Gone Girl

While pithy, the description of Gone Girl as the best Lifetime movie ever made is not without its merits. This to indulges in the worst, shrillest, most salacious moments of a narrative that frequently feels all too ridiculous. Moments of satire are painfully obvious, the black humor frequently falls limp in front of David Fincher’s meticulous, cold, but unbelievably glossy direction.

On paper, this reads as an unequivocal success, but something got lost along the way. Perhaps it’s that third act which takes a hard turn into territory that if played better by Ben Affleck would have sold it, but his performance never quite sells the sense that these two awful characters deserve the hell hole of their own making. It’s not that he’s too likable for the role, it’s just that he doesn’t seem comfortable delving into the darker, hateful aspects of the character required to really make it work.

In stark contrast, Rosamund Pike is the only thing worth seeing in this movie. The movie might be handsomely made trash, but Pike’s poisonous leading lady is an immaculately crafted piece of work. Completely unafraid of the ugliness at the heart of her character, Pike reveals levels of commitment and dramatic depths that are frightening to behold. Her ice queen is a deceiving, cunning, but not nearly as smart as she thinks she is sociopath of the highest order. Pike single-handedly saves Gone Girl from being pure tedium to get through.

Although, to be fair, the first two-thirds of Gone Girl aren’t without their merits, but a sudden act of violence shatters the narrative and it never properly recovers. Once this act occurs, the story takes a hard turn into wildly unbelievable and poorly thought-out scenes which stretch out for far too long. The film’s climax seems to never end, and the final ending it gives us is wildly unsatisfying. Somewhere along the way, Gone Girl lost the plot.

Gone Girl’s supporting players are the only other highlight. Neil Patrick Harris and Tyler Perry (yes, THAT Tyler Perry) turn in the best work. Harris is carving out a nice little niche for himself as disturbed, obsessive characters between this and his minor role in American Horror Story: Freak Show. Perry is a major surprise, he really goes for it with his character’s questionable ethics and behavior as Affleck’s defense attorney. Carrie Coon and Kim Dickens are the only other supporting players who make an impression, as Affleck’s twin sister and the major police officer investigating the case. Sela Ward is offered a minor role as a major player in the TV news business, I wanted to see more of her.

But not every supporting player is playing in the same key, and tone is never the strongest point in Gone Girl. Missi Pyle’s Nancy Grace-like character feels too broadly drawn, more like something you would see on SNL. A strange complaint to make about a character clearly inspired by Nancy Grace, but every time she’s onscreen the entirety of her performance feels too smirking, too winking at the audience to ask if they get the joke. We get it. A similar thing happens with Casey Wilson’s eternally pregnant nosey neighbor, Patrick Fugit’s dimwitted police officer, Lola Kirke and Boyd Holbrook as pair of country bumpkins. However committed to the material these various players may be, and Fugit, Kirke and Holbrook are fine, the film doesn’t know what tone to strike with these various voices. This leaves their work in some grey zone, the actors are fine, but the scenes are clearly meant to be satirical, yet they don’t land on their feet.

Perhaps Fincher was just the wrong hand to guide this material. His films are dark, engrossing, moody, but they aren’t exactly known for humor. And he falters in the face of the more satirical elements of the tale. Gone Girl is all scorched earth, but Fincher is a wintery flame, and the two different tones and styles end up snuffing each other out.