Stately Plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a ticket for the cinema upon which the film, theatre number, and showtime were printed. He had very much enjoyed The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and was looking forward very much to viewing the second film in the trilogy. Eagerly, he was anticipating whether Lisbeth would discover the identity of her father and whether her companion, the redoubtable Mikael would be able to escape again from the intergalatic — er, Swedish crime syndicate.
Two hours later, he knew the answers but was grossly disappointed by the manner in which they had been revealed. The Girl Who Played with Fire is better than most, proving the point that it is not what is destroyed but how it is made significant that creates true suspense. There was some tension, some thrills, and some chills but alas, something was missing. Was the sole value of the film the necessity to screen it so one would be able to pick up the plot for the final episode of the trilogy?
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo was taunt in a large part because of the relationship between Lisbeth and Mikael. Initially, they neither understood nor tursted one another but their perspectives gradually changed throughout the film. In the sequel, they are only together onscreen for five minutes. Mikael works for Millenium, a Swedish magazine that publishes stories the mainstream media would never dare touch. He is the alter-ego of the deceased journalist-author Stieg Larsson, searching for good in a world full of evil.
Lisbeth eventually serves as Mikael’s moral compass as he discovers how she values integrity above all else. It is against her moral code that he comes to judge the filth and grime that he witnesses on a daily basis. I had praised the first film for taking the time to establish the two protagonists separately, painting them as two similar and equal individuals. Now that we are almost four hours into the trilogy, keeping them apart seems like filling time until the eventual reunion. Star Wars allowed the main characters to develop by themselves and together by continually separating and reuniting them in various combinations. The suspense, delicately built with a subtle soundtrack and long camera shots, becomes somewhat artificial because the audience knows the real action won’t begin until the pair is together.
Truly, the film merits a mixed review. Miles better than today’s Hollywood fare but often predictable in a dilettante way, The Girl Who Played with Fire could have been so much more. Not a wasted evening but not close to a truly memorable one either. Clever and hinting at a real message, one needn’t feel guilt to become engaged in the film. Still, one can’t help but wonder, couldn’t Larsson have devised a villain less clichéd than the tall blonde strongman with herculean strength and hereditary sensory and autonomic neuropathy, in the mold of Red Grant, Mr. Stamper, and other James Bond rogues? Should one see the final part of the trilogy? yes I said yes I will Yes. **