Miller has no previous experience with title sequences, but he certainly should consider dabbling into the process more often. Oscar-winning composers Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross (The Social Network) brought in Karen O from The Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs to cover Led Zeppelin's epic "Immigrant Song," creating a heart-pounding, relentless theme for the movie. The song was used initially in a couple of initial teaser trailers to wet filmgoer's appetite.
The heroes awaken from hibernating in a vat of dark, translucent water. It has been a few years since the original Swedish telefilms of the popular trilogy (some argue too soon) and Lisbeth and Mikael have been incubating on the sound stages of Fincher's film. He's announcing: "they're back, in a different form, and buckle up for my own interpretation." There's no judgment on the previous installment, only the desire to tell a story in a way Fincher was dying to share through his eyes and unleash these complicated protagonists on his audience. His mythmaking motif smartly sets the tone superbly executed by Miller.
A river springs from a sea of black liquid running across a keyboard and other technical equipment, as well as bathing the characters during their rebirth as they spit up the same fluid from within. Droplets speed around leaving trails and reforming like the mimetic poly-alloy that comprised the shape shifting T-1000 in Terminator 2. Tentacles weave through the frames reminiscent of Alien3 and computer cables come to life in a rather phallic, reproductive manner. The opener teems with sexual imagery. Lisbeth's tall spikes sprout from her head like a quickly blooming flower.
Lisbeth and Mikael separate and merge together. They are one with each other in this film and rely on each other's strengths and dependability, but they also operate autonomously and will define themselves, especially Lisbeth who comes of age in this first installment and will carry the next two films (if they're produced). There is a constant tearing down and reassembling, as several casts of the noirishly depicted figures crumble and come back to life; they're prepared to meet death at its door many times, only to come out the other end a reconfigured and stronger person. Fire plays predominantly into the proceedings, including a phoenix rising from the ashes. At one point, Lisbeth's beauty mark--her dragon tattoo--comes to life like it's her own personal dæmon out of His Dark Materials.
A river springs from a sea of black liquid running across a keyboard and other technical equipment, as well as bathing the characters during their rebirth as they spit up the same fluid from within. Droplets speed around leaving trails and reforming like the mimetic poly-alloy that comprised the shape shifting T-1000 in Terminator 2. Tentacles weave through the frames reminiscent of Alien3 and computer cables come to life in a rather phallic, reproductive manner. The opener teems with sexual imagery. Lisbeth's tall spikes sprout from her head like a quickly blooming flower.
There is an overabundance of imagery, but through the cacophony of visuals, the narrative is more cohesive than most of Fincher's music videos from yore. Time moves rapidly and very little is spent on any one of the hundreds of pristine and meticulously assembled visuals. While it's polished within an each of its life like a car commercial and delves into the bombastic and cryptic at times--insects, an army of hands covering one character, while another is gagged--it's still outrageously fun and just plain gorgeous.
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