's when he gets an offer he can't refuse: Former dominant corporate CEO Henry Vanger hires him to write his memoir, but what he really want is for Blomkvist to investigate the most detestable people he knows — his family — regarding the murder of his niece 40 years prior. The old man has been obsessed with the case for decades, but never has come close to cracking it. When new clues are uncovered, Blomkvist demands a research assistant, which through a pretty hilarious series of events, where he finds out Salander investigated him for the Vanger job, he hires the girl with the dragon tattoo to help him out. And together they find out the truth. The dark, kind-of-happy, really messed-up truth.
Bottom line: David Fincher came through, compressing a complex plot with delicate issues into a fast-paced film with the same bite as the book. It's actually pretty amazing how he trimmed the fat without losing the story. And the visual experience is just as creepy as the read, with drawn-out, desperate situations complemented by Trent Reznor's ominous, but never overwhelming score. With the exception of the opening credits (a cover of Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song"), the former NIN frontman and digital metal genius keeps the story going (and you on the edge of your seat), without taking over the action and anticipation scenes — a place where so many movies go wrong. Strap in. It's a wild ride. And, while it's not perfect, I don't think any other director could have done it better.
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