A Haunting Look At Marriage and Media Culture

Rating: 10/10 (5 October 2014)

It's a scary world out there. We see it through three-second snippets of a serene neighborhood in Missouri as each credit quickly fades with every shot. Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) calmly exits his house and takes a trip to the bar he co-owns. After a dispirited talk with his twin sister, Margo (Carrie Coon), revealing how frankly exhausted he is from his wife's personality, Nick returns home to find his wife missing and the glass coffee table shattered. In between the present scenes when we see Nick publicly transform from a sympathized husband in the media to an abhorred one—suspected of cold murder—the story introduces us to Amy (Rosamund Pike).
Pike's Amy Dunne immediately has our support and understanding—a wife of unimaginable, elegant beauty. She's intelligent and classy, carrying a fond taste for the sophisticated—the arts. What makes her even more mesmerizing is the fact that these types of rich female characters are a saddening rarity. Oftentimes, actresses are reserved for the tired role of a ditsy romantic interest that has absolutely no self-purpose or motivation. Right from the start, Amy makes us fall in love with her; the amount of dignity, (admittedly) inner arrogance, and wit she possesses is particularly refreshing. She narrates her sentiments through a daily diary, tracing her marriage's evolution from the "lovey-dovey" stage to the inevitable phase of irritation five years later.
Suddenly, the marriage has taken a turn for the worst. Goosebumps start to form on my arms as I clutch the jacket on my lap harder. Nick begins to display a frightening temper as Amy becomes concerned with their future (and eventually her life) in this loveless and fading marriage that has taken form. Everything about her—her delicate skin, the heartbreaking look in her eyes, her perpetual state of fear—reveals Amy's true vulnerability, which makes me that much more concerned for her as well. What have you done, Nick? The media circus is outside his house every day of the week—incessantly flashing cameras and begging for interviews. The hot media frenzy has found a new victim in this tragic couple. A haunting score in its creepy mellowness— occasional rhythmically blood-pumping with the resounding bass, and sometimes purely heartrending—from frequent David Fincher collaborators, Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, adds that final stamp to Fincher's staple atmosphere-setting.
Affleck gives a surprisingly impressive performance (as well as unsurprising since Fincher always gets the absolute best out of his actors whether or not the audience is skeptical about them going in— Jesse Eisenberg and Rooney Mara are perfect examples). He has a manner of innocence and ostensible normality about him (unlike the typical characteristics of a psychopath, he's not meticulous or perfectly composed) but yet keeps us doubting as he continually makes the wrong decisions.
Moreover, the way this film is edited amazes me—it enthralls you and somehow creates a slow-burn of a thriller with terrific pacing. The juxtaposition between the characters' current activities as a sequence anxiously unravels is astonishing and consequently creates sheer suspense and many gasps from the audience. The two-and-a-half-hour runtime is essential in regards to the exceptional character development/characterization, which ceaselessly continues to contradict our impressions of and sympathies for its characters.
Not only does Fincher's latest masterpiece paint a bleak portrait of marriage—the constant denial of your relationship's issues, the expectations of standard marriage and the notion of living up to that— but also showcases the disheartening, malign, and corrupt nature of our media culture. Every individual can live or die based on public perception—one's portrayal on the usually sensationalized, exaggerated outlet that composes the news stations and interview sessions. Unfortunately, society impatiently jumps to conclusions, logically flawed/irrational as they are, expecting the black-and-white dramatics of a fictional narrative.
Gone Girl is unrelentingly complex when it comes down to its meaty characters, topical dark subject matter, and overall plot. Its utter brilliance is also proved by the fact that it will undoubtedly stir lengthy conversations. Following the unforgettably terrifying and audacious climax—especially the very final shot—I stay in my seat, not moving an inch, as the credits roll. The packed theater is also unusually still and silent for those brief seconds. There have been few times when I was this eager to have a full spoiler discussion—when I had this much of a craving to go in for a second viewing.