What is marriage?

Many would argue that it is the union of two loving soulmates who commit to one another for a lifetime through the good and bad times. But what happens when the bad times are far greater than the good ones? What happens when you realize that all the good moments were fabrications? And what happens when there is no easy way out of marriage? These are only a few of the many complex issues at the forefront of David Fincher's magnificent "Gone Girl."

On July 5, Nick (Ben Affleck) finds out that his wife Amy (Rosamund Pike) has gone missing. He seeks her out around their Missouri neighborhood, only to mix himself in a media frenzy and an increasingly bizarre case. Meanwhile, Fincher takes the viewer back in time via Amy's voiceover that comes from her mysterious diary. As Nick's search intensifies, Amy's narrative digs deeper into their complicated marriage until the two stories meet in the middle in a fabulous twist that becomes even more ferocious and unpredictable as the film move's toward its satisfying and yet extremely disturbing climax.

The film is based on the hugely popular novel by Gillian Flynn, who also penned the script for the film. The collaboration between writer and director is quite potent in this film in how it navigates the murky waters of storytelling. Marriage is at the center of this film (in intensely Hitchcockian overtones at that), with the idea of roles being played at the forefront. Early on in their romance, Nick takes Amy to a rather romantic night scene with sugar in the air. He wipes her face clean before kissing her. 

When he proposes marriage, Nick does it while playing the role of reporter and Amy is playing the role of the fabricated "Amazing Amy" (more on that below). In another scene, the two characters discuss their difficulties and Amy punctuates her situation by stating that "nothing else matters but us." Later in that conversation, she tells Nick to repeat that line, as if saying it will make the problems go away.

As the relationship worsens, they chide one another for taking on the roles they were not supposed to. And when the film takes its shocking turn midway through, there are characters disguising and altering their identities, others playing for the camera (or in one scene multiple cameras) and then finally settling into newer roles. They are indeed players upon the stage that is life.

The film's other major theme is the idea of narrative and its ambiguous meanings. Throughout the film, the viewer is given a number of contradicting, intersecting and even parallel narratives that lead to everything and yet lead to complete uncertainty for the viewer. Oftentimes, one side of the story is given while the other is completely omitted. In other instances two versions of the same story are permitted and either offer consensus or repeated contradiction. When the film's big twist arrives, the viewer comprehends that one major piece of narrative in the story is both real but also fabricated to create something more complex; in essence it too is a construction that may or may not hold the complete truth.

Amy and Nick's stories are constructed through their own voices, but also the media's. After her disappearance, Nick becomes a target because the media starts to question his sincerity. "Why would a man smile for the cameras when his wife is missing?" is only one of many ways in which the media circus spins the story. Later on, the story reaches more outrageous depths when it hints at an incestuous relationship with his twin sister.

Meanwhile, Amy's own childhood is completely subverted and skewed by her own mother in the creation of the titular character's imaginary foil "Amazing Amy." Amy herself seems to be baptized with the identity of the fake character despite her own protests that her imaginary doppelganger's qualities were the result of her rejecting certain things. For example, as soon as Amy quit the cello, her fake foil learned the instrument. The media takes notice of the mystery behind the disappearance because of the association with the fabricated character, thus opening up the possibility for Nick and Amy's lives to also become possessed by their audience in the same manner they project their emotions on "Amazing Amy." Clearly, narrative can move away from having a focus to being nonsensical sound and fury. One reporter cynically tells Nick that she goes where the story is. It is as damning and satirical a portrayal of the media as Wilder's brilliant "Ace in the Hole."

The other fascinating aspect of this film is how Fincher presents the film as a sort of satire. He knows that the action is in some ways grossly exaggerated, but his comment is very real and potent. The additions of the comedy create relief and increasing unease in the audience members. But it also lends itself to supporting this idea of narrative confusion. Is this story to be taken seriously as the thriller genre would warrant? Or is to be taken like a joke to enjoy, as the media circus in the film would have it?

But the media is not the only one to take a hit here. In one of his most obvious Hitchcockian touches, Fincher hits at police officers and the law with a certain glee. Patrick Fugit and Kim Dickens play the two lead officers investigating the case, but they can never seem to get on the same page. Dickens' Detective Rhonda Boney is confounded by the complexity of the case while Fugit's Officer Jim Gilpin listens to what his wife thinks (who is convinced by the media's branding of the story) and resolves that it is an easy case to make out. Their repartee represents some of the most enjoyable moments of the film. Later on, the FBI gets a slight jab from Fincher (which would certainly have made Hitchcock proud) for their ineptitude in using reason over emotion in resolving the case. The law seems to show how oftentimes a convincing narrative is enough to convince the authorities one way or another. Only Tyler Perry's lawyer seems somewhat safe from the drilling against authority. 

Visually, this film is perfection. Chiaroschuro dominates throughout, emphasizing the lack of clarity in this narrative world (or worlds?). The editing is fast-paced and often jolting. The opening montage cuts around the small village rather rapidly, with the credit text fading in and out quickly. The viewer almost has no time to read the titles, emphasizing the elusiveness of the "players" in the "show." Early in the film, the scene cuts from a bar to an off-putting flashback that comes out of thin air. The speed of this transition throws the viewer completely off, expressing the film's unhinged qualities.

The music is the other major dramatic device. As noted in a press conference, Fincher wanted the kind of music associated with spas. Relaxing in its context, but eerily unsettling out of context. The music mainly makes appearances during the flashback diary entries, making the specter of Amy's "ghost" all the more frightening and seemingly commenting on the unreliability of the narrative.

Enough cannot be said about the actors themselves. Rosamund Pike steals the show without any doubt in a performance that exudes sexuality, violence, insanity and a lot of comprehension. She is a cross between Lady Macbeth, Norman Bates and, in some people's perception, a perfectly normal wife. Her initial scenes showcase her as an attractive and intelligent woman with great compassion for her husband. But as the story unravels, she takes on a number of increasingly complex role from nagging wife to control freak to master manipulator to murderer to unhinged monster. Physically, she transitions from an elegant, alluring woman to a weak, decrepit-looking being that is both dead and alive at the same time. It is a transformation that keeps the viewer on the edge of his/her seat. And despite this often horrific transformation, the viewer cannot help but feel sympathy for her. Even in her most horrid moments, she exudes such power and energy that she manages to break the fourth wall and manipulate the viewer to rout for her and sympathize with her. It is spellbinding in the most literal way possible.

Ben Affleck's Nick is the complete opposite. Whereas Pike transforms before the viewer's eyes physically and mentally, he only transforms because the script's narrative twists change the viewers' perception. And this might ultimately be the case. Affleck's Nick is not the most lovable of characters and he certainly commits questionable acts, but he often comes off as the victim of circumstance for the viewer. Affleck hits all the right notes. He's desperate when the scene calls for it and explosively violent at other times. But his Nick does not have the searing qualities of his costar or the ability to truly captivate at every moment on screen.

Neil Patrick Harris exudes mystery in his initial scenes, but becomes increasingly odd and creepy as his appearances become more and more frequent. The ambiguity behind his character is never fully fleshed out, but this is simply another example of narrative vagary at its finest. The viewer is allowed to interpret the claims of his past in his or her own manner.

Other standouts include Tyler Perry as a confident and assuring lawyer. He also joins in on the act of the storytelling, but he ironically offers a sense of security in this world of murky narratives. As Nick's sister Margo, Carrie Coon offers a bit more of an emotional foil for Nick. She is his moral conscience and is unafraid to speak her mind. She is also set free from being placed among the morally ambiguous storytellers. Dickens is also a major highlight as the responsible detective in the case.

"Gone Girl" opens and closes on an identical image -- Amy's hidden face which turns around to look the camera. The first time the viewer experiences the image, there is attraction which is backed by the rather comic voiceover from Affleck's Nick. But when the image comes at the end, the viewer cannot help but feel disturbed. This is the power of perception in this film. It is the power of David Fincher's genius.

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