I think David Fincher and his fans, plus his marketers, which seems to include most critics, should just get a room. By which I mean, a private screening room, so none of the rest of us will ever be tempted to watch any of his movies ever again.

I love Kim Dickens and Carrie Coon. Ben Affleck plays vapid very well. Rosamund Pike does exactly what she's supposed to do, and hey, great accent! But I was warned beforehand how funny this is, and sure, I can see it's supposed to be funny and I guess satirical but the only moment that got an out-loud laugh from me was when Amy shook out the blood from her hair after slitting her ex-lover's throat. Seductive cuts and fades in that scene, too. Otherwise, I grinned a couple of times and checked my watch a lot.

I have never gotten the sense that Fincher's movies have any real moral core, as they seem to vacillate between empty sentiment and minimalist but glossy satire. He can't seem to decide whether he wants to remake L'argent or Mr Smith Goes to Washington. But i think his movies don't speak to me because they're coming from a particular unexamined class privilege that, even if not repellent, still exhausts me. Rich people making fun of other rich people. How fucking gauche.