(1995)
I've always seen this as Morgan Freeman's film, but I was even more conscious this time round of what a jerk Brad Pitt's character is. You wonder slightly if Wrath is the best sin to represent him, given that he has dragged his reluctant wife to a shitty city to appeal to his own vanity of what a great cop he is.
Of David Fincher's three serial killer movies, this is probably the most effectively realised (Zodiac is a more satisfying endeavour, but I don't think certain elements - such as Gyllenhaal's casting - are as well-judged, while Girl With the Dragon Tattoo is a director going through the motions with great technical accomplishment). It's a script that could have been made into forgettable B-grade schlock without the atmosphere and resonance that Fincher imbues in every scene. A lesser director would dwell graphically on the grotesquerie and excess of the murder scenes, but Fincher shoots them obliquely, telling us and showing us only enough to allow our imaginations to joint the macabre dots (most effective are the discovery of Sloth and the account given by Leland Orser of what he was forced to do to Lust).
The film is unremittingly rain-drenched until the sun-blasted climax, but appropriately the light provides no respite. Great support from a malevolent Kevin Spacey (one of those years where an actor seemed to be omni-present) and sympathetic Gwyneth Paltrow. And Howard Shore's oppressive score is perfect.
Of David Fincher's three serial killer movies, this is probably the most effectively realised (Zodiac is a more satisfying endeavour, but I don't think certain elements - such as Gyllenhaal's casting - are as well-judged, while Girl With the Dragon Tattoo is a director going through the motions with great technical accomplishment). It's a script that could have been made into forgettable B-grade schlock without the atmosphere and resonance that Fincher imbues in every scene. A lesser director would dwell graphically on the grotesquerie and excess of the murder scenes, but Fincher shoots them obliquely, telling us and showing us only enough to allow our imaginations to joint the macabre dots (most effective are the discovery of Sloth and the account given by Leland Orser of what he was forced to do to Lust).
The film is unremittingly rain-drenched until the sun-blasted climax, but appropriately the light provides no respite. Great support from a malevolent Kevin Spacey (one of those years where an actor seemed to be omni-present) and sympathetic Gwyneth Paltrow. And Howard Shore's oppressive score is perfect.
*****