Lagerlout’s review published on Letterboxd:
Only David Fincher could make this film. Or perhaps, only David Fincher could make this film brilliant.
Others could attempt it, but it would never be what he has made it. A tightly wound, tension filled, deceptive mind-fuck that leaves you elated, befuddled and bloody nervous.
The casting is sublime, with Ben Affleck playing the role of Nick to smug, perfection. He manages to toe that knife edge line of wanting to smack his face and hold him in your arms. But the real star of this freak-show is Rosamond Pike's deliciously sinister Amy. What a piece of work, what a behemoth of a woman. I was equal parts in awe and utterly terrified of her Amy and found her to be completely mesmerising on screen. She has a quality that Fincher taps into and she manipulates and twists you until you have no idea what to believe. It's a giant performance and I can only imagine getting inside the skin of Amy Dunne for any length of time must leave you feeling unclean and inhuman. One of the performances of the year, no doubt.
As always, Fincher's camera work is tight and sharp. The colour palate is gorgeous in it's understated browns and blues. Everything is earthy, yet cold. It's not a warm, sun-kissed feel - even though the characters are sweating through their warm Missouri weather. It feels chill and icy, it is Amy personified and no one is able to relax. The score is yet again pitched at a perfect level, the unease and mounting malice that is created from such a restrained scoring is so crucial to the whole feel of the film. It's been a few hours and my skin is still crawling, thinking, feeling, deciphering. A complete film, that ends on such a perfect note I almost wanted to cheer and I don't know why. For women, for men, for humans.