7. “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” (2011)
If anyone worried that Fincher was somehow mellowing after “The Social Network” (though it would have to have been someone who hadn’t seen that film, which is as excoriating as any of his work, just in a different register), his decision to take on Stieg Larsson’s massive bestseller must have come as welcome news. Serial murders, incest, depravity, a taunting killer, a disaffected, socially marginalized hero —now that’s Fincher, right? And yet the film, perhaps more than any since “The Game,” felt like a retreat back into his comfort zone of slick, emotionally distant, default-blackness unleavened by the self-aware humor of a “Fight Club,” the heart of a “Se7en” or the talky erudition of “The Social Network.” And yet his technical aptitude, the sheer, breathtaking craft with which he can tell a story, seems to increase film to film and makes his ‘Dragon Tattoo’ a curious creature: it is moment-to-moment gripping, exhilarating even, but does not sustain at all and retains very little of the grimy resonance that made Lisbeth Salander such a compelling literary heroine. Rooney Mara, who was cast for the role after a hunt perhaps rivaled only by that for Scarlett O’Hara, is impressively committed and totally physical as the twitchy hacker genius, but Daniel Craig is a blank slate as Mikael Blomkvist, and Fincher again falls at the third act hurdle, tacking on an involved heist coda that is a lot of fun but feels totally disconnected from the main story. But then disconnect is perhaps the order of the day for ‘Dragon Tattoo’ a film so much easier to admire from afar than it is to immerse yourself in. Of the many mysteries (and red herrings and macguffins) the film contains, none is more perplexing than the fact that a movie so fucking brilliant as to use Enya’s “Orinoco Flow” to soundtrack a scene of grisly torture can fail to register as one of our favorites of all time.
6. “Gone Girl” (2014)
If the conventional wisdom suggests that Fincher occasionally takes on material that is a bit beneath his capabilities, “Gone Girl” does little to dispel this notion. Yet it’s clear that the mystery/ suspense elements of potboiler films aren’t really his bag either (he reportedly said that the serial killer elements of ‘TGWTDT’ didn’t interest him, instead it was the unique dynamic between the two protagonists). “Gone Girl” centers on the relationship between married couple Amy (a showstopping Rosamund Pike) and Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck), her unexplained disappearance and the many twists and turns we can’t spoil here. Suffice it to say many are just a little too over the top to allow our disbelief to remain suspended. The plot of the novel is along the lines of ’90s thriller fare like “Fatal Attraction” and if you’re at all alert to failings of narrative credibility, these endless surprises will more than test your resolve. But Fincher being Fincher, he isn’t just rendering a trashy airport novel; he suffuses it with rich texture about marriage, media, perception vs. reality and much, much more. With so much on its mind outside the silly overwrought plot turns, “Gone Girl” packs in enough layers for three different movies —some of which are simply more compelling than others. As it slithers along in sinister fashion, defying the three-act structure as it uncoils, the movie sheds its skin and in its second half almost becomes a whole new animal: arch, devious and deliciously dark. Fincher adds a “Rashomon” aspect to the conflicting stories of his two untrustworthy, unreliable and deliberately unlikable leads, taking aim at the vampirism of the media and wading waist-deep into toxic sludge of resentful marriages. And here he really lets loose, ripping at the facades of our “best selves,” uncovering the bitterness that can fester between partners, and the kicker, suggesting the lies and hypocrisy that we just learn to live with. Thematically, “Gone Girl” is an intellectual seven-course meal, but you must choke down the disdain you might feel for a silly plot that takes up a good chunk of the picture (the really good stuff doesn’t arrive until the 2/3 mark). It’s frustrating as a result, and making you wish Fincher could take these insightful ideas and this clever, cold approach and apply them to a genuinely great story. Plus it overstays its welcome with an needlessly long denouement (again, the director’s third act completion problem rearing its head). But even though its plot foundations are shaky (a legacy from a pretty daft book), there’s no doubt that David Fincher can be a brilliant architect of even mediocre material, and there’s no denying that his “Gone Girl” has the sort of penetrating, acerbic bite we just don’t often see in populist entertainment.
5. “The Social Network” (2010)
The defining film of a generation? Maybe the hyperbole was a little intense around Oscar time, but there is much to love about Fincher’s tale about the founding of Facebook. Largely ditching the camera trickery of his previous efforts, “The Social Network” finds Fincher’s focus squarely on Aaron Sorkin’s rapid-fire, dialogue-heavy script, and he delivers a thrilling, dynamic narrative whipping through two hours of talkiness that somehow feels more like 90 minutes of pure drama. This ensemble of young actors is terrific, with Jesse Eisenberg delivering a career-best performance and Armie Hammer stealing every scene he’s in as the privileged Winkelvoss twins. But even though the story is complex and riveting, the characters aren’t always as rich. With key relationships underdeveloped —between Mark Zuckerberg (Eisenberg) his best friend Eduardo Saverin (Andrew Garfield) and his ex-girlfriend Erica Albright (Rooney Mara)— the film lacks the emotional resonance it strives for in the latter half of the film. And structurally, it’s more or less the best episode of “Law & Order” you’ll ever see in your life. But, lucky for us, the film was immaculately guided by Fincher, and he delivers it almost like an in-the-moment “All The President’s Men” surging forward in real time. Propelled by a wonderfully minimal, minor key score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, “The Social Network” is grand, populist entertainment at its best.
4. “House of Cards” episodes 1 & 2 (2013)
“Have your lead character help a small child or an animal early on in order to establish sympathy with the audience,” was the advice we remember reading (and snorting at, in fairness) in a screenwriting book eons ago. So what does it say about your TV show when the very first thing your character does is kill a dog? Fincher’s first two episodes of the debut season of “House of Cards” are basically a masterclass in how to put a show together: of course it showcases the pin-sharp precision of series creator Beau Willimon’s scripts, but also displays its distinctive visual style, from the corporate grays and Washington blues, to the restrained, rich lighting, to the faultless tailoring and Robin Wright’s awesome hair. And a show that is so much about seediness and pettiness that can go on beneath a seemingly cordial surface —the rot that a lie and a smile and a handshake can conceal— benefits enormously from having a visual artisan of Fincher’s caliber shape exactly what that surface will look like. Put a performance requiring wry humor and piece-to-camera monologues in the hands of an actor like Kevin Spacey, who is on fabulously laconic, understated form here, and you have a most unusual and brave set-up. It’s a show that invites viewers to root for a loathsome and corrupt character by making them, with every wink or sly aside, totally complicit in the machinations of Frank Underwood. After one episode, “House of Cards” already felt like it occupied a fully realized, noirish universe, and after two we were hooked and frantically cuing up the rest of the season. You could suggest that getting in to set up the tone and look of a show with the first two episodes is almost the perfect role for Fincher, who sometimes struggles to finish his films as strongly as he begins them, but 2015 will see him go the whole Fukunaga on season one of “Utopia,” so let’s reserve judgement till then. For now, his “House of Cards” work stands as simply one of the best openers to a prestige TV show ever and probably the single best thing Fincher’s been involved with since “Zodiac.”
3. “Fight Club” (1999)
(Yes, we are about to break the first rule of “Fight Club.”) Overrated. Style over substance. Adored by neanderthal knuckle-draggers. Goes off the rails in the third act. Throw whichever jeremiad you want at “Fight Club” —you might not be wrong— but man, is it ever a fun ride, a rollercoaster careening through mischievous comedy and dark, psychotic nihilism, straight to Hell, cackling maniacally all the way. It’s a gloriously stylish exercise in the deconstruction of modern American norms of masculinity, consumerism and capitalism (which makes its subsequent embrace by alpha jocks it sends up so ironic) and while it would be only the first of several adaptations of bestsellers for Fincher, here he delivers something much better, deeper and more convincing than the Chuck Palahniuk novel it’s based on. Edward Norton plays the central role, a faceless everyman so despairing and paralyzed by his mundane life that he develops an acute form of insomnia that leads him to Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt), an uber-charming, Machiavellian soap-maker and prophet of chaos who proselytizes the ultimate form of salvation —perhaps reincarnation— in the form of basement, bare-knuckle fighting. Fincher’s violent, acidic picture uses this premise as a launching pad to explore male identity, the pressure to conform, and the sickening homogenization of culture and ultimately seems to suggest that the protagonist’s central problem might just be the societal ennui that’s rotting us all from the inside, as we act like tourists in our own lives. “Fight Club” is ultimately the grandest (and most fascistic) carpe diem, a brutal and yet often hilarious wake-the-fuck-up call birthed from one of the most ambitious self-delusions ever demonstrated by an unreliable narrator. Somehow the fact it’s been so embraced by bro culture makes that irony all the more delicious and the whiz-bang of its delirious storytelling all the more prescient.
