This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.
When Paula Hawkins' novel "The Girl on the Train" was published early last year, it debuted at the top of the New York Times' best-seller list and was regularly referred to by fans and critics as "a page-turner."
Whatever word is the opposite of "page-turner" — a story that sits there lifeless, trapped in a boredom of its own making — would aptly fit director Tate Taylor's movie adaptation of "The Girl on the Train."
Rachel, played by Emily Blunt, commutes each day by train into and out of Manhattan. On the trip, she watches two houses in the wealthy suburb of Ardsley-on-Hudson. One, the house in which she used to live, is occupied by her ex-husband, Tom (Justin Theroux), his wife, Anna (Rebecca Ferguson), and their baby girl, Evie. The other, two doors down, houses a young couple who, to Rebecca's observations, are "the embodiment of true love." (See what I mean about the narration sounding too much like a novel?)
Something else we learn quickly about Rachel: She's an alcoholic who hides her addiction by filling her water bottle with a fifth of vodka. She also regularly pops up outside Tom and Anna's house, to the point where Anna calls the cops to report her.
The narration duties shift to Megan (Haley Bennett), the woman in that other house. She's married to Scott (Luke Evans) and works as a nanny for Anna and Tom — but is unsatisfied in both roles. Then Anna gets her turn to narrate as she describes the love affair with Tom that ended his marriage to Rachel.
After all this narration and exposition, something actually happens: A drunken Rachel sees something out the train window and impulsively decides to get off the train in Ardsley. In the next scene, she wakes up a mess — blood on her blouse, mud on her face, vomit in her hair — with only fragmented memories of what happened the night before. She also hears on the news that Megan has gone missing.
Rachel is interviewed by a skeptical police detective (Allison Janney), then decides to get herself cleaned up and figure out what happened. She insinuates herself with Scott and with Megan's therapist (Édgar Ramirez) while trying to solve Megan's disappearance and reconstruct the memories that alcohol has taken from her.
Taylor (who directed "The Help") and screenwriter Erin Cressida Wilson (whose screenplays have ranged from the kinky "Secretary" to the trite internet parable "Men, Women & Children") create an adaptation that feels hopelessly constricted by its on-the-page origins.
Title cards act like chapter headings to introduce the characters — "Rachel," "Anna" and "Megan" — and other title cards serve as the transitions between past and present. Characters are revealed not through actions, but through long-winded narrations that all sound like the same voice. The effect is less like a movie and more like an illustrated book-on-tape.
Blunt gives a breathtaking performance, deftly capturing Rachel's alcoholic daze and slow, unsteady climb out of her emotional hole. Her performance is set off nicely by Ferguson ("Mission: Impossible — Ghost Protocol") and Bennett ("The Magnificent Seven"), who are introduced as idealized figures in Rachel's imagination and emerge as more fleshed-out characters, the opposite of the madonna/whore dichotomy that Rachel first labels them.
Alas, all three actors must fight against the story's internalized sexism — all three female characters are defined largely by their baby-making abilities — and some creaky plot mechanics that would feel at home in a Hallmark Channel melodrama. "The Girl on the Train" ultimately allures with the promise of adventure, but never really goes anywhere.
Twitter: @moviecricket —
HH
'The Girl on the Train'
An alcoholic commuter tries to unravel a mystery in this lackluster adaptation of the Paula Hawkins best-seller.
Where • Theaters everywhere.
When • Opens Friday, Oct. 7.
Rating • R for violence, sexual content, language and nudity
Running time • 112 minutes.