Latest news with #Mank
Irish Daily Star
16-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Daily Star
I'm a TV writer and these are Netflix's biggest hidden gems that deserve more attention
With a constant influx of new shows and films added to Netflix's extensive library each day, it can be challenging for anyone to stay updated. Every week, dozens of new films and series from around the globe are added, creating a fresh buzz. Consequently, some titles may not receive as much attention as they deserve, even though they might eventually become hidden gems. As a TV writer, my job essentially involves watching television. Therefore, I need to stay on top of current trends, monitor what's climbing the Netflix charts, and understand what audiences are focusing on. However, there are a few titles that I believe warrant more attention. Here are my top three recommendations for overlooked Netflix hidden gems. Mindhunter is one of the best Netflix original series (Image: Netflix) Mindhunter You've likely heard quite a few people discuss this one. This crime thriller ranks 16th on IMDB's top 100 list of Netflix originals. The show was created by writer Joe Penhall, with renowned filmmaker David Fincher serving as the showrunner and director of several episodes. The series narrates the story of FBI Agents who are investigating and profiling serial killers for the first time, drawing inspiration from real-life events. With an almost perfect score on Rotten Tomatoes, it is undoubtedly one of the best Netflix originals ever produced. Regrettably, since the release of its second season in 2019, the future of the show appears uncertain. Initially, Netflix indicated that a third season was doubtful as Fincher was engaged with other projects, which turned out to be Netflix films Mank and The Killer. By 2023, the company essentially confirmed the show would not be returning. However, cast members like Holt McCallany have expressed their hopes for a potential revival of the series. Therefore, it merits inclusion on this list because the more Netflix fans discuss and rediscover the series, the greater the likelihood it receives the finale it deserves. Mindhunter is currently available for streaming on Netflix. I Think You Should Leave needs to be seen to know what it's really all about (Image: Netflix) I Think You Should Lea ve with Tim Robinson This is an easy recommendation for anyone seeking something fresh to watch on Netflix, particularly if they're weary of true crime documentaries and thriller series. Even if someone has only sampled it, seen a clip, or tried part of the first episode and wasn't quite sure... give it another shot. This is likely my most frequently revisited Netflix series ever. The fact that episodes are relatively short, around 15 minutes each, certainly helps. The challenge lies in preparing viewers for what awaits them. In simple terms, it's a sketch show from comedian Tim Robinson, a former writer and performer on Saturday Night Live, and produced by The Lonely Island. When I Think You Should Leave debuted on Netflix, it felt as though Robinson had almost singlehandedly revived the sketch series format. Netflix describes the show as a humorous take on life's most peculiar and everyday situations. Robinson, along with some of his celebrity pals, tackle awkward office politics, stage an intervention in a Garfield-themed house, and even talk their way out of a fabricated hit-and-run by a babysitter - and that's just one season. The show has since produced three seasons, and while Robinson is slated to star in a comedy film alongside Paul Rudd, fans are hopeful he'll return for more episodes. If you're currently enjoying Tom Segura's Bad Thoughts, I Think You Should Leave is definitely worth a watch. It can be equally dark, but it's smarter and relies less on pure innuendo for its punchlines. I won't claim that the humor in the show will appeal to everyone - it won't. But it's surprising that more people aren't adopting phrases like 'shirt brother', complaining about not being able to skip lunch, or admitting they're just there for the zipline (if you know, you know). I Think You Should Leave with Tim Robinson is available for streaming on Netflix. Lilyhammer is like The Sopranos meets a Nordic drama (Image: Netflix) Lilyhammer There's been some debate over whether Lilyhammer was actually Netflix's first original series. A quick Google search might suggest House of Cards holds that title, but this crime-comedy-drama actually predates the political thriller. Its release close to House of Cards means that most people probably only heard chatter about the latter and not Lilyhammer. The latter premiered in 2012 and was touted as the first time Netflix offered exclusive content. Lilyhammer is a unique blend of The Sopranos and Nordic crime drama. Steven Van Zandt, known for his role as Silvio Dante in the HBO sensation, stars as Frank Tagliano, a former New York mobster attempting to start afresh in a secluded Norwegian town after ratting out his mafia boss back home. Despite many fans likening the show to a mashup of Goodfellas and Norsemen, it's surprising that it isn't more frequently hailed as a Netflix classic. Those who have watched it often express a higher regard for the series than its 60% rating on Rotten Tomatoes might imply. Lilyhammer is streaming on Netflix.
Geek Tyrant
14-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Geek Tyrant
Amanda Seyfried and Scoot McNairy Cast in Tim Blake Nelson-Directed Prison Break Thriller THE LIFE AND DEATHS OF WILSON SHEDD — GeekTyrant
Oscar nominee Amanda Seyfried ( Mank , Les Misérables , The Crowded Room ) and Scoot McNairy ( Argo , 12 Years a Slave , A Complete Unknown ) are set to star in The Life and Deaths of Wilson Shedd , a new prison break thriller written and directed by O Brother, Where Art Thou? and Captain America: Brave New World actor Tim Blake Nelson, who previously helmed Leaves of Grass and Anesthesia , as well as Amazon's Z: The Beginning of Everything starring Christina Ricci. Currently in production in Georgia, the film follows a teacher in an abusive marriage who takes a job at a maximum security prison, where she falls for a charismatic inmate. The disastrous consequences call into question not only the nature of punishment and retribution, but the very limits of our humanity. Nelson said of the project, 'I feel deeply fortunate to be able to tell this story with such an extraordinary lead cast. I have always admired Amanda, and getting to work with her on Mona Fastvold's film ANN LEE last summer confirmed for me what an extraordinary person she is aside from her talent. 'As for Scoot, it's great to be able to offer him such a demanding part. No one has seen him do what he's about to accomplish in this role. It will be magnificent to be on set with these two performers.' Noting that The Life and Death marks his third film set in his home state of Oklahoma, 'a place I love,' Nelson added, 'It's a difficult story, but also one meant to grab its audience and not let go. We've assembled a cast and crew of people dedicated to making something not only compelling but unforgettable.' Oscar-nominated for her work in David Fincher's Mank , Seyfried can currently be seen leading Peacock's acclaimed Philadelphia cop series Long Bright River , based on the book by Liz Moore. Upcoming, she has Lionsgate thriller The Housemaid opposite Sydney Sweeney, Sony comedy My Ex-Friend's Wedding , musical Ann Lee from the team behind The Brutalist , and an animated sequel series to Ted for Peacock. Recently seen portraying Woody Guthrie in James Mangold's A Complete Unknown , McNairy's last year also included the films Nightbitch and Speak No Evil . Recently seen in Kate Beecroft's Sundance 2025 drama East of Wall , his slate also includes survival thriller Die by Night and Netflix's Man on Fire TV series. Stay tuned for updates on this film as it moves into production. via: Deadline
Metro
29-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Metro
It's Gary Oldman's 'alcoholic era' but he isn't tempted to even take a sip
There were times when Gary Oldman was a heavy drinker. Now he just plays them. The iconic British actor, 67, jokes that he's in his 'alcoholic period', playing characters like his booze-addled screenwriter in Netflix's Mank and the slovenly, hard-drinking spy Jackson Lamb in Apple TV Plus show Slow Horses. This week he's back in cinemas in Parthenope as John Cheever, the American author who struggled with the bottle for years until he became sober aged 65. In the 90s, Oldman was just the same, drinking two bottles of vodka a day at his peak. Did alcohol ever help him? 'No,' he says, firmly, when we meet. 'You think that it gives you an edge.' He recalls a day on 1995 film The Scarlet Letter when he drank at lunchtime and then performed a scene opposite co-star and now newly-minted Oscar winner, Demi Moore. 'That particular day…the devil got into me,' he sighs, mortified. 'Like the Baptists [say]…the devil came down!' To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a web browser that supports HTML5 video No doubt, Oldman – who has played such memorable roles as Lee Harvey Oswald, Dracula and Joe Orton – was on a slide towards oblivion until he gave up alcohol in 1997. 'Without that, I wouldn't be sitting here today, really. I'd be dead. I know that for a fact. Things have come my way since then.' Since, he's gained three Oscar nominations – and won Best Actor for his role as British PM Winston Churchill (another boozer), as well as being a regular actor for mega-director Christopher Nolan, including smash hit Oppenheimer. Still, you have to wonder when he plays an alcoholic – like Cheever in Parthenope – is it hard to resist the temptation? 'I don't even see it,' he says. 'It's like another life, really. It's like a whole different person. Like I lived a whole different other life. I can go out and buy it. I can open a bottle of wine and pour you some. I have no desire to even take a sip. I had no interest at all. 'And sometimes people will say, 'Oh, you don't mind if I ever drink?' Have two! Have one for me! I don't care!' Now on his fifth marriage, to art curator Gisele Schmidt, Oldman is looking fresh and upbeat. And he certainly doesn't seem bothered if his better half takes a drink. 'My wife occasionally likes a glass of wine. And it don't worry me. It's a miracle. It's fantastic. I mean, just because I get sober, they're not going to take booze out of the liquor store. The world is what it is. The problem's with me, not with the vodka company!' He's delighted to be in Parthenope, the new film from Italian director Paolo Sorrentino – a great hero of Oldman's – who has made films like Youth and the Oscar-winning The Great Beauty. The feeling is clearly mutual. 'Gary Oldman is an actor I really adore – I love him very much,' the enthusiastic Sorrentino tells me. 'He's a very kind, gentle person and he can play anything. He plays anything to perfection.' Although his role in Parthenope is small, it's perfectly formed, you might say. His character, Cheever, meets a young Italian woman, Parthenope, played by Celeste Dalla Porta, who has academic intentions. Oldman says it was fascinating playing opposite the untested Dalla Porta, even if it made him a little sad. 'Fifty years of doing it, I'm a veteran with experience. And Celeste is a young actress whose life will change after this film. And there's an innocence and purity that will be lost forever.' Unlike his co-star, Oldman has been through the mill. Comb through his CV and you'll find little-seen films like Sin, Dead Fish and The Unborn. 'I've had darker periods where there's the highs and then there's the lows, and you got to put the kids through school, and you got to pay the mortgage and do all of that. And you do sometimes. I've done things that ordinarily wouldn't be on the radar. Under different circumstances, I may have said, 'Pass, no.' That's soul destroying.' You won't find him critiquing others for milking a cash-cow, though. 'We've all done it. And if I see a really good actor sometimes appear in something that's a little bit dubious, I never judge. People would be quick to say, 'Oh my God, what's he doing in that? What's she doing in that?' Now, I know. And I go, 'Oh, he just had that divorce, didn't he?'' Recently, Oldman has found a steady paycheque on TV show Slow Horses, a gig that he – and fans – absolutely love. 'Now a lot of people know that I'm not available,' he says. 'Basically I'm kind of off the market because of the show. But I like that. I like that. I like the show very much.' Winning him an Emmy nomination, it shows no signs of slowing down, with season five slated for the summer and Oldman wrapping on season six earlier this year. 'He's still living so he's still writing these books,' he says, talking about author Mick Herron. 'So I think I signed up for eight [seasons].' The only thing that seems to be frustrating him these days is getting another directorial project off the ground. The only ever movie he's directed was 1997's scorching Nil By Mouth – another story of addiction, inspired by his own upbringing in South London. Since then, for a decade, he's tried to get a movie made about Edward Muybridge, the pioneering 19th century photographer. But the studios simply don't want to fund a movie Oldman estimates will cost $30million (£22.3m). More Trending 'You go to Focus and they don't want to do it, and they say that it doesn't fit our model. But then, of course, someone else a year later is the head of Focus, and then you try again. And you go to Netflix, and then they're out, and then [there are] the new guys at Netflix. 'The producer of Parthenope, Lorenzo [Mieli], read it and adored it, and he said, 'I long to see this movie.' But people want to either give you a million dollars or $200mi (£149m). There doesn't seem to be any middle.' Maybe we should all have a whip-round down the pub. Parthenope is in cinemas on May 2. Got a story? If you've got a celebrity story, video or pictures get in touch with the entertainment team by emailing us celebtips@ calling 020 3615 2145 or by visiting our Submit Stuff page – we'd love to hear from you. MORE: 7 'scarily dystopian' sci-fi TV series to stream now after Black Mirror MORE: 'Must-see' thriller officially dethrones Severance in Apple TV charts MORE: Hollywood star 'was really nervous' filming sex scenes due to cancer scars
The Guardian
08-03-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Scorpions by Tuppence Middleton review
Tuppence Middleton was 11 years old when her parents realised something wasn't right. It was 1998 and they had told their daughter – who was just emerging from a four-month bout of chronic fatigue – that it was time for bed. Half an hour later, her mother went to check on her and found her still dressed and standing in her bedroom doorway. Asked why, her daughter replied: 'I'm doing my routine.' Middleton – who would grow up to become an actor known for her performances in Mank and Downton Abbey – had developed obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), a condition that affects 2% of the global population, and left her convinced that if she didn't complete certain rituals, something terrible would happen: her parents would die, the house would burn down or she would vomit (one of her greatest fears). Her compulsions entailed silently tapping and counting to eight at specific points around the house: doorknobs, doorframes, the corners of rooms, the edges of mirrors. In Scorpions, Middleton lays out what it is like to live with OCD, skilfully and often poetically articulating the mental distress that comes with the condition. The scorpions of the title are how she characterises the illness, creatures that 'wield their own special power over my brain, shaping the architecture and rhythm of my thoughts … Small armoured bodies scuttle along an intricate web of neural pathways, disturbing the delicate flow of logical thought.' We are not short of books about OCD: Rose Cartwright's Pure, Bryony Gordon's Mad Girl and David Adam's The Man Who Couldn't Stop. Middleton's is a worthy addition to the roll call, throwing more light on the impulses and cycles of thought that many people with OCD strive to keep secret out of fear of judgment. Middleton has had OCD for 30 years and, in that time, public understanding has increased. But with that, she warns, has come a tendency to simplify and trivialise the illness. Years ago, she recalls receiving a coffee mug as a Christmas present with the words OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE emblazoned on it in pink letters. 'It is hard to imagine a line of gift items with ANOREXIA or PTSD boldly stamped across them for all to see,' Middleton writes. 'So why is OCD continually used as shorthand for lighthearted craziness?' There is nothing cute or whimsical about Middleton's absolute certainty that she has left her front door open after leaving the house, despite having gone back to check multiple times, or her mortal fear of being around people she suspects – usually on scant evidence – may be coming down with a virus. When this happens, social niceties go out the window, and friendships, particularly new ones, are easily destroyed. Middleton describes a typical conversation between her and the scorpions in the dead of night, a time when her senses are heightened and fears easily stoked. 'Trust us, we can help you,' they say as she becomes convinced she is going to throw up. 'All you have to do is count. It's so simple. We'll do the rest.' As a memoir, Scorpions is unusual in telling a strikingly personal story while revealing comparatively little of its author's everyday life. This is clearly deliberate: the book is no celebrity tell-all, and readers hoping for glimpses of Middleton's life as an actor will find precious few. What they will get, however, is an unusually immersive, candid and often bleakly funny account of a mental health condition. Middleton offers no theories as to the cause of her illness, and presents no easy cure. Instead, her aim is to provide comfort to others living with OCD and to show that 'life with [it] is not a hopeless one. It is surmountable, with the right guidance and medical help, and whether my scorpions are hibernating or voraciously present, I have learned to live alongside them.' Sign up to Bookmarks Discover new books and learn more about your favourite authors with our expert reviews, interviews and news stories. Literary delights delivered direct to you after newsletter promotion Scorpions: A Memoir by Tuppence Middleton is published by Rider (£18.99). To support the Guardian and Observer, order your copy at Delivery charges may apply.
Yahoo
19-02-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Every David Fincher Movie, Ranked By Depravity
Something isn't right about David Fincher, and we love him for it. Although he's never won an Oscar for Best Director, few filmmakers in the history of cinema have better mastered the art of human depravity. Fincher's movies have introduced us to an alien being born by ripping itself out of a dog's stomach, a grown man aging backwards, and a sexual assault scene too graphic to even describe in this paragraph. But, his movies reach a more primal level of depravity when the grotesque isn't overtly graphic, but psychological. Mark Zuckerberg may have created a social media platform that helped disrupt a U.S. election, but I wouldn't say he's as depraved as Michael Fassbender'sassassin in The Killer. And yet, Fincher crafts Zuckerberg as a misanthropic digital dictator in The Social Network, one whose emotionless disregard for people in the pursuit of technological advancement makes him more machine than man. So, even when a Fincher film doesn't promise blood and guts, just know you'll still leave feeling disgusted yet glad you watched. Before the arrival of Fincher's next film, a Western crime thriller called Bitterroot set to stream on Netflix, let's prepare our minds (and stomachs) with a look through his depraved filmography. There's a quiet depravity to The Social Network. There are no basement beatdowns, no throat-slitting sex scenes, no aliens ripping through human entrails. Instead, it's depraved in a colder, more calculated way—watching Jesse Eisenberg's Mark Zuckerberg annihilate friendships, betray business partners, and bulldoze through ethics with the same detached efficiency as an algorithm culling outdated data. Fincher drenches the film in icy detachment, making the rise of Facebook feel like an origin story for a corporate supervillain who never needed to pick up a gun—just a keyboard and a lack of humanity. We may admire Zuckerberg's ruthless ambition, even as we watch him end up alone, refreshing the very website that made him king, but this film shows us why we should never admire him. Mank doesn't revel in the visceral depravity of Fincher's darker works. Instead it's soaked in self-destruction, addiction, and the ruthless grip of Hollywood's golden age. Gary Oldman, as real-life screenwriter Herman Mankiewicz, drinks himself into oblivion, throwing away relationships, dignity, and even his own legacy as he stumbles toward writing Citizen Kane. The film captures a world where power is wielded not through violence, but through manipulation, where moguls crush dissent with a handshake and a smirk, and where artistic integrity is just another casualty of ambition. Unlike Se7en or Fight Club, Mank isn't about the horrors lurking in the shadows—it's about the ones in broad daylight, dressed in tailored suits, smiling as they rewrite history. Watching Benjamin Button grow younger as everyone around him ages is an eerie and unsettling experience—like witnessing time itself unravel in the wrong direction. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button doesn't dwell in the overt depravity of Fincher's darker films, instead finding quiet horror in the melancholic inevitability of its tale. Beneath the whimsical fantasy of a man aging in reverse is a slow, existential tragedy—watching loved ones wither while he grows younger, experiencing love with an expiration date stamped on every moment. Brad Pitt's Benjamin moves through life with a detached serenity, as if he knows his fate is a cruel joke, aging into helpless infancy, regressing into a state where he no longer recognizes the world or himself. Benjamin Button deals in the quiet cruelty of time, a slow, poetic decay where no one truly escapes unscathed. The Game is like a waking nightmare where reality twists and warps with every turn, with psychological torment rather than explicit brutality. When Nicholas Van Orton's reality unravels, culminating in him believing he has killed his brother, the sheer psychological anguish he experiences—unsure of what is real and what isn't—is deeply unnerving. Stripped of his wealth, security, and sanity piece by piece, he is plunged into a labyrinth of manipulation where every reprieve feels like a setup for deeper devastation. Paranoia becomes suffocating as he loses control over his own existence, spiraling toward an ending that teeters between cruel joke and cosmic revelation. Yet, The Game stops just short of true depravity—its final revelation, though devastating, offers a rare glimpse of catharsis in Fincher's filmography. It's a descent into madness, but one with a safety net, making it more of a controlled nightmare than an all-consuming abyss. Panic Room is Fincher at his most claustrophobic, a film where survival is a slow, grinding ordeal rather than a heroic triumph. Trapped within the walls of their own home, Meg and Sarah Altman (Jodie Foster and Kristen Stewart) are stripped of safety and autonomy, their every breath dictated by the whims of ruthless intruders. The tension isn't just physical—it's psychological, as every failed escape and every miscalculation tightens the noose, pushing them toward inevitable violence. The film revels in the horror of helplessness, turning an ordinary brownstone into a prison where safety is an illusion and mercy is absent. Yet, it's not just the home invasion that makes Panic Room so deeply unsettling—it's the idea that even in survival, there is no real victory, only the lingering scars of knowing just how easily control can be taken away. Gone Girl is a masterclass in calculated cruelty, a film where love and vengeance intertwine into something grotesquely intimate. Amy Dunne (Rosamund Pike) doesn't just manipulate those around her—she constructs an alternate reality, bending perception until truth is irrelevant and control is absolute. Nowhere is this more depraved than in the film's most shocking moment: the throat-slitting of Desi Collings (Neil Patrick Harris). In a scene dripping with both eroticism and horror, Amy seduces him into a false sense of security before slashing his throat mid-orgasm, bathing herself in his blood with chilling composure. It's not just murder—it's theater, an act of pure narrative control where she rewrites herself from captive to survivor. Fincher revels in this perverse transformation, crafting a film that doesn't just explore darkness but thrives on it, stripping away any sense of justice or morality. Gone Girl offers no comforting resolution, only the unsettling realization that the most dangerous monsters are the ones who know exactly how to play the victim. The Killer is a chilling meditation on precision and detachment, a film where violence isn't just inevitable—it's methodical, stripped of emotion yet steeped in nihilistic purpose. Fincher's assassin isn't driven by revenge or ideology; he is a machine in human form, executing with ruthless efficiency, his moral compass eroded by repetition. Nowhere is this more depraved than in the film's most harrowing moment: a brutal, near-wordless fight sequence in which the hitman dismantles his target with the cold pragmatism of a man taking out the trash. Every blow, every gasp, every broken bone feels surgical, an act not of rage but necessity, emphasizing the dehumanization at the film's core. Fincher doesn't just depict violence—he dissects it, removing the spectacle and leaving only the raw, unflinching truth of death as a transaction. There's no moral reckoning, no grand revelation—only a void where conscience should be. The Killer (Michael Fassbender) moves through the world unseen, existing in a state of perpetual erasure, and by the time the credits roll, the most terrifying realization isn't that he got away with it—it's that he never truly existed in the first place. Zodiac is Fincher at his most unrelenting, dismantling the traditional thriller to create something far more unsettling—violence that is stripped of spectacle, leaving only raw inevitability. Nowhere is this more harrowing than the Lake Berryessa stabbing scene, in which the film abandons mystery and forces the audience into the immediate, suffocating terror of the victims. Zodiac is a depraved film because it strips away the glamor and catharsis typically found in serial killer thrillers, instead plunging the audience into an unrelenting abyss of obsession, fear, and unresolved horror. Fincher's meticulous direction presents violence not as spectacle but as cold, mechanical reality, forcing viewers to experience murder with an almost clinical detachment. Jake Gyllenhaal's performance in Zodiac amplifies the film's depravity by transforming Robert Graysmith from a curious cartoonist into an obsessive, paranoia-ridden shell of a man consumed by an unsolvable mystery. The basement scene alone is unnerving. His trembling breath, darting eyes, and barely restrained panic make the audience feel his horrifying realization—that he may have just stepped into the killer's lair, and there is no way out. Zodiac doesn't allow you to feel anything but constant fear, even when the film is over and nothing is resolved. Se7en is a descent into pure nihilism, a film where morality isn't just tested but methodically dismantled, crime by crime, in the name of a deranged ideology. Every murder is a calculated horror, but none is more viscerally shocking than the victim representing sloth—a man kept alive in a rotting apartment for a year, his skeletal body a testament to unrelenting cruelty. When he suddenly gasps for breath, it's not just the characters who recoil in horror—it's the audience, confronted with a level of suffering that feels almost unimaginable. Yet even this moment pales in comparison to the film's infamous climax in which Fincher delivers the final, gut-wrenching blow: The severed head of Detective Mills' wife. That isn't just a narrative gut punch; it's John Doe's final victory, a moment in which justice crumbles and wrath takes its place. Fincher doesn't simply depict evil—he lets it win, crafting a film that doesn't just haunt the viewer but leaves them trapped in its relentless, suffocating darkness. Alien 3 is one of the most merciless films ever made, a descent into pure cinematic cruelty where survival isn't just impossible—it's a sick joke. Fincher wastes no time in stripping the audience of comfort, killing off beloved characters from Aliens in the opening moments, turning the hard-fought victory of the last film into meaningless tragedy. Ellen Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) is thrown into the bleakest setting imaginable—a hellish prison planet where the walls drip with filth, the men are just as predatory as the creature hunting them, and hope is little more than an afterthought. The film's most depraved moment comes with the dog (or ox) chestburster scene in which an alien violently rips through its host, a grotesque birth bathed in blood and agony, proving that suffering is the only constant in this world. But the film's cruelty doesn't stop at body horror—it's psychological, existential, inescapable. Ripley, once a warrior, is reduced to a vessel for the thing that has tormented her for years, her body desecrated by forces beyond her control. There's no catharsis in her final act—throwing herself into a sea of fire isn't defiance, it's submission, the only escape from a universe that has chewed her up and spit her out over and over again. Fincher doesn't just strip Alien 3 of hope—he revels in its absence, crafting a film that doesn't just scare, but punishes, ensuring that by the end, the audience feels just as broken as Ripley herself. It shouldn't be a surprise that Fincher's most culturally important film is also one that plays on the brutality and anarchy of humans' primal nature. We're not even supposed to be talking about Fight Club right now (that's literally the first rule of Fight Club), but Edward Norton beating Jared Leto's face into a bloody pulp after he was already unconscious, and letting lye eat through his flesh because his alter ego told him to do so, is too gruesome to not discuss. There's nothing inherently depraved about dissociative identity disorder until it manifests as Brad Pitt leading you to beat yourself up to frame your boss as part of an extortion plot, or to blow up buildings in order to erase everyone's credit history. Honestly, the most depraved part of Fight Club is how much we are drawn to the film because of its visceral dissection of our subservience to the jobs we have, the government we live under, and the herd mentality we mask, all under the guise of societal norms. It just does it with gallons of blood. David Fincher has always been drawn to darkness, but The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is his most unflinching plunge into depravity, a film that strips away any sense of comfort and drags the viewer into a world where power is wielded through pure, sadistic cruelty. Nowhere is this more evident than in the film's most horrifying moment—Lisbeth Salander's brutal assault at the hands of her sadistic legal guardian, Nils Bjurman (Yorick van Wageningen). The scene is deliberately protracted, each second stretching unbearably as Lisbeth, once a fiercely independent survivor, is reduced to helpless prey. Bjurman doesn't just rape her—he defiles her, binding her hands, stuffing a rag into her mouth to muffle her screams, and tearing at her body with a grotesque pleasure that Fincher refuses to cut away from. The sterile lighting of the room makes it all the more disturbing, as if the violence is happening under a cold, indifferent gaze, a violation so deeply unsettling that it leaves the audience desperate for retribution. But Fincher doesn't just dwell in cruelty—he ensures that justice, when it comes, is just as harrowing. When Lisbeth exacts revenge, it's not just payback; it's a methodical, calculated reclamation of power that is as disturbing as it is satisfying. She tasers Bjurman, strips him, binds him, and tattoos his sins into his flesh, ensuring that his crimes will never be hidden. Yet, the true horror isn't in the violence itself but in the shift of control—how pain, humiliation, and dominance cycle between victim and perpetrator in a way that leaves no one unscarred. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is Fincher at his most merciless, a film that revels in the abyss of human cruelty and refuses to offer redemption, only the cold, grim reality that survival often comes at the cost of something far worse than death. For the latest news, Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.
