David Fincher's filmography is so expansive and varied that each new movie can be viewed as an amalgamation of his previous works (aside from Alien 3, obviously). His latest, Gone Girl, has music reminiscent of Trent Reznor's score for The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, yellow-hued lighting conjuring up the Harvard of The Social Network, a long-gestating crime mystery straight from Zodiac and the trick of a well-known actor going full-creep pulled in Se7en, all mixed in with the narrative-dominating twist of Fight Club. Far from feeling just like a director coasting, however, his latest is brilliant thriller so impeccably constructed it's almost unfair to criticise. Like Jonathan Demme with The Silence Of The Lambs, Fincher has taken a novel adaptation that could have ended up being a pulpy B-movie and instead made something beautiful. When people look back on Gone Girl there'll be all manner of elements to discuss (it'll no doubt be a turning point in the careers of Ben Affleck, Rosamund Pike and Neil Patrick Harris), but as with Fight Club it'll be the rug-pull that affirms its place in pop culture history. That twist, taking the film to some very dark and contentious places, is a narrative tour-de-force, coming slap-bang in the middle of the run-time and turning the expectations of the story and belief in what's presented on its head. Sure, it's executed as in Gillian Flynn's source, but in the audio-visual medium of film it's a much trickier feat to pull off. For a run-down of the ending's lingering questions, check out What Does The Ending Of Gone Girl Really Mean?
