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By Kane Simon Geary O'Keeffe Stieg Larsson’s posthumously released crime novel The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo introduced readers to one of the most intriguing characters in modern fiction when it released Lisbeth Salander, goth superhacker, unto the masses. Her enigmatic personality pulled audiences through a wringer of violence and intrigue over the course of the book’s story. Fans did not have to wait long for two major film adaptations to follow closely behind Salander’s blood soaked trail: 2009’s depiction, directed by Niels Arden Oplev, and 2011’s version, brought to the screen by David Fincher. While the book’s narrative remains mostly intact across both cinematic adaptations, key changes and creative choices led to many of the story’s characters and themes taking on new shapes. In this piece I will take a closer look at Salander herself, and her relationship with our other protagonist, Mikael Blomkvist, from the two distinct viewpoints of Oplev and Fincher. I will be looking at how these directors, as well as the actors they worked with, created vastly different interpretations of key moments of the book’s plot, along with our tattooed protagonist. I also intend to observe how the variations between these key moments in these two versions of the story explore the book’s feminist themes, such as empowerment through violence, in ways that help to form three very distinct works of fictions, all within the same envelope of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. It can easily be argued that the characters of Larsson’s novel greatly outshine its story. The complex characters of Blomkvist and Salander flourish amidst the backdrop of a relatively by the numbers ‘whodunnit’ case. This is a testament to the strength of these personalities and their relationship with each other. This relationship is a key example of how elements of character can be lost or warped upon translation to the big screen. The blueprint of Blomkvist and Salander’s strangers-turned-colleagues-turned-lovers relationship remains concrete between Oplev and Fincher’s takes on the text. However, the distinctions between the two serve to form very different interpretations of our titular anti heroine. Larsson notes Salander’s distant approach to her relationships towards others, stating that she has an “attitude [that] encouraged neither trust nor friendship” (p.45) This note plays heavily in Fincher’s remake. Rooney Mara brings to life a woman trapped in her own web: before we meet her she has no personal relationships outside of her male guardian, the only man she feels safe around. This is notable in that, despite their supposedly close friendship, their interactions are limited to chess games, a game based on methodical thinking alone, leaving no room for bonds outside of the mind. This completely detached depiction of Salander extends to her blossoming relationship with Blomkvist. Despite Blomkvist’s respect for her privacy and his admiration towards her, such as when he states ‘I’d be overjoyed if my memory was what yours is’ (p.390) their relationship remains purely sexual. Her stoic, hardened character pulls the audience into seeing her as nothing short of badass as she exacts revenge on the crooked men that find their way into her life. This can be seen in the the violent degradation of her second guardian and rapist, Bjurman. Bjurman is everything Salander has fought against during the course of her entire lifetime, a man of power who sadistically abuses his status to manipulate and abuse women. Salander’s bloody revenge against the man that savagely raped her allows Fincher to establish her as an unrelenting symbol of empowerment through violence. Mara’s Salander is purely methodical--she rarely shows even a slight sign of weakness in her steel gaze across the almost 3 hour film. We never hear her say how she’s feeling, and this contributes to the enigma that makes this portrayal so endearing. The same cannot be said for the character seen in Oplevs’ version, famously brought to life by Noomi Rapace. Rapace’s salander is far less mysterious, and as a result, far less powerful on screen. She gives up this power as she openly discusses her feelings at certain moments. This can be seen when she admits her feelings for Blomkvist to her mother, seen when she acknowledges that “there is someone” that she has feelings for. This open conversation about her feelings later extends to a public display of affection, in the form of a kiss between her and her colleague-turned-lover in their last encounter, which leads to her running in embarrassment. This serves to draw the audience away from her hardened, violent demeanour. We immediately see her as young girl, embarrassed at the thought of falling for the successful, womanising older man. Not only is this a classic trope of ‘lesser’ genres, such as the romantic comedy, but it damages the notion of her ever becoming a force for female empowerment. She falls in love with the very same kind of man that brutally took advantage of her in the past. These actions significantly dampen her acts of strength, such as when she exacts revenge on Bjurman, and serves to paint a much less powerful character. A young girl who, while more human, fails to become the strong concrete example of radical empowerment that is her American counterpart. The definitive moment that solidifies this distinction between Mara and Rapace occurs during the final moments of Fincher’s film. Fincher decides that Salander is at her most potent when she is saying nothing at all. He chooses to convey her inner turmoils and feelings through subtle but meaningful actions, keeping her stoic demeanour intact while humanizing her. In his film’s last scene, we watch Salander as she prepares to surprise Blomkvist with a gift. As she buys him said gift, the shop worker notes that Blomkvist must be a good ‘friend.’ Just a few minutes later, Salander drives to Blomkvist’s home, watching from a distance as she discovers him walking away with another woman. Salander then proceeds to toss the gift into a skip, before driving away as if nothing happened. This small action allows Fincher to define many aspects of her character, all while creating a wholly satisfying ending. The tossing of the gift into the skip reveals to the audience that Salander does in fact harbour feelings for this man. It allows us to see that she can be hurt like any other woman can. Simultaneously, Fincher’s direction shows us that his Salander is not somebody who will ever become a victim again. Her nonchalantly tossing her gift, as well as her feelings, away at the mere prospect of being emotionally hurt by Blomvkist satisfyingly leaves us with a character that, while human, stays true to the strong, no nonsense persona that we find so enticing as an audience.
Fincher and Oplev both take creative liberties in regards to the various subplots and relationships. In particular, the presence of two of Blomkvist’s love interests, Cecilia Vanger and and Erika Berger. It is easy to see that both directors wanted to keep the light on Salander, even if that meant blurring other noteworthy female characters into the background. Fincher is less to blame for this, as he does bring Robin Wright Penn’s talents in to portray Erika in his version, allowing the audience to have a glimpse at her decisive and authoritative role as Millenium Magazine’s editor, albeit in a limited role. Meanwhile, neither character is present for more than a quick glimpse in the Swedish adaptation. While at first glance, both movies appear to be stylistically similar, upon a deeper examination it is easy to see the drastically different approaches each of the filmmakers have taken in regards to their productions. This is particularly evident in the soundtracks of these adaptations. Fincher brings back Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, his award winning collaborators from The Social Network (2014) to compose his film. The result is a dense, three hour long tracklist brimming with industrial synths and creepy synthetic tones. Reznor, known for creating complex electronic soundscapes with his band, Nine Inch Nails, manages to wrap many of the story’s thematic beats in his work. This can be seen in tracks such as “An Itch,” which captures the distorted moans and screams of women, buried under intense percussion. This can also be observed in his industrial rock cover of Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song,” as he utilizes a wailing female vocalist, Karen O, while also shrouding her screams in blasts of techno and distorted guitar, leading the listener through a battle of a voice aching to be heard amidst the dominating sonic backdrop of Reznor’s design. Jacob Groth, composer of Oplev’s film, takes a much more traditional approach to his composition. The track “For Harriet” utilises orchestral layers and strings to create a cathartically positive swell, as Groth attempts to convey the film’s theme of familial strength over time. His spare use of electronic instrumentation works well for creating moments of tension when needed, but overall it pales in comparison to Reznor’s artfully dense score, and fails at capturing the film’s more central themes in the way that is present in the American film. It has been shown, therefore, that while both the Swedish and American adaptations of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo seem woefully similar on the surface, many of the subtle differences present in each visual representation conjure up dramatically different renditions of The titular character, and as a result tackle the idea of female empowerment through violence in radically different ways. I find that Fincher better conveys Salander as a concrete example of this idea, through both her own actions and her relationship with Blomkvist. In contrast, Oplev’s film features a Salander that undermines her own empowering revenge quest by falling into the role of a lovelorn and embarrassed young girl. Neglect of female side characters and plots are also present across both adaptations. Overall I consider Fincher’s film the superior work as he better represented the core facets of Lisbeth’s character and relationships as presented in Larsson’s book, as well as more consistently depicting the story’s key feminist themes.
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