Marriages are Made in Heaven? Not in David Fincher's Universe!

Rating: 9/10 (5 May 2015)

The problem with Gone Girl, David Fincher's first rate adaptation of Gillian Flynn's novel, is that there's relatively little one can say about the film's gnarly plot without giving away the twists. So I'll step lightly over the plot synopsis.
On the day of his fifth wedding anniversary to Amy (Pike), Nick Dunne (Affleck) returns to their small-town Missouri home to find signs of a violent struggle and his wife missing. The police arrive on the "bit-too-arranged" crime scene to find specks of her blood, as the search fast gains national attention, with the media circus rolling into town in a frenzy of crass curiosity. The more the cops investigate, the worse it looks for Nick as his responses are unfairly interpreted as too cold to be genuine outpourings of grief. The noose is slowly tightening around Nick, who it turns out is harboring a few secrets of his own. Despite his best efforts to appear sympathetic in front of the cops, the cameras and the court of public opinion, Nick can't help coming off as insincere and smug. But a mid-film twist turns the movie from complex whodunit into a psychological thriller. The shift doesn't come entirely out of nowhere and in spite of the tonal shift, everything feels naturally derived, taking us from sympathy to revulsion and back again to sympathy for the central protagonist.
Gone Girl bounces back and forth seamlessly from the investigation and the attendant media circus to the horrific dissolution of a fairy tale union. The audience is always kept one step ahead of the characters thanks to extracts from Amy's diaries and a series of flashbacks, which show that a once-idyllic marriage founded on sizzling mutual attraction has begun to flounder on acidic mutual disdain. The storyline itself is pure pulp – a twisting, lurid crime tale with uncannily familiar elements. But in the hands of an immaculate craftsman like Fincher, Gone Girl is a sleek work of art that polishes its literary source, leaving all of the story's vitriol and venom intact. The black humor of the film consistently bites as it spews bile all over the sanctity of marriage. Fincher orchestrates the drama beautifully, providing the film with a steady, unhurried pace that proves perversely effective as it starts to shred the audience's abraded nerves.
The lead actors have a palpable chemistry that helps construct the narrative of two loving individuals crumbling under the weight of marital infidelity. Ben Affleck's self-conscious presence translates into an indispensable part of his character, imbuing Nick with an ambivalence that leaves us uncertain about whether we should be cheering or booing him, even when the narrative is ready to throw him to the wolves. Rosamund Pike leaves nothing behind, delving full throttle into an iconic performance as Amy. She uses her cool exterior to mask a seething lump of volatility - an intoxicating blend of slow burn and volcanic flash – that makes her an overwhelming presence. The supporting cast also delivers wonderfully realized performances.
David Fincher's graceful cynicism proves to be the perfect channel for this comedic tale of moral decay that remains one of cinema's most supremely cynical statements about the institution of marriage.