Melissa Casas, Union Staffer
Illustration by Mariha Lowe 
It’s against my religion to see a film without reading its corresponding novel beforehand. Last summer, when I heard that David Fincher was making an adaptation of Stieg Larsson’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, I raced to get my hands on a copy of the book to see what I was in for when the film hit theaters.
Fast-forward to December. After hours of cringing, nail-biting, and whispering plot points to confused friends that hadn’t read the novel, I was in awe. From experience, we know that great films aren’t always great book adaptations (i.e. the last Harry Potter film). However, Dragon Tattoo succeeds at being an impressive movie and a cohesive adaptation of Larsson’s complicated behemoth of a novel. The filmmakers weren’t afraid to push the boundaries of acceptable cinema and truthfully, I would have been upset if they had censored the graphic aspects of the plot for the sake of delicate viewers.
Rooney Mara was just as much of a badass as I could have hoped for portraying Lisbeth Salander, the titular tattooed girl. Although I haven’t seen the first film adaptation starring Noomi Rapace, I can comfortably say that Rooney is perfect. I can already hear people sneering in disgust at this comment; after all, Rapace was applauded so widely for her work that she was asked to reprise the character for Fincher. Nonetheless, she declined and we were graced with Rooney’s transformation from the girl next door to a motorcycle-riding, leather-clad, sailor-mouthed bisexual. Although I can’t pass judgment on Noomi’s performance, I can conclude that Rooney may have been even more of a badass than the novel’s original character. This may be because the novel focuses more heavily on the story of journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig in Fincher’s film) than Lisbeth and that the film does the opposite, but the noncanononical scenes in the film, one of which includes Lisbeth threatening her guardian in an elevator, bolster her unrepentant attitude and troubled reputation.
Although the filmmakers focused more on Lisbeth than Blomkvist, I enjoyed this amendment to the plot. Larsson’s novel starts off more slowly than Fincher’s film because of its larger focus on Mikael’s job at Millenium, his lawsuit with corrupt financier Hans-Erik Wennerström, his personal relationships, and his life in general as he tries to pick up the pieces of his career and finances after being convicted of libel. Though I’m typically a purist when it comes to film adaptations, these changes were welcome. From a cinematographer’s and moviegoer’s perspective, a large reliance on Mikael’s perspective wouldn’t have been as marketable or enjoyable as focusing the film on the character that corresponds to its title; Lisbeth’s story holds my interest much more than Blomkvist’s ever did.
The tempo of Fincher’s film is much faster than the novel’s slow pace, which adds to the “aha!” factor of certain moments, but it can be agonizing. Martin Vanger’s penchant for Enya was an addition to the plot; although innately terrifying, there’s something magical about murderers who play ironic music while doing their dirty deeds (American Psycho’s Patrick Bateman, anyone?). Lisbeth’s fashion was just as delineated in the novel and more: black on black á la Johnny Cash, studded leather, ripped attire, and the pièce de résistance: a shirt that proclaimed in all caps, “fuck you you fucking fuck.”
In the end, I equally enjoy the book and film. If hot Swedes don’t persuade you to take a look at either, I don’t know what will.
