2011 Films: #9 & #8

#9 The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

I can safely say that I wasn't one of the million billions who had the ubiquitous bright green paperback in tow at the coffeeshop, on the beach towel, in the chaise lounge, on the airplane. Here's what I went in knowing: Punk rock mohawked cyber hacking girl with a giant chip on her shoulder. Daniel Craig plays a rogue journalist. It takes place in Sweden. It's directed by David Fincher. All the credit in the world to Rooney Mara, but the aforementioned director, who I knew would have the balls to get super dark with it, was the main thing that put me in the seats. 


 To the nine other people besides me who haven't read the commercial juggernaut, the story is that Michael Blomkvist (Craig) is himself in the news for uncovering shady corporate goings-on. Though he resigns amid the scandal, his work impresses the wealthy and geriatric Henrik Vanger (Christopher Plummer), still haunted by the disappearance and possible murder of his niece some 40 years ago. Before he hires on Blomkvist to do his investijournaling, his family lawyer takes on the services of computer whiz/researcher/motorcycle rider/tattoo and piercing enthusiast/angry loner Lisbeth Salander (Mara) to tail Blomqvist and make sure his nose is clean. Henrik thinks someone in his family has murdered his niece, and under the ruse that he will be writing his memoirs, puts Blomkvist in a nearby cottage to conduct his interviews. He comes to realize he'll be needing a research assistant, so he goes to track down the raven-haired waif that somehow got open-book with his personal life. The unlikely duo is thus formed, and a strange, quiet connection begins to grow. She doesn't ever quite crack a smile, but her time with Blomkvist is about as upbeat as it gets for her.



She has good reason to be pissed, incidentally-her legal guardian (she's been orphaned since she set her pops on fire as a kid) has just died, along with her weekly stipends. Lisbeth is put under the watch of calculated and vile lawyer Nils Bjurman (Yorick van Wageningen-what is that, Swedish or something?), who blackmails her into sex acts for her weekly financial allowances. Fincher does not shy away from the brutality and depravity of their relationship, and though it gets hard to watch, Bjurman getting his comeuppance is a thing to behold. Mara plays that particular scene perfectly, displaying an eerie calmness as she delivers the disturbing coup de grace.



Meanwhile, Blomkvist has quickly found himself in over his head, getting shot at from afar and threatening visitors. He and Salander have uncovered something much bigger than they imagined, deadlier the deeper they get. Someone wants them to let bygones be bygones. Someone thinks that they were getting along just fine in their quaint, picturesque Swedish seaside town before they stuck their chiseled jaw lines and pierced noses into their business. Someone wants them to get dead in a hurry.



From the get-go, Fincher creates a mood and an atmosphere that is equal parts fluorescent lights and black leather as it is dreary skies and black peacoats. The opening credits, to a Karen O cover of "Immigrant Song", pulse with industrial drums and show faces flexing out of melted black rubber. The flashback scenes showing the day of Harriet's disappearance bring a vibrant, old-timey kodak color to a town that has been under a cloud ever since. There are some grimy moments, but don't look away if you can help it, because they are handled masterfully. And save a few little chunks of sluggish exposition, the two and 40 minute run time sounds a lot more daunting then it is. Fincher brings lots of flair and excitement to a murder mystery that, without the Salander character and the set in Sweden thing, is standard fare for the genre.

#8 Moneyball

 

Right before I left to teach in Tanzania for two months, I finished reading the Michael Lewis book that film is based upon. Even I as a self-proclaimed baseball nerd had absolutely no idea how they would pull this off as a movie. Enter the King Midas team of screenplays, Aaron Sorkin and Steven Zaillian. Sure, you owe plenty of this film's success to Brad Pitt and Jonah Hill and director Bennett Miller, but Sorkin, who turned a story about the Facebook lawsuit into provocative cinema, proved to once again be the man for the job.

I remember the Oakland A's of the early 2000s as constantly being a force to be reckoned with. They had incredibly good starting pitching, and their hitters, despite lacking a true superstar after Jason Giambi bolted for the New York Yankees, managed to wreak havoc. Their secret? A baseball mind named Peter Brand (Jonah Hill, whose character from the book is re-named), a student of stats guru Bill James and sabermetrics. Unlike typical baseball statistics, sabermetrics is focused on creating runs and creating wins, so it favors players who have a high on-base percentage (i.e., take walks) rather than people who hit a lot of home runs but strike out as a result.

Fascinating stuff, I know.

Oakland A's general manager and ex big-leaguer Billy Beane (Brad Pitt), who oozes overconfidence and bravado in every step and chew of his tobacco, recruits the unappreciated Brand after he helps the Cleveland Indians reject a trade with the A's. Mostly, he wants to know what Brand knows that everyone else doesn't. His Oakland squad finished strong the season before, but that was with slugger and MVP Jason Giambi in the lineup. With a payroll the size of a circus peanut, how are they going to replace his production? Scott Hatterberg, that's how. Hatterberg, played by Parks and Recreation's Chris Pratt, brings a little rube charm to the role, surprised to learn that he is even being coveted at all. To the dismay of Beane's scouts, the team roster begins to get stacked with cheap players that aren't flashy in the least, but get on base and manufacture runs, which in turn manufacture wins. Billy spars throughout with team manager Art Howe (Philip Seymour Hoffman), whose ego is as big as the gut tucked into his starched white uniform. Beane forces Hatterberg and the rest of the lovable losers on Howe, leading him to bench sluggers like Carlos Pena (who, to be fair still hits around .200 every season). It's not pretty at first. They lose some games, lack morale and watch the angry and passionate Beane throw things all over the locker room. Before long the experiment begins to work, and the Oakland A's rattle off 20 straight wins and rumble towards the playoffs.

More than anything, Moneyball is about winning at the least possible costs because you have no choicePitt settles into the Beane role extremely well. He's nervous energy, quick anger, potent charm, and, in moments of solitude, quiet vulnerability. While he tries his best to spoil his daughter, he lives with the scars left by his failed marriage (he still wears his wedding ring) and his failed career as a ballplayer. The underdog A's and their strange path into the history books are easy to root for. So are Pitt, Hill (more subtle than he has ever been), Seymour-Hoffman,Pratt and yes, math too.