Have you ever wondered what David Fincher’s “Se7en” would be like if it were surprisingly tame and absolutely atrocious? Of course you haven’t! Nobody has! But that’s exactly what the big screen adaptation of Jo Nesbø’s bestselling book “The Snowman” feels like.
Harry Hole (Michael Fassbender) works for the Oslo Police Department as a classic loose-cannon detective. He doesn’t like to play by the rules, and sometimes he goes rogue (insert air quotes wherever you like). At least, this is what the film wants you to believe about him. In reality, Hole comes across less like a walking, talking stick of dynamite and more like a forlorn puppy who has the occasional temper tantrum when he isn’t fed punctually. Alongside new recruit Katrine (Rebecca Ferguson), Hole starts investigating a series of disappearances, which eventually evolves into a full-blown manhunt for a serial killer. The killer’s modus operandi? Creepy snowmen at the crime scenes. I shiver with fear.
Admittedly, the premise is a tad silly, but there is also a lot of potential here. For one thing, I hear Nesbø’s book is excellent; likewise, most of the film’s cast and crew are noticeably talented. Besides, I love a good murder mystery, so I was genuinely looking forward to this film. Alas, it was not meant to be.
In response to the film’s chilly (see what I did there?) critical reception, director Tomas Alfredson has admitted that around 15 percent of the screenplay simply wasn’t shot. I’m not entirely sure how one simply forgets to shoot such a large percentage of the story, but the point is that it shows. The entire film is riddled with artistic decisions that simply don’t make sense — until you realize that they probably aren’t decisions so much as necessary sutures to cover for the missing footage.
The problems begin with the very first scene, which is conceptually simple until the editing hacks it to pieces, transforming the onscreen events into a nigh incomprehensible mess. The rest of the film is not better; baffling moment is followed by baffling moment as the audience slowly feels its patience draining. Every once in a while, there is a competent scene that reminds the viewer of the immense talent both in front of and behind the camera. But then we rapidly slip back into the land of pure befuddlement.
The worst offender is the subplot involving J.K. Simmons’s Arve Støp, a businessman trying to secure Oslo’s position as the host for a major winter sporting event. In all fairness, Simmons is rather delightful; he’s the only actor who looks entirely comfortable with the chaos surrounding him. It’s not that I think he has any idea about what’s going on, it’s just that I don’t think he cares. That said, his subplot lacks a proper resolution. In fact, it was so poorly handled that I’m not entirely sure if a major character is dead or alive by the end of the film and, frankly, I’m not sure that I care. This subplot, though, is also emblematic of the film’s larger problem. It’s possible that the screenplay failed to provide any resolution to Støp’s story, or maybe those scenes were simply never filmed. Either way, it would have been advisable for the editors to dramatically decrease Simmons’ screen time, but I can also understand why they didn’t want to do that. He is, after all, the best thing in the film. And that’s why part of me feels so sorry for this film; every aspect feels like the product of a no-win scenario.
Thus, it’s really no surprise that all of the actors (aside from Simmons, of course) look utterly lost. We’re introduced to Fassbender’s character as he sleeps off a night of heavy drinking, whiskey bottle still clutched in his hand. Sadly, I’m not sure Fassbender ever manages to recover from that hangover. Worse still is poor Val Kilmer, whose health has been of real concern recently. It pains me to think that while he could be resting and recovering, he’s making glorified cameos in films like this. Save your strength for “Top Gun 2,” Kilmer! You’re going to need it if you plan to sport that awesome hairdo again.
Despite my copious criticisms, I’ll admit that the film is such a trainwreck that it almost becomes entertaining. However, the film never really entered the realm of “guilty pleasure” because it took me a grand total of two minutes to guess the identity of the killer as well as his or her motivations. Thus, I was stuck watching a murder mystery — minus the mystery. Worse still is the way those murders perpetuate the trope involving a serial killer who kills women because he or she doesn’t approve of them for rational reason. Not only does this seem sexist, it’s such a well-worn cliché that a new angle is desperately needed to make it even remotely interesting.
As I was leaving the theater I heard a woman behind me say, “I thought that was great! I don’t know what all the critics were complaining about.” I had to chuckle, and I wondered if she might be right. No, I most certainly did not agree with her assessment about the film’s “greatness,” but it’s also not like I enjoyed picking it apart. I wanted to see these filmmakers and these actors do good work and hope that in the future they will. I have no desire to dictate your movie-going life, but if I were you, I’d go see “Battle of the Sexes” instead. It’s fun, beautiful and exhilarating. Everything that “The Snowman” is not.
