Tonight I saw The Girl on the Train, starring Emily Blunt and Haley Bennett.
Rachel (Blunt) is a scorned woman, drowning her sorrows in drink following a divorce. Her ex-husband, Tom (Justin Theroux), has moved on and married his mistress. They live together in the house he and Rachel used to share. They have a baby daughter and seem the picture of happiness.
Megan (Bennett) nannies for Tom and his wife, and lives nearby. On the train Rachel takes each day to a job she lost over a year ago, she often watches Megan and her husband Scott on their porch.
One day, Megan goes missing and Rachel is one of the last people to see her. Because of her alcoholism, Rachel suffers blackouts and doesn't remember the events of that night.
Going any further with the plot will spoil many twists, so I'll leave the exploration at that. Though the film does stay true to the book it was based upon, it feels (painfully) slower.
Blunt is convincing as the tragic Rachel, who you alternately sympathize with and want to shake. Her portrait of alcoholism is faithful to sufferers of the disease, and her shock and horror as events unfold is believable. Unfortunately her wonderful acting skills, and the strong performances from the other leads and supporting characters, can't save the movie.
Instead of the page-turning crescendo of activity the book put us through, we're instead watching extended vignettes of Rachel and Megan in their various stages, acting out in whatever ways their characters act out.
Sure, it's powerful to see Rachel flashback to her marriage and let us see what brought her to such self-destruction, and Megan seductively sucking the fingers of one of her sexual partners is about as erotic as it gets for an R-rated movie. But what happened to all the suspense?
I'll just have to return to the pages of the novel to find it.