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| Courtesy of Universal |
Based on Paula Hawkins’ bestselling novel (which I haven’t read), the insipid thriller asks, “what if Gone Girl didn’t understand it was satire?” I’m not sure who would posit such a question, let alone be interested in the answer, but I guess we’ll find out when it opens this weekend.
David Fincher’s brilliant film (an adaptation of Gillian Flynn’s deliciously twisted book) is full of pitch-black humor and sly commentary regarding the rampant misogyny and insane gender dynamics inherent to the genre. Tate Taylor’s movie, on the other hand, plays every scene at face value, making any attempt at subtext completely literal. In other words, it contains all the nuance you’d expect from the director of The Help.
It feels like Taylor is aiming for the pseudo-serious tone of a ’90s sex thriller like Basic Instinct, but those movies knew how to wink at themselves. Instead, the flick comes off like a bad Lifetime movie. What’s worse, the central puzzle is a breeze to figure out once all the characters are introduced.
Rachel (Emily Blunt) spends most of her days in an alcoholic stupor as she rides the train back and forth from New York City to her friend’s apartment, where she has been crashing since her divorce a couple of years back. While on the train, she fixates on a seemingly perfect couple (Haley Bennett and Luke Evans) and fantasizes what their lives must be like.
One morning, however, Rachel witnesses something that shatters her faith in the couple and destroys the imaginary relationship she has created in her head. Because it reminds her of her own failed marriage, and how she’s resorted to stalking her ex-husband (Justin Theroux) and his new wife (Rebecca Ferguson) and baby, she doesn’t take it well.
David Fincher’s brilliant film (an adaptation of Gillian Flynn’s deliciously twisted book) is full of pitch-black humor and sly commentary regarding the rampant misogyny and insane gender dynamics inherent to the genre. Tate Taylor’s movie, on the other hand, plays every scene at face value, making any attempt at subtext completely literal. In other words, it contains all the nuance you’d expect from the director of The Help.
It feels like Taylor is aiming for the pseudo-serious tone of a ’90s sex thriller like Basic Instinct, but those movies knew how to wink at themselves. Instead, the flick comes off like a bad Lifetime movie. What’s worse, the central puzzle is a breeze to figure out once all the characters are introduced.
Rachel (Emily Blunt) spends most of her days in an alcoholic stupor as she rides the train back and forth from New York City to her friend’s apartment, where she has been crashing since her divorce a couple of years back. While on the train, she fixates on a seemingly perfect couple (Haley Bennett and Luke Evans) and fantasizes what their lives must be like.
One morning, however, Rachel witnesses something that shatters her faith in the couple and destroys the imaginary relationship she has created in her head. Because it reminds her of her own failed marriage, and how she’s resorted to stalking her ex-husband (Justin Theroux) and his new wife (Rebecca Ferguson) and baby, she doesn’t take it well.
In the days to come, Rachel finds herself at the center of a persistent detective’s (Allison Janney) investigation and begins to search for her own answers to a supposedly baffling mystery. If you’ve ever seen a movie before, chances are you’ll arrive at the solution about an hour before she does.
I feel terrible for the actors who decided to sign up for this misfire. (I was going to say trainwreck, but a pun that bad would be criminal). Blunt and Janney are two of the greatest actresses working today, but the former is asked to play a cartoon character and the later is wasted in a perfunctory, thankless role. I’m glad my first experience with Ferguson was her incredible turn in Mission: Impossible – Rogue Nation because she’s an absolute blank slate here.
Bennett (who also appears in the recent Magnificent Seven remake) comes off even worse. It’s like she’s in a totally different movie than everyone else, playing her character so ridiculously big that even scenes in which she’s supposed to be emotionally vulnerable elicited laughter from the audience. I have no way of knowing, but it feels like a directorial choice; if so, I don’t think Taylor was aiming for that kind of crowd reaction.
The male performers are completely wasted. Evans shows up for a handful of scenes to act suspicious, and Edgar Ramirez does his best to play the world’s most unethical therapist who contributes absolutely nothing to the plot. Theroux seems to be the only one having fun, probably because he knows exactly what kind of movie they’re supposed to be making. I want to see the version of The Girl on the Train that’s playing out in his head. It’s probably a masterpiece compared to the finished product.
Perhaps fans of the novel will like the movie more than I did. I’m curious if Hawkins fleshed out the characters and constructed a more complex plot over the course of 300-plus pages that screenwriter Erin Cressida Wilson pared down to its bare bones. Whatever the case, I can’t forget about this movie fast enough. It’s a strong contender for the worst of 2016.
The Girl on the Train is rated R for violence, sexual content, language and nudity.
Grade: D
The Girl on the Train is rated R for violence, sexual content, language and nudity.
Grade: D
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