Going into the film The Girl on the Train I knew there were very mixed reviews. It has often been compared to that other adapted women’s novel with an unreliable narrator, Gone Girl. Not having read the book Gone Girl, I went into the David Fincher film with no expectations and rather enjoyed it, for the most part. I wish I could say the same about The Girl on the Train.
Emily Blunt is Rachel, our bloated alcoholic protagonist still clinging to her ex-husband and the life he’s created with his new wife, Anna, and their baby. In the middle of this she’s spying (from her daily train rides) on a beautiful blonde Megan who Rachel believes has the perfect life — until she spots Megan with a man who’s not her husband. Uh oh. Megan goes missing soon after and Rachel’s obsession deepens. Is she dead?Did the husband do it? Did Rachel kill her in one of her drunken blackouts?
Here’s the thing: none of the characters are well developed enough for us to care and we can guess who the killer really is based on his basic asshattery. So the rest is just a dull glimpse into a suburban New York lifestyle.
Really, really short review: A piece of