Rachel (Emily Blunt) has issues. She's an alcoholic prone to violent outbursts and blackouts. Her husband, Tom (Justin Theroux), left her for Anna (Rebbeca Ferguson), with whom he has a baby, Evie. Rachel looms over Tom and Anna. On her daily train trips to New York City, Rachel sits in her favorite spot to glimpse at another couple, Scott (Luke Evans) and Megan (Haley Bennett). They seem perfect. Megan happens to be Tom's nanny. One day, Rachel sees Megan with another man. Rachel decides to do something about it.
A blackout...
Rachel wakes up bloody and disheveled. Megan turns up missing. Perhaps there's a connection. That's what Rachel plans to find out. The police don't trust her; neither do Anna nor Tom. Scott is desperate for answers. The "other man," Dr. Abdic (Edgar Ramirez), helps Rachel's blackouts. Eventually, Rachel realizes she has the answers to Megan's whereabouts. They're not pretty.
Erin Cressida Wilson's screenplay, like the novel, goes back and forth between Rachel, Anna and Megan's perspectives. The film gradually shows how complicated their perspectives are. Rachel doesn't even know she's an unreliable narrator until the end. Megan tries to take the initiative in her life. And Anna liked being "the other woman" in Tom's life. The title cards helped mix these storylines together.
Emily Blunt, as Rachel, is why the mystery story is so intriguing. We're introduced to her as a broken shell and a violent drunk. In her flashbacks, she flips out over horderves and goes Gallagher on a mirror. In the present, she films herself on a drunken rant. She doesn't seem that sympathetic. But the film reveals her violent tirades never happened. We realize just how broken she is and root for her to find her self-esteem.
Charlotte Bruus Christensen's cinematography makes the New York suburbs as eerie as the city. Her best work is a scene set in the early-morning; the fog is so wonderfully eerie. The editors, Michael McCusker and Andrew Buckland, help make the storylines easy to follow. They also excel at creating Rachel's hazy memory and, together with the sound team, they make Megan's ultimate fate adequately horrific. Composer Danny Elfman's work was welcome as always.
The Girl on the Train is exciting to some and ridiculous to others. For me, it does what a good mystery should do. It presents an intriguing mystery, keeps us guessing and makes us want to keep on guessing. Its 112 minutes are a memorable ride. That's a certainty.
Erin Cressida Wilson's screenplay, like the novel, goes back and forth between Rachel, Anna and Megan's perspectives. The film gradually shows how complicated their perspectives are. Rachel doesn't even know she's an unreliable narrator until the end. Megan tries to take the initiative in her life. And Anna liked being "the other woman" in Tom's life. The title cards helped mix these storylines together.
Emily Blunt, as Rachel, is why the mystery story is so intriguing. We're introduced to her as a broken shell and a violent drunk. In her flashbacks, she flips out over horderves and goes Gallagher on a mirror. In the present, she films herself on a drunken rant. She doesn't seem that sympathetic. But the film reveals her violent tirades never happened. We realize just how broken she is and root for her to find her self-esteem.
Charlotte Bruus Christensen's cinematography makes the New York suburbs as eerie as the city. Her best work is a scene set in the early-morning; the fog is so wonderfully eerie. The editors, Michael McCusker and Andrew Buckland, help make the storylines easy to follow. They also excel at creating Rachel's hazy memory and, together with the sound team, they make Megan's ultimate fate adequately horrific. Composer Danny Elfman's work was welcome as always.
The Girl on the Train is exciting to some and ridiculous to others. For me, it does what a good mystery should do. It presents an intriguing mystery, keeps us guessing and makes us want to keep on guessing. Its 112 minutes are a memorable ride. That's a certainty.
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