MILLENNIUM: UOMINI CHE ODIANO LE DONNE- NELLA VERSIONE CINEMATOGRAFICA AMERICANA E' DANIEL CRAIG A VESTIRE I PANNI DI MIKAEL BLOMKVIST MENTRE ROONEY MARA CALZA QUELLI DELLA NUOVA 'EROINA CONTEMPORANEA' LISBETH SALANDER. ROBIN WRIGHT E' POI LA NUOVA ERIKA BERGER

Ci si chiede spesso, di fronte ad un rifacimento, il motivo della scelta ma certamente non è il caso del remake americano primo episodio della trilogia “Millennium” per la regia di David Fincher, che salva finalmente una situazione piuttosto imbarazzante e forse motivo di un rifacimento a così breve distanza dall’uscita dell’ultimo episodio della serie cinematografica ispirata alla saga di Stieg Larsson. Dove Oplev aveva fallito nell’interessante tentativo di mostrare un thriller, non solo da un punto di vista americano ma tutto nordico, riesce Fincher con un cast decisamente attinente a quello che le molte migliaia di lettori ed appassionati avevano immaginato, portando nei panni di Mikael Blomqvist uno splendido Daniel Craig che sembra davvero non aver mai vestito panni diversi.
Finalmente espressione, ritmo e narrazione che rispecchiano tempi e spazi e tutti i luoghi dell’originale, senza salti temporali e con peculiarità di dettaglio, senza tralasciare nulla e

riscostruendo le vicende della famiglia Vanger e delle ricerche di Mikael e Lisbeth proprio come il lettore se le era viste scorrere davanti leggendo il realistico e bruciante romanzo di Larsson.
Un mondo fatto di giornalismo di inchiesta che esplora i lati oscuri della società, la denuncia e la morale, attraverso un fitto numero di uomini e donne che popolano le vicende e nelle quali ciascuno dà un contributo preciso alla storia, mettendo a nudo la propria personalità in dettaglio e con espressivo realismo.

E finalmente si vedono i volti giusti a ricoprire i giusti ruoli per Dragan Armanskji ed Erika Berger (Robin Wright), perché, al di là di una splendida ed intensissima Noomi Rapace, che ritroviamo nella sua “controfigura” Rooney Mara, nella trasposizione svedese non c’era davvero nulla che funzionasse, nemmeno il giusto parco macchine con Blomkqvist che girava in suv e delle nazionali Volvo non vi era traccia. Tralasciando

che a Lisbeth non è dato evidentemente di salire a bordo della sua Kawasaki Ninja, se non altro il Millennium made in Usa la converte in una naked color carbonio.

Sembra strano vedere la vera Svezia girata ad opera di un cast americano, eppure il risultato rispecchia le aspettative del trailer ben costruito ed anche di più, permettendo una serie di puntuali raccordi con il capitolo successivo ed imprimendo un ritmo ed una personalità ben definita alla pellicola fin dalla sigla dei titoli di apertura, in cui il lo spazio internet si trasforma in una fitta rete dove scorre materia nera fra i cavi, come vite attorcigliate che si portano dietro i drammi, gli inganni, le sevizie, il quotidiano.

If ever an atmosphere could be described as dank, fetid yet strangely luxurious, it's the chill seeping through every corrosively beautiful frame of "The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo." As classy a film as could be made from Stieg Larsson's sordid page-turner, David Fincher's much-anticipated return to serial-killer territory is a fastidiously grim pulp entertainment that plays like a first-class train ride through progressively bleaker circles of hell. If the brooding intelligence and technical mastery on display at times feel disproportionate to the material, Rooney Mara's riveting take on Lisbeth Salander amply validates what will likely be Fincher's biggest success to date.

The global popularity of Larsson's posthumously published "Millennium" trilogy should help the Sony release overcome a number of commercial hurdles, including a no-bull R rating, scenes of implied sexual assault, and a pacey but unhurried 158-minute running time. That this English-lingo adaptation is arriving not long after a

widely seen Swedish version (which grossed $104 million worldwide and an impressive $10 million in the U.S. last year) could hinder its international prospects to some degree, but all in all, the desire to see what Hollywood has wrought from Larsson's literary juggernaut should entice franchise addicts, casual fans and mildly curious holdouts.

What they're in for is a considerably slicker and more sophisticated piece of film craft than the Swedish production or either of its Nordic TV sequels. The film telegraphs its exceptional production values and acrid tone with one of Fincher's typically arresting credits sequences: a rapid-fire frenzy of images variously evoking sex, violence, birth, technology and immolation, set to a furious cover of Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song" featuring Karen O. It's presumably a howl of rage from the ravaged psyche of Lisbeth Salander (Mara), the dragon-tattooed Goth girl whose black mohawk, bondage gear and don't-mess-with-me attitude conceal

a troubled history as well as one of Sweden's great investigative minds.

Hewing more faithfully to the novel than its predecessor did, Steven Zaillian's smartly pruned screenplay divides its time between Salander, a supremely gifted hacker and professional snoop, and the most recent subject of one of her expert background checks, Stockholm-based magazine journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig). Publicly disgraced after losing a high-profile libel case rigged by a corrupt mogul (Ulf Friberg), Blomkvist takes a powder and relocates on a whim to the remote Hedeby Island; there, Henrik Vanger (Christopher Plummer), aging patriarch of the wealthy, notoriously fractious Vanger family, has assigned him to find out what happened to Henrik's niece Harriet, who, as depicted in gorgeously hued flashbacks, mysteriously disappeared from the island more than 40 years ago.

Blomkvist eventually unmasks not just a killer but a highly disturbing record of generational sin etched in the Vanger dynasty's

DNA and, by extension, the fabric of any Western capitalist society. Without excessively underlining the subtext, the film fully retains Larsson's thinly veiled indictment of corporate skulduggery, anti-Semitism, child abuse and, above all, unspeakably sadistic crimes against women (not for nothing was the novel published in Sweden under the title "Men Who Hate Women"). Fittingly, it's Salander who serves as not only a victim of such violence, but an avenging dark angel.

To that end, editors Kirk Baxter and Angus Wall crosscut frequently between Blomkvist's investigation and a disturbing parallel narrative in which Salander, a ward of the state, must deal with a predatory legal advocate (Yorick van Wageningen). As with the Swedish pic, the scenes in which this sadist abuses his authority will prove the most difficult to watch, although here the degradation is more implied than seen, shot dimly and from a well-judged distance, with no hint of

leering or exploitation beyond the calculated satisfaction of watching Salander turn the tables.

Blomkvist eventually hires Salander as a research assistant, initiating a collaboration that sets off professional and romantic sparks and brings the investigation to a boil. As the two use the latest technology to resurrect old files, photos and clippings, their MacBooks commanding nearly as much screentime as their faces, Fincher charts their progress with unerring focus and agility; instinctively, one detects reverberations of the helmer's past work, notably the razor-sharp techno-savvy of "The Social Network" and the procedural rigor of "Zodiac." Yet where the obsessive quest for knowledge in that 2007 film was predicated on the unknowability of the truth, "The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo" is finally let down by a yarn that contents itself with easy solutions and few lingering mysteries. For all the fetishistic attention Fincher and his crew lavish on every gruesome forensic

detail, they're unable to transmute Larsson's rudimentary mystery plotting into something more than pop-lit fare.

What remains, then, is the hypnotic presence of Mara, who fearlessly steps into a role made iconic by Swedish thesp Noomi Rapace and proves more than equal to the challenge. Whereas Rapace emphasized the character's pluck and rage, the more petite, vulnerable-looking Mara presents Salander as an emptied-out enigma: Pierced to the nines, her eyebrows dyed a pale skin tone so as to drain any readable emotion from her face, she frequently averts her gaze downward from whomever she may be addressing. It's a gesture at once defensive and defiant, bespeaking years of endured abuse and alienation, yet despite her blank affect, the actress charges every moment with tension and feeling.

Though he's a more compelling Blomkvist than Swedish originator Michael Nyqvist, Craig still makes sure to present the character as a bit of a

schlump, tamping down his leading-man charisma to allow Mara to decisively claim the spotlight. The duo's often darkly funny rapport pays off with startling emotion in the final reels, perhaps the most gratifying surprise from a filmmaker whose temperament has generally been as frigid as the film's Swedish landscapes. Casting elsewhere is perfect down to the smallest roles, particularly Robin Wright as Blomkvist's gorgeous editor/lover; Stellan Skarsgard as Harriet's genial brother, Martin; and, despite the excision of much of her material from the novel, Geraldine James as Henrik's inquisitive grandniece, Cecilia. The slight variability of the ensemble's Swedish accents (Craig retains his British enunciation) is a minor but not bothersome flaw.

With the outstanding assistance of d.p. Jeff Cronenweth and production designer Donald Graham Burt, Fincher has rendered a gray, vividly creepy world in keeping with Larsson's cynical vision; spanning glassy modern offices and moneyed estates as well as squalid

flats and rustic cottages, it's a place where evil hides in plain sight, and even a well-appointed apartment or an island getaway can turn out to be a sicko's torture chamber. At times carrying echoes of their work on "Social Network," Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross' score blends dread with driving momentum, establishing a richly unsettling mood with recurring dissonances, eerie wind chimes and pulsating reverb effects.