Hollywood has been faring poorly in the second half of 2017. An institution that so loves to present itself as the conscience of America and promoter of all that’s positive in the world revealed itself as an accomplice to crimes—or, in the best-case scenario, a bunch of opportunistic hypocrites—in the Harvey Weinstein case. Major studios were also faring poorly on the business front, with increasingly spectacular box office flops that would offer a depressingly banal explanation for why so many scandals have escalated in the first place. Among the big disappointments were films that, under normal circumstances, would have been guaranteed hagiographic reviews simply for featuring certain names on the poster. Yet few of them have proven as disappointing as The Snowman, a crime film based on the bestselling novel by Norwegian author Jo Nesbø. The commercial flop—a failure that even more expensive and flamboyant films like Blade Runner 2049 managed to avoid—was far less surprising than the film’s abysmal reception among critics.
The original novel is the seventh in the series featuring Harry Hole, an Oslo-based police detective whose talent for solving the most tangled crimes comes hand-in-hand with a problematic private life dominated by his love for vodka. Hole, played by Michael Fassbender, faces his toughest professional challenge when women begin disappearing in Oslo and elsewhere in Norway, their bodies later found dismembered alongside the “calling card” of snowmen left by the killer. Hole is joined in the investigation by colleague Katrine Bratt (Rebecca Ferguson), though her motives for catching the killer prove far from purely professional. Meanwhile, one of the potential suspects—or at least a figure linked to the crimes—is Arve Støp (J. K. Simmons), a wealthy and influential businessman lobbying to bring the prestigious Winter Games to Oslo.
If anything guaranteed The Snowman would be a good film, it was the involvement of director Thomas Alfredson. His Let the Right One In was not only one of the best horror films of the previous decade but also showcased his exceptional talent for using Scandinavian locations to create an immersive atmosphere. The attached names were even more impressive: Martin Scorsese initially planned to direct but settled for the role of producer, entrusting the project to Alfredson and his longtime editor Thelma Schoonmaker. The cast also featured Michael Fassbender alongside a stellar ensemble of British actors. Authentic Norwegian locations—which, despite their allure and exoticism, are rarely used in Hollywood films—should have added a unique charm.
Ultimately, the film was undone by the group of respected names behind the screenplay. The plot diverged significantly from the source material, prompting Nesbø to publicly disown The Snowman and demand his name be removed from the credits. To audiences (many of whom were unfamiliar with Nesbø’s work), this might not have mattered, but what could have been a complex, gripping thriller on paper became a rambling mess where no one—not even its creators—seemed to know what they were aiming for. Alfredson occasionally flashes his talent, conjuring striking visuals in fleeting moments, but these are mostly spent in the trailer. Instead, the film delivers a clichéd whodunit straight out of the worst Hollywood serial killer tropes: the killer’s motive is telegraphed in a prologue detailing childhood trauma, and his identity is “revealed” in a predictable twist any seasoned viewer could guess without effort. The script clumsily scatters false clues about the killer’s identity while devoting too much screen time to the protagonist’s alcoholism, failing to explain how he possesses the brilliance necessary to keep his job. Fassbender, despite his charm, cannot convince audiences how he ended up with the character played by Charlotte Gainsbourg with the enthusiasm of a cat with a hairball. The most tragic figure is Val Kilmer, nearly unrecognisable in a clunky flashback as the protagonist’s antagonistic colleague. Some characters exist for no discernible reason, suggesting the original screenplay was better suited to a miniseries than a feature film. Alfredson himself admitted as much, noting he couldn’t film 10–15% of the planned scenes. In the end, The Snowman feels like an elite hotel charging guests for a room with an unfinished ceiling and walls.
RATING: 2/10 (-)
(Note: The text in the original Croatian version is available here.)
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