Written by Dario Llinares.
Throughout cinema history too, however, it has always been a staple part of the Hollywood modus operandi to draw upon (copy, steal, homage, parody, pastiche?) ‘original’ works from every corner of the filmmaking world. Similarly, adaptations of best-selling novels regularly provide a root for filmmakers. Of course, some of the best-known and best-loved American films are examples of this cultural appropriation. Equally obviously, there is also an abundance of inferior, even rather pointless Hollywood makeovers, which do not live up to the source material and add nothing new to the cinematic landscape. Criticism from the cynical (of which I am often a member) regularly suggests that remakes are simply evidence of Hollywood’s fundamentally commercial imperative. The removal of subtitles, the injection of higher production values, and the appearance of recognisable stars around a previously successful narrative and thematic formula, enact a process that might be described rather glibly as Hollywood-isation. When assessing films in general one can’t ignore the intertextual reference points through which one comes to a specific text. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is particularly interesting in this regard, however, because it is both a remake and an adaptation and is thus subject to a complex intertextual network of understanding.
Fincher’s adaptation can be deemed superior to its Swedish language counterpart on several levels, most obviously in terms of aesthetic flair. The acute visual storytelling is indicative of a director with a honed cinematic sensibility. The cinematography is highly attuned to both the overarching darkness and mystery of the narrative but also the emotional moods of specific characters and situations. In Oplev’s version the tone is much more austere and realist, perhaps betraying its televisual origins, but nonetheless eliciting a bleak atmosphere. Fincher’s obvious intention to amplify the visual impact is typified by the literally and figuratively ‘slick’ opening sequence. This orgy of CGI viscosity is undoubtedly impressive, and should work well to symbolise the murky social and psychological world, however it seemed strangely out of step with the rest of the film - an object lesson in style over substance, I felt. There is also a much more elaborate use of flashbacks to depict disappearance of Harriet Vanger. Again, this is partly a sign of the higher production values, and also perhaps an attempt to add depth and clarity to the exposition. Yet the remake never solves the structural or narrative problems of the original film. A rather unevenly paced edit doesn’t help the procedural aspect of the story, suggesting that perhaps the source novel does not really lend itself to straightforward adaptation.
For me however, the plot was never the interesting part of the original Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. What made that film worthwhile was the representation of the character Lisbeth Salander as an uncompromisingly extreme anti-heroine who challenges many of the norms of mainstream cinema, particularly in terms of gender and violence. It is in this aspect where I felt the compromises of Hollywoodisation are most acutely felt in the remake. It is perhaps obvious to suggest that a translation of form from book to film will have the most severe implications in terms of character definition. Film, as a visual medium, sets a much more rigid framework as to how any viewer can ‘see’ a protagonist. Whatever the specifics of Stieg Larsson’s intention when writing Lisbeth Salander, the realisation of her on screen has a potent defining effect. The goth/punk style infused with a muscularly androgynous body projects a striking visual presence. Not only does this image not conform to a cinematic stereotype of feminine beauty and strength, but there is an edge to the character that is deliberately confrontational. Her overt alienation, expressed through her cold yet direct interaction with others, coupled with her expertise in the shadowy world of computer hacking and surveillance, bespeak a highly skilled and active autonomy, antithetical to the passivity of too many mainstream female roles. This is augmented by the narrative’s handling of her (bi)sexuality, which also sees her strongly in control. All these elements construct an identity at odds with a patriarchal society.
The difference in characterisation is not solely indicative of the look and approach of the actors, but is a product of a contrasting directorial tone. This is arguably most evident in the scenes of sexual violence. These scenes are equally graphic in both films as the audience forced to witness the brutality of rape but also confront the revenge that Salander takes on her ‘guardian’. Indeed it is revenge, rape and blackmail that contextualise Salander’s identity and allow the viewer to understand her traumatised antagonism to a society in which ‘normal’ is a matter of perspective. In the Swedish film there is a cold, calculating matter-of-factness to the depiction. Fincher, however, opts for a baroque stylisation achieved through strident colouring, forceful camera movement and framing, and a particularly stark close-up of Mara’s ghoulish face that deliberately (and unsettlingly) puts the audience in the point of view of the rapist. But rather than adding to the shock, this explicit aestheticisation, for me, filtered out the raw vituperative emotion that the original film possessed in its equivalent scene.
Watching Fincher’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo was thus an unsatisfying experience. However I absolutely concede that my prior viewing of the Oplev film shaped this reaction. In that sense, I am actually not suggesting that the original is ‘better’ than the remake here. There are many aspects of the American production that are superior, particularly in terms of its visual style. Indeed, colleagues of mine who have read the English translations of the book suggest that the characterisation in the American film is closer to Stieg Larsson’s novel. But this further proves the assertion that the line between what is original and what is derivative is a diffuse one, and is largely dependent on our own position within the intertextual landscape. This Alternate Take was published on January 28, 2012. Post your views Article comments powered by Disqus |
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