Annika Wesley

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (2011)

I haven’t written about this film earlier because I’ve been busy obsessing over it.

To me it seems that there was a smear campaign on this film before it was even released. I read several separate articles suggesting that the film’s “ultra-violent” nature would be a turn-off, specifically to women. Each article echoing that sentiment strengthened the notion that it was not a female-friendly film, which could not be farther from the truth.

I myself am extremely wary of certain kinds of violence. Since I was a child I’ve been phobic about cutting, and extremely graphic, gory violence is not something I want to be desensitized to. I was very worried, going into this film, fully prepared to assume the position of nuzzling into my husband’s shoulder to break line of sight with the screen. I was so set  that there would be at least some scenes of gore, that I came very close to raging on a woman who brought her ~nine year old son. (Which I still think is abhorrent parenting because, as it was opening night, there’s no way she could have known just what objectionable content her child was about to see. He’s a child, you daffy bitch.) Upon my second viewing, there was only one part I didn’t watch: a scene where someone receives stitches.

In the cinematic scheme of things, this film is not notably violent. The tone and circumstances lends a weight and intensity to everything in the film, including the violence, thereby making it perhaps seem more violent, but it is in no way excessively graphic.

Disturbing, sure. Disturbing, especially to women? Bullshit.

The film didn’t do well at the box office. It has not won any of the awards it seemed a shoo-in for. I’ve heard complaints that the pacing was disappointing (a stance I firmly disagree with). Sometimes it seems like all this movie accomplished was launching Rooney Mara as the girl everyone wants to be/fuck.

For me, however, the film was near faultless. In fact, my only quibble is a very minor one: tattooing is not depicted realistically. This irks me so because I have yet to see a film depict it realistically, and it’s not an unreasonable expectation; it’s not difficult to find out what the actual process is like. It would not take extra effort to portray accurately, and I genuinely see no reason not to. (Another detail that I just could not buy is the idea that two women, after a night of sexing, would wake up with panties on. Nope.)

The performances, cinematography, pacing, story, credits, everything else—perfect to me. I did want the movie to end. It’s very often I find myself angry that I’m not watching the movie. 

I’ve never seen it as a remake; it’s David Fincher’s adaptation of a successful novel. I did not see the Swedish version because I wanted to familiarize myself with the story through Fincher’s lens. I had intended to see the Swedish version afterwards, but now I know that will never happen. For one, I’ve found that Noomi Rapace does not appeal to me; some people you just have an aversion to. Additionally, Fincher’s version is not only more true to the book, but it’s more true in ways that I connected with very much. There is no world where I would see the Swedish version instead of watching Fincher’s again.

Hoofing It

Southern California has an uncanny knack for conditioning people not to walk. Being a pedestrian simply isn’t done, unless you’re a child in a serene suburb walking the couple blocks to and from school. 

It’s not just the layout, which was designed without considering pedestrians, or even the lack of good public transit systems. There’s just something in the air down here that prompts people to purge every bit of non-essential walking from their lives. In this area, walking is done to and from your car, around shopping centers, and on the treadmill. Down here people battle to get parking spots as close as possible to the storefronts, to minimize the to/from distance.

At some point it really got in my head that walking was not an option. Some time ago I was in a situation wherein I had to wait ~thirty minutes after getting off work to be picked up by my beautiful husband. For several weeks I would wait out front and play games on my phone to bide the time. In what I know see as a fortuitous turn, I grew to hate my job with such vehemency that I couldn’t stand lingering outside the building for a second longer than I had to. And so, one day, with my blood boiling, I decided to walk to his building. The truth is, I hadn’t given this plan a great deal of forethought, and as such, I ended up hoofing it in my favorite pair of heels. Blisters abound! But from then on, I brought a pair of sensible shoes to wear for the walk.

~two miles is very much within the realm of walking distance. With every step I felt better about my actions (especially because prior to that my lifestyle had become wholly sedentary) and foolish for relying on automobiles for all transportation needs. On various post-work walks I was approached by coworkers offering to drive me. I of course very much appreciated their offers, but always declined, assuring them that I needed the exercise. They always seemed so puzzled, like they couldn’t wrap their heads around someone opting to walk (even after nine hours of sitting in front of a computer). This went on for a few weeks before I ultimately, at long last, resigned.

I returned to my old ways immediately. I stayed inside because there was no need to venture out, despite there being a shopping center less than a mile away, with a grocery store, Starbucks, and a handful of restaurants. One night my husband and I walked to the Starbucks and grocery store; it was wonderful. And yet I remained shut-in.

Then we flew up to the Bay Area for New Year’s. On the first day we clocked in over seven miles on foot (thanks, husband’s pedometer!). For six days we walked, and we walked, and we took BART, and we walked. My legs were fucked every which way. I went home feeling like such the fool.

So now, I walk to the store several times a week for grocery, both saving gas and my husband’s time, as it’s one less thing for him to be burdened with. Of course, every single person that drives by stares at me like I’m an escaped convict or time traveler, but they’re dicks anyway.

A Dangerous Method: Update

I read something to indicate that it was indeed Knightley who required changes to the sexual content in the film. I had been so thrilled when I first found out she was in it; I believe she has all the traits to create a very special, dynamic, and touching performance. However, there is no question that it was not worth it to alter the graphic material for her. What the sex scenes became was not more striking or heavy for their clipped nature; it just felt edited, it felt toned down, it felt incongruous. 

It really had every potential to be in world of its own. It had the promise to elevate my cinematic soul to unprecedented heights. It will now hold its place at the top of my list of anticlimaxes.

This was unquestionably the most anticipated film release of my life. Since the first time I heard Cronenberg was making a film about Jung and Freud starring Fassbender, Knightley, and Mortensen, not a day has gone by without it crossing my mind. All parties are absolutely ideal for the extremely graphic themes of sexuality that are part and parcel of Jung/Freud’s work; they’re unafraid, intelligent, nuanced powerhouses who are unfairly gorgeous. 

A Dangerous Method was incredible. It was alive and sharp and beautiful. The pacing was exquisite; there was no unimportant scene. Nothing was explained to death or drawn out, heightening the intellectual appeal. 

It wasn’t perfect, though, as I’d hoped and assumed it would be. It was missing about thirty minutes of graphic sexual content. The brevity of each sexual scene was clearly deliberate, but I cannot agree with it. The power of sex was masterfully interwoven into every shot, and clung to every word. I needed to see that power, unabridged, in the sexual relationship between those two people.

The film was amazing, but when I think about what it could have been … I realize I’m biting my lip and have been lost in thought for an indeterminate amount of time.

• Martha Marcy May Marlene ✓
• The Skin I Live In ✓
• Melancholia ✓
• A Dangerous Method ✓
• Anonymous
• The Artist ✓
• Shame ✓
• Sleeping Beauty ✓
• We Need to Talk About Kevin
• Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy ✓
• Carnage
• The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo ✓
• Take Shelter

It hardly seems possible; in the span of a few months all these films are being released. What magic is in the air that has caused more all these movies that get my blood going to come out in such rapid succesion? So many years have gone by in which I’ve been lucky to get excited about a few titles throughout the whole year, and now this. I don’t even know what to think. 

Man, Rob Marshall, that took some major stones to set the runtime of Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides to friggin’ 2hr16min. I’m pretty sure that the 2hr+ bracket is reserved for Art Houses and Hobbits, neither of which includes the fourth installment of a Disney franchise. The only way that could have possibly worked is if at least 40 of those minutes were of mermaids lounging in the nude.

en français

Before today my mind had never felt as it does now. It’s a truly bizarre sensation for one’s head to feel something new, after twenty-three years experiencing a myriad of states and sensations. To put it simply, I have French overload. I’ve been studying french for the better part of three weeks, and every new word, grammatical rule, nasal r, and accented letter is has tangled inside my brain. It’s as if the influx of information is trying to sort itself out, and while it does, I will simply be functioning at 25% efficiency. 

The ebb and flow of progress has been both encouraging and frustrating, but always interesting. You’ll learn a few things and it’ll all be crystal clear, but take on just a bit more information and suddenly you don’t know your ou from your où.

A Dangerous Method

This was unquestionably the most anticipated film release of my life. Since the first time I heard Cronenberg was making a film about Jung and Freud starring Fassbender, Knightley, and Mortensen, not a day has gone by without it crossing my mind. All parties are absolutely ideal for the extremely graphic themes of sexuality that are part and parcel of Jung/Freud’s work; they’re unafraid, intelligent, nuanced powerhouses who are unfairly gorgeous. 

A Dangerous Method was incredible. It was alive and sharp and beautiful. The pacing was exquisite; there was no unimportant scene. Nothing was explained to death or drawn out, heightening the intellectual appeal. 

It wasn’t perfect, though, as I’d hoped and assumed it would be. It was missing about thirty minutes of graphic sexual content. The brevity of each sexual scene was clearly deliberate, but I cannot agree with it. The power of sex was masterfully interwoven into every shot, and clung to every word. I needed to see that power, unabridged, in the sexual relationship between those two people.

The film was amazing, but when I think about what it could have been … I realize I’m biting my lip and have been lost in thought for an indeterminate amount of time.

Dear Patrick Bauchau,

You have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. One of the first TV series that I found myself engrossed in was The Pretender. As a young girl I appreciated the story and intrigue, but was instantly taken with your character. Something about your voice and your face exuded a warmth and intelligence that was extremely magnetic.

Growing up I developed a profound love of cinema. You seemed to pop up all the time, and I’ve never been able to mask my excitement when you appear on screen. You’ve been in many of the films that have resonated with me most: The Music Teacher, The Five Obstructions, La Collectionneuse, Suzanne’s Career (a bit part, but still so very memorable), and of course, Secretary. They could have chosen anyone to be Dr. Twardon; the role is quite small with very few lines. But no, it had to be you, because it simply would not be right for you to be missing from the film that is nearest and dearest to my heart.

In you I see the archetype for so many traits that I admire. You embody wisdom, charm, strength, frailty, and it all seems so effortless and powerful. 

Of course, there are many actors that I admire, but it’s always been different with you; you’ve always been more important. Perhaps it is due to the young age at which I was first exposed to you, but I don’t think it is. It’s not an easy sentiment to express in words, and I of course am failing terribly, but I had to try.

In any case, thank you for having always been such a beautiful part of my life.

Annika