The Girl on the Train
Directed by Tate Taylor
Written by Erin Cressida Wilson, based on the novel by Paula Hawkins
Emily Blunt as Rachel
Haley Bennett as Megan
Rebecca Ferguson as Anna
Justin Theroux as Tom
Luke Evans as Scott
Edgar Ramirez as Dr. Kamal Abdic
Laura Prepon as Cathy
Allison Janney as Detective Riley
112 Minutes (Rated R for violence, sexual content, language, and nudity).
-------------------------------------------------------
With the massive success of The Girl on the Train in novel form (something like a dozen weeks on the New York Times bestseller list. . .), it was only a matter of time before Hollywood would follow off the heels of Gone Girl and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and bring another page-turning literary work to the screen. As with those aforementioned adaptations, The Girl on the Train is a fairly standard mystery story that is unique solely in the way it is told. Gone Girl does not particularly have the most interesting narrative, but Gillian Flynn's novel ends up being an intriguing experiment with the unreliable narrator. Stieg Larsson's mystery is oddly structured, but the titular character is wide open for development and discovery. Without having read Paula Hawkins novel, it is difficult to determine exactly what made it so popular (with criticisms ranging from "incredible!" to "that sucked!" being really unhelpful), and after seeing the film that still remains the biggest mystery of them all.
The Girl on the Train centers around three different women and the effect that three different men have on their lives. Primarily there is Rachel (Emily Blunt), whose life has relatively recently hit a wall. Divorced from her husband Tom (Justin Theroux) after he met, married, and impregnated Anna (Rebecca Ferguson), living with her very patient friend Cathy (Laura Prepon), and fired from her job, Rachel spends her days drinking vodka from a thermos and riding the train back and forth into New York City. Rachel stares at the passing suburban houses everyday, increasingly fascinated by one in particular where a young couple resides. Not knowing their names, occupations, or literally anything about them, Rachel creates lives for them, vicariously living through their "picture perfect" image. Naturally, the couples real life is anything but perfection. Their names are Megan (Haley Bennett, because Jennifer Lawrence is too expensive these days) and Scott (Luke Evans), a married couple going through many troubles of their own. According to Megan during her flirtatious sessions with her therapist Dr. Abdic (Edgar Ramirez), Scott is jealous, possessive, and, most unfortunately for the uninterested Megan, greatly determined to have a baby. And perhaps in order to jog the maternal desire in his wife, he gets her a job acting as babysitter for the next door neighbors. . . Tom and Anna! How perfect! After a drunken rampage that frightens Tom and Anna, Rachel wakes up in her bedroom covered in blood. Unfortunately, turning on the television, she discovers that Megan has gone missing and, given her tumultuous relationship with her ex-husband, the intuitive Detective Riley (Allison Janney) is looking at Rachel as a prime suspect.
Even going through the premise makes the film already seem a little convoluted and unlikely, though as its unfolding the events do somewhat appear to be relatively natural. Perhaps that accounts for the popularity of the novel, where this kind of thing may be more easily forgiven, but holding it up to close scrutiny while quickly watching the action unfold does make the house of cards collapse pretty quickly. Much of the narrative relies on convenience and coincidence, which might be easier going down if the material had any worthwhile subtext. And a lot of the trouble comes from the poor direction by Tate Taylor, whose previous credits of The Help and Get On Down make him a puzzling decision for this film. The quiet and non-intrusive style of those earlier films are fitting for that material, but the more complex "puzzle box" narrative presented by this screenplay could use a denser visual structure to help enhance the stories flaws. Many Hitchcock films do not hold up to close narrative scrutiny, but his visual talent and mastery of film language makes them highly compelling experiences. About the most "creative" that Taylor gets on a visual level is to create a hazy effect as Rachel drunkenly gallivants, which has not only been done before but done better. The film could actually have benefitted from a female helmer, especially since all the scenes are, supposedly, from the perspective of the three women (though more on that later) and someone like Jane Campion or Mary Harron (just to name a couple) have proven themselves highly adept at finding new and novel ways of shooting this kind of sexually-charged thriller. And even male directors like Sam Mendes or Todd Fields have shown deft handling of the suburban/city contrast, or Adrian Lynn's clever visual representation of mental anguish. Seriously, any of these people would have been just fine. Taylor's handling of biopics do work for the biopics that he has made, but this material simply needs more directorial style than what is presented.
Taylor is also quite poor at creating a consistent point of view, something that seems crucial given that the narrative jumps from the perspectives of Rachel, Anna, and Megan and spans different time people, places, and time periods. Each character in the ensemble has altered behavior based on who is viewing them at that time, and this is something that most likely works very well within the forum of a novel Taylor does show a partiality to Rachel, which makes sense given that she is the most engaging of the characters, and Blunt is quite game to sink her teeth into the character, which is fine but it is never quite clear when a scene is taking place from her eyes or an omnipotent one. The audience is given pieces of information before Rachel, such as an image of a corpse, but these moments typically come in the middle of scenes that focus on Rachel and feel out of place. The first few scenes signal changes in perspective using title cards, but when this is abandoned the shifts are quite jarring. A better film maker would have done something, anything, to visually distinguish the Rachel scenes from the Anna scenes and so on, but Taylor is content at shooting in the same grubby and drab close-ups no matter who is "telling" that portion of the story.
So the only thing that's really left after all that is the entertainment value of the screenplay itself, since nothing is really being done to elevate it out of B-movie fare. And on that level it's certainly passable. Attention is held, but even though it doesn't exactly lag it doesn't quite move along at a nice clip either. The mystery seems to makes sense as its being unfolded though, as mentioned, considering how the pieces fall is more problematic. Especially considering that one can figure most of it out simply by looking at the cast list. What really ends up holding the film together at all is Emily Blunt, bringing such immediacy and sadness to Rachel that makes her a compelling and multi-dimensional character. Perhaps the most consciously intelligent decision Taylor makes is to continue to emphasize her fragmented mental state in repeated close-ups, and Blunt is willing to let the camera focus on her even in unflattering lights. And Blunt seems to be the only person in the ensemble who understands to act differently depending on whose perspective is being utilized, ranging from sympathetic, to overbearing, and all the way to downright frightening. This is probably Blunt's best on-screen work and her handling and depiction of Rachel is so strong that it is a shame the film does not live up to her high standards.
Films that are made to be as successful as their best-selling counterparts typically fall victim to the common criticism of "The book was better!" And also typically the people that decide to see the film see them because they "read the book!' Bringing up Gone Girl and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo once again just goes to show how well-crafted those adaptations were as individual films, and David Fincher does elevate B-material to make fairly strong films in their own right. Taylor is given a gold mine of a pulpy, lurid, sexually-charged thriller and refuses to have any fun with it whatsoever. What was most likely given as a assignment remains a pretty tepid and bland experience, with moments of good-acting and the occasionally well-written scene peppered throughout. The Girl on the Train is worth seeing for its central performance and an ensemble that often understands how ridiculous some of this material is, but aside from that it is semi-decent diversion that falls flat of being consistently compelling and teeters out before the big finish when it should be gaining speed and momentum.
** of ****
October 12, 2016
Directed by Tate Taylor
Written by Erin Cressida Wilson, based on the novel by Paula Hawkins
Emily Blunt as Rachel
Haley Bennett as Megan
Rebecca Ferguson as Anna
Justin Theroux as Tom
Luke Evans as Scott
Edgar Ramirez as Dr. Kamal Abdic
Laura Prepon as Cathy
Allison Janney as Detective Riley
112 Minutes (Rated R for violence, sexual content, language, and nudity).
-------------------------------------------------------
With the massive success of The Girl on the Train in novel form (something like a dozen weeks on the New York Times bestseller list. . .), it was only a matter of time before Hollywood would follow off the heels of Gone Girl and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and bring another page-turning literary work to the screen. As with those aforementioned adaptations, The Girl on the Train is a fairly standard mystery story that is unique solely in the way it is told. Gone Girl does not particularly have the most interesting narrative, but Gillian Flynn's novel ends up being an intriguing experiment with the unreliable narrator. Stieg Larsson's mystery is oddly structured, but the titular character is wide open for development and discovery. Without having read Paula Hawkins novel, it is difficult to determine exactly what made it so popular (with criticisms ranging from "incredible!" to "that sucked!" being really unhelpful), and after seeing the film that still remains the biggest mystery of them all.
The Girl on the Train centers around three different women and the effect that three different men have on their lives. Primarily there is Rachel (Emily Blunt), whose life has relatively recently hit a wall. Divorced from her husband Tom (Justin Theroux) after he met, married, and impregnated Anna (Rebecca Ferguson), living with her very patient friend Cathy (Laura Prepon), and fired from her job, Rachel spends her days drinking vodka from a thermos and riding the train back and forth into New York City. Rachel stares at the passing suburban houses everyday, increasingly fascinated by one in particular where a young couple resides. Not knowing their names, occupations, or literally anything about them, Rachel creates lives for them, vicariously living through their "picture perfect" image. Naturally, the couples real life is anything but perfection. Their names are Megan (Haley Bennett, because Jennifer Lawrence is too expensive these days) and Scott (Luke Evans), a married couple going through many troubles of their own. According to Megan during her flirtatious sessions with her therapist Dr. Abdic (Edgar Ramirez), Scott is jealous, possessive, and, most unfortunately for the uninterested Megan, greatly determined to have a baby. And perhaps in order to jog the maternal desire in his wife, he gets her a job acting as babysitter for the next door neighbors. . . Tom and Anna! How perfect! After a drunken rampage that frightens Tom and Anna, Rachel wakes up in her bedroom covered in blood. Unfortunately, turning on the television, she discovers that Megan has gone missing and, given her tumultuous relationship with her ex-husband, the intuitive Detective Riley (Allison Janney) is looking at Rachel as a prime suspect.
Even going through the premise makes the film already seem a little convoluted and unlikely, though as its unfolding the events do somewhat appear to be relatively natural. Perhaps that accounts for the popularity of the novel, where this kind of thing may be more easily forgiven, but holding it up to close scrutiny while quickly watching the action unfold does make the house of cards collapse pretty quickly. Much of the narrative relies on convenience and coincidence, which might be easier going down if the material had any worthwhile subtext. And a lot of the trouble comes from the poor direction by Tate Taylor, whose previous credits of The Help and Get On Down make him a puzzling decision for this film. The quiet and non-intrusive style of those earlier films are fitting for that material, but the more complex "puzzle box" narrative presented by this screenplay could use a denser visual structure to help enhance the stories flaws. Many Hitchcock films do not hold up to close narrative scrutiny, but his visual talent and mastery of film language makes them highly compelling experiences. About the most "creative" that Taylor gets on a visual level is to create a hazy effect as Rachel drunkenly gallivants, which has not only been done before but done better. The film could actually have benefitted from a female helmer, especially since all the scenes are, supposedly, from the perspective of the three women (though more on that later) and someone like Jane Campion or Mary Harron (just to name a couple) have proven themselves highly adept at finding new and novel ways of shooting this kind of sexually-charged thriller. And even male directors like Sam Mendes or Todd Fields have shown deft handling of the suburban/city contrast, or Adrian Lynn's clever visual representation of mental anguish. Seriously, any of these people would have been just fine. Taylor's handling of biopics do work for the biopics that he has made, but this material simply needs more directorial style than what is presented.
Taylor is also quite poor at creating a consistent point of view, something that seems crucial given that the narrative jumps from the perspectives of Rachel, Anna, and Megan and spans different time people, places, and time periods. Each character in the ensemble has altered behavior based on who is viewing them at that time, and this is something that most likely works very well within the forum of a novel Taylor does show a partiality to Rachel, which makes sense given that she is the most engaging of the characters, and Blunt is quite game to sink her teeth into the character, which is fine but it is never quite clear when a scene is taking place from her eyes or an omnipotent one. The audience is given pieces of information before Rachel, such as an image of a corpse, but these moments typically come in the middle of scenes that focus on Rachel and feel out of place. The first few scenes signal changes in perspective using title cards, but when this is abandoned the shifts are quite jarring. A better film maker would have done something, anything, to visually distinguish the Rachel scenes from the Anna scenes and so on, but Taylor is content at shooting in the same grubby and drab close-ups no matter who is "telling" that portion of the story.
So the only thing that's really left after all that is the entertainment value of the screenplay itself, since nothing is really being done to elevate it out of B-movie fare. And on that level it's certainly passable. Attention is held, but even though it doesn't exactly lag it doesn't quite move along at a nice clip either. The mystery seems to makes sense as its being unfolded though, as mentioned, considering how the pieces fall is more problematic. Especially considering that one can figure most of it out simply by looking at the cast list. What really ends up holding the film together at all is Emily Blunt, bringing such immediacy and sadness to Rachel that makes her a compelling and multi-dimensional character. Perhaps the most consciously intelligent decision Taylor makes is to continue to emphasize her fragmented mental state in repeated close-ups, and Blunt is willing to let the camera focus on her even in unflattering lights. And Blunt seems to be the only person in the ensemble who understands to act differently depending on whose perspective is being utilized, ranging from sympathetic, to overbearing, and all the way to downright frightening. This is probably Blunt's best on-screen work and her handling and depiction of Rachel is so strong that it is a shame the film does not live up to her high standards.
Films that are made to be as successful as their best-selling counterparts typically fall victim to the common criticism of "The book was better!" And also typically the people that decide to see the film see them because they "read the book!' Bringing up Gone Girl and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo once again just goes to show how well-crafted those adaptations were as individual films, and David Fincher does elevate B-material to make fairly strong films in their own right. Taylor is given a gold mine of a pulpy, lurid, sexually-charged thriller and refuses to have any fun with it whatsoever. What was most likely given as a assignment remains a pretty tepid and bland experience, with moments of good-acting and the occasionally well-written scene peppered throughout. The Girl on the Train is worth seeing for its central performance and an ensemble that often understands how ridiculous some of this material is, but aside from that it is semi-decent diversion that falls flat of being consistently compelling and teeters out before the big finish when it should be gaining speed and momentum.
** of ****
October 12, 2016
