“The film was not made by men who hate women, but certainly by men who are more comfortable with women as love interests for male heroes”

The casting for’s Lisbeth Salander was a long and arduous fight for Rooney Mara. She didn’t have the same clout as the big-name actresses circling the role. David Fincher himself wasn’t sure that she was right. Telling off Mark Zuckerberg inwasn’t enough; the actress had to battle through a series of auditions and prove to the filmmaker that she was right for the role – that she was prepared for the challenging scenes she would have to partake in.Now Mara’s Americanized Salander is hitting theaters and grabbing rave reviews from American critics enamored with the character’s evolution into a more relatable and tough heroine. But is it really a better, or equally powerful performance?Swedish-born Stieg Larsson (1954-2004) was a man of many hats, including activist, writer, and journalist. He fought against right-wing extremism, racism, and sexism, leading him to create the story of Mikael Blomkvist (intrepid, moral journalist) and Lisbeth Salander (fierce victim of sexist men). But it wasn’t only politics that inspired Larsson.He was also fueled by the continual, perpetual violence against women, such as the 2001 murders of Melissa Nordell (a model murdered by her boyfriend for breaking up with him) and Fadime Sahindal (a Swedish-Kurdish woman murdered by her father because she wanted to lead her own life), and Sweden’s polarizing, unsolved murder and mutilation of prostitute Catrine da Costa in the ‘80s. Larsson told his friend:He, therefore, refused to change the title of the first novel – Men Who Hate Women – though translated texts and films didn’t follow suit. These books were his way of responding and dealing with all of the imbalance and injustice he saw in the world.In 2008, four years after the author’s death, Danish filmmaker Niels Arden Oplev teamed up with Noomi Rapace and Michael Nyqvist to bring the world of Salander and Blomkvist to life. With Oplev in charge of the first, and director Daniel Alfredson stepping in for the second and third parts, the story was outlined in three long television miniseries subsequently cut into smaller feature films.Though the adaptation made some changes, Lisbeth Salander remained the same –… In her world, this was the natural order of things. As a girl she was legal prey, especially if she was dressed in a worn black leather jacket and had pierced eyebrows, tattoos, and zero social status.”Lisbeth is cold, distant, and presumably autistic, though we’ll never know because she doesn’t trust shrinks, cops, or any authority figure. At the same time, she has the ability, as Larsson described it, to “get under the skin of the person she was investigating.” Lisbeth is alien in her looks and action (“a foreign creature” as described in the novels) due to how she’s been treated, but she’s also human.In a video interview on the extended version discs (a must-buy for fans and those curious about who Salander is) Rapace talks about merging Lisbeth with herself, allowing her to completely and utterly understand and embody Lisbeth. Her Salander has a rigid gaze, a silent face that speaks to her discomfort and the chinks in her armor that reveal a woman in crisis. Rapace warped her body to look more masculine, to appear like the slight, easily misjudged Salander.The first teaser poster for Mara’s Americanized Lisbeth showed Daniel Craig’s Mikael holding her half-naked form close, protecting her as she held onto him. This one image immediately coded him as the troubled girl’s tough protector. Her image was further tarnished by the R-rated version full of bare breasts and sexual intrigue. Lisbeth became the objectified and sexualized heroine, the goth punk Bond girl saved by 007 himself.Sadly, the leads didn’t see the problem. Daniel Craig liked it because Mara “looks great. I think it sort of really illustrates the two characters in the movie very well.” Then Mara defended it, asserting that “people have a hard time with strong females and with nudity. … It’s just a teaser poster. I think it did just that. It teased people.”Rapace’s fully clothed Salander was replaced with Mara’s sexy Lisbeth – baring her cleavage for the camera, baring her ass for a tattoo, standing in front of a wintry landscape topless, straddling a bike in underwear and tights, or posing in a tutu. (All can be seen in Movies.com’s Image Gallery.) The woman fighting against objectification had become a sexual commodity to the public at large. Eventually, the marketing material changed focus, but it was too late – Salander was already made into the sex object.If Larsson’s books didn’t exist, if there was never a Swedish version and no one knew who Lisbeth Salander was, Fincher’swould be a great bridge to something more. It mixes typical female characterizations with a harsh toughness that begins to break out of that rigid mold. As it stands, however, Fincher and Mara’s Lisbeth must co-exist with Larsson’s creation and Rapace’s apt portrayal.You’d be more surprised by Mara showing physical prowess than the muscular Rapace (though that musculature certainly helped the Swedish actress look more “boyish”). Mara’s Salander gets more to do on-screen. We see her work more, and we see how she’s an outsider at work. There is also a nice forcefulness to her words that shows the strength behind her slightness.But Mara’s Lisbeth is an entirely different woman, and while some differences are welcome between interpretations, it’s chilling to see what Fincher and Co. changed. A tar-filled opening credit sequence is a metaphor for the inner Salander, giving her a muddled and messy inner persona rather than the meticulous, photographic mind she has, one that solves complex math theorems and mysteries.This is a subtle but important difference.Mara’s Lisbeth is seen through a Hollywood filter. She’s sexy, tough, in-your-face, always belligerent, and childishly snarky. Instead of t-shirts about aliens and Armageddon, hers are laden with cheap, Hot Topic-esque f-bombs. In one moment when Lisbeth wears a disguise, Fincher has her strip down to her expensive and revealing underwear. We watch her walk around like a Hollywood bombshell from the neck down, rather than a troubled girl so uncomfortable in her skin after years of abuse that “what she saw in the mirror was a thin, tattooed girl in grotesque underwear.” The Lisbeth who saw “her skinny body as repulsive,” but still had “the same desires and sex drive as every other woman” has become the modern femme fatale.Larsson’s Salander is not a lesbian (as some viewers have seen her) set “straight” by Blomkvist’s manly ways. She commands her sexual encounters because she can’t bring herself to be vulnerable. She has learned to always have control, yet Fincher has Blomkvist quickly flip her over during sex and take command, as if Lisbeth is ready for a father figure, partner, and savior.In a pivotal moment in the book, Lisbeth says: “I’m going to take him” and runs off as Blomkvist tries “to shout to her to wait.” In Fincher’s film, she asks him for permission, and only acts with his blessing. Perhaps we can accept the changes in how Mara presents Salander.The final scene of the film sledgehammers this idea home if the rest of the subtle and obvious changes to Salander do not. Both end on the same note, but it means wildly different things on the page and screen. On the page, there’s an air of miscommunication – the reader can see both side’s motivations for what arises and how it’s all a sad comedy of errors. On screen, every sexy, romantic addition makes the final moments all about villains and victimization, especially when matched with a whimsical, child-like score. Lisbeth loses her agency.The critics have noticed the change, their comments reframing the appeal of Salander. Studying over 100 reviews seen on Rotten Tomatoes and elsewhere, almost every film critic that mentions Mara’s portrayal and Lisbeth as a character misunderstands her. “Vulnerable” comes up time and time again, as does “soft.” Eight even describe Lisbeth as feral, as if she’s an animal needing to be tamed by Blomkvist. As our Erik Davis summed it up:The sex, the softness, the widely un-Salander comments continue through most reviews. Wesley Morris notes her “sense of decorum” and calls her a “doll of danger,” andAnne Hornaday calls Mara’s Lisbeth a “fierce, brooding creature whose feral intensity proves as alluring as it is menacing.” Rene Rodriguez calls her a “vulnerable, almost child-like person,”She’s seen as a “knockout,” “the epitome of cool,” “flashier” yet “diminutive,” “desperately fragile,” an “alluring outcast,” “more nude” and able to “warm up” and give off a “ripely kinky, menacing glow;”Mikael and Lisbeth are often referred to as a couple or romantic pair.Damon Wise calls the film more about “broken hearts than broken people.” Brian Orndorf describes her progression as a character who “thaws,” and he’s “triumphantly sold through Mara’s warm-blooded sexual forwardness.” To David Germain, Blomkvist is the “anchor” Lisbeth “revolves like a demon” to have what Peter Keough calls “the hottest sex scene of the year,”There seems to be a relief that Mara’s Salander is a more relatable person, that classic “female” tropes like softness and vulnerability are visible.Yet the entire point is that Lisbeth doesn’t seem real to the regular Joe or Jane walking down the street. Even those closest to her don’t truly understand her. She’s got the double-whammy of an autistic mind and a hellish life with experiences we can’t begin to fathom.As A. O. Scott noted in his review: