In many ways, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is a straightforward mystery-thriller. The basics of the plot are simple: a girl disappeared forty years ago on an island, and since the bridge leading to and from the island was blocked, it was impossible for her to have run away, so the family assumes she was killed and the body disposed of; everyone who was present that day is a suspect; an investigator, Mikael Blomkvist, is brought in to untangle the mystery; and through some twists and turns, he does just that. So the structure of the story is by no means original—it essentially could be an Agatha Christie or Arthur Conan Doyle story—and it even dips into the melodramatic quite regularly. If it weren’t enough that there is a murderer in the family, it turns out that there is actually a serial killer on the loose. And not only that, there are Nazis, too. By the time the villain is revealed, the story has many elements of the ridiculous about it, and as the final showdown between killer and investigator plays out, this could easily be no more than a commonplace thriller whose only purpose is to entertain for a couple hours and then be quietly forgotten. Yet it manages to be more than that.
I have not read the Stieg Larsson novels on which this movie and its inevitable sequels are based, but I know they were huge international bestsellers, and like many huge international bestsellers, I’ve heard from those who have read them that these books are not very well written. One friend told me that the core plot was interesting, but the novel reads like a rough draft in serious need of revision. So the question arises: why are these books so popular? Of course, there is the argument to be made that the average reader is not particularly interested in literary merit, which I think is true. But why would so many Americans be drawn to these Swedish mysteries when there are so many James Pattersons and John Grishams to choose from? Surely, there must be something original going on. And, indeed, there is. The primary element that lifts this story above the crowd is the title character, Lisbeth Salander.
She presents a harsh exterior to the world: dyed black hair, cropped so she can wear a Mohawk if she chooses; multiple body piercings; black leather goth/punk clothing; and, of course, tattoos. When faced with situations that would crush the spirits of many people, she fights back, allowing her intense anger to pour forth. Her past is never fully revealed, but there are hints: though in her twenties, she is a ward of the state, required to report regularly to an appointed guardian or be institutionalized. She is brought into the murder investigation because she is a brilliant computer hacker. Like much of the rest of the story, Lisbeth could devolve into melodrama and be little more than a sum of sensational characteristics, but she does not. Part of what keeps her fascinating is the mystery of who she is and how she became the woman she has become. Despite her outer strength, there remains a vulnerable core. Yes, she is covered in tattoos, metal studs, and leather; but beneath those decorations is a tiny, vulnerable woman. Yes, she cleverly seeks revenge against those who wrong her, but behind her anger is a lonely girl.
Lisbeth Salander is a fascinating character, and director David Fincher and screenwriter Steven Zaillian for the most part handle her well, choosing not to reveal too much. Rooney Mara plays the character superbly, showing hints of what’s going on beneath the surface, but holding back more than she reveals. A few key moments truly stand out. Lisbeth’s strength is demonstrated when she fights off a thief on a subway escalator. Her vulnerability is shown during a brutal rape scene. Her intelligence comes through as she pieces together clues to unravel a forty-year old mystery. Her sexuality emerges several times in both overt and subtle ways. And her deep desire to both connect with humanity and protect herself from the pain of human connections emerges slowly and touchingly. She is as complex a character as any in recent movies. I’m sure Lisbeth Salander is why Larsson’s novels are so popular.
Beyond the primary appeal of Lisbeth Salander, the film has one other aspect that makes it stand out beyond a simple melodramatic mystery story. A common thread runs through the story of the vanished girl, the family on the island, the subplot about corrupt businessmen, and how Lisbeth became the young woman she now is: the idea that the past affects the present. We are haunted by our pasts. Those spirits may be something as outrageous as Nazi ties in the family or as commonplace as childhood abuse, but those past events matter. This is a large and interesting theme. I am reminded of another work of Scandinavian literature: Henrik Ibsen’s Ghosts. Again, from what I’ve heard about the books, I think it’s safe to say that Larsson is no Ibsen, but the theme is certainly worth exploring, and it adds resonance to what could be a simplistic thriller.
The movie has some flaws, certainly. The plot is more or less beside the point, though it’s interesting enough that it maintained my attention. After the primary mystery is solved, the movie continues for too long, essentially a full additional act beyond the standard three-act plot structure. One element that stood out to me as distracting was the difficulty of handling language. The story is set in Sweden, but for this Hollywood production, the actors all speak English. Many newspaper headlines and shop signs appear in Swedish, but the characters do Google searches in English, and even a tattoo is written in English when logically it would be in Swedish. Whether to use accents or not must be a challenging decision for this type of movie. I generally think the best approach is what they did in Amadeus: though the story takes place in Austria and the characters would logically speak German, the actors, British and American, all adopt a similar standard, somewhat formal, American accent. That would have worked here. Instead, we have most of the cast putting on Swedish accents, including Americans Rooney Mara and Robin Wright, and Swede Stellan Skarsgård, but Brit Daniel Craig sounds pretty much the same as when he plays James Bond. This lack of consistency was distracting. Though I don’t think they should have changed the setting, I think the language hurdle could have been handled more gracefully. But despite these weaknesses, the film is well made and engaging.
One final point is worth addressing: this story has already been adapted to film. There is a Swedish version from a couple years ago. After seeing the American movie, I decided to go back to the previous adaptation to compare. In most ways, the two are the same since the basic details of plot are the same. There are some differences, of course, but many of those differences are inconsequential. On a whole, I’d say the American version is more skillfully made as far as the quality of filmmaking, the cinematography, editing, and so forth. Also, nearly everyone in the American film is very attractive, while few of those in the Swedish film are. A middle-aged, wrinkly magazine publisher who looks like she may have cut her own hair is recast as the beautiful Robin Wright with no locks out of place. Even Lisbeth’s hacker associate, who is fat, hairy and looks like he rarely is away from his computer long enough to shower is far more attractive in the American film. The Swedish version of Mikael Blomkvist looks like a typical middle-aged man, including sagging, acne-scarred skin, which leads to a feeling that he may be in over his head and could wind up being killed by the murderer he’s trying to catch. In the American version, Mikael is played by Daniel Craig, James Bond himself, so when he is supposedly in danger, it doesn’t feel real because we know that James Bond always escapes from the villain in the final moments.
The most significant difference has to be in the portrayal of Lisbeth. While Noomi Rapace is certainly a beautiful woman, she is flat chested and does not have the toned muscles of a Hollywood starlet. She is much more androgynous than Rooney Mara, who presents a more overtly sexual version of Lisbeth. Overall, the American Lisbeth is more extreme, less subtle, than the Swedish version. When she is hassled in the subway, she fights back like an action star. When she is raped, the extreme nature of the violation is graphically portrayed. But the American film pulls back at a key moment. Toward the end of the story, in the Swedish version, Lisbeth is faced with a life and death decision. In the American version, the decision is out of Lisbeth’s hands. Denying Lisbeth the chance to make a clear choice feels like a copout on the part of the American filmmakers. They have worked hard to portray the complexity of the character, to hint at the past that she struggles to deal with, to show both a vulnerable and a strong human; then when a moment of action would clearly tell us who she is deep down, they remove the ability to act from Lisbeth’s control. One could debate what choice she would have made, but the Swedish version actually forces Lisbeth to choose. Though in many ways I prefer Mara’s take on the character, I think the Rapace version has a slight edge in the way it more honestly handles the key moment toward the end.
Ultimately, both films are worth seeing as they take what is a hackneyed basic plot and elevate it to something more interesting and less forgettable.
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