I don’t care about the
money. I’m pulling back the curtain. I want to meet the wizard.
- Nicholas
van Orten
I am convinced The
Game is Fincher’s version of a horror story. But where conventional horror
derives its scares from external sources (e.g. ghosts, monsters, etc), this
film generates fear from subjectivity. It molds – nay, cajoles – the audience
into the headspace of its main character only to begin contorting the perceptions
of said character. And as the protagonist begins to question preconceived
notions of reality, we as the audience are inevitably entangled on the same
journey of deception and chaos.
In this sense, The
Game reminds me of films such as Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby and Kubrick’s Eyes
Wide Shut. These films eschew grandiose plot twists and extravagant set
pieces. Instead, they toy and tease using the familiar, the recognizable, the
reliable. When Rosemary moves into her new apartment – and not to mention, a
new city – we can’t help but see the new environment through her eyes. Indeed,
we project ourselves into her viewpoint and begin to empathize with her
situation. Similarly, Dr. Bill Harford goes through his journey while
experiencing an understandably curious set of coincidences. In essence, his
doubts mirror our own as the stakes are continually raised. So when these
established settings, incidents, and motives are called into question – and the
perception of the characters upon which we as the audience rely begin to falter
– how can we feel anything but fear and doubt? How can we feel anything but an
absolute sense of helplessness, of impending anarchy?
It is this sense of unreliable narrative from which true
fear stems. Who can we trust? Where can we go? How far will we go to find the
truth and most importantly, what will that cost? We can’t fully grasp what we’ll
experience next; and we always fear what we do not know.
The premise of The
Game relies heavily on this distinction between what the audience thinks it
perceives and what it actually perceives. Indeed, this manipulation of knowledge
and viewpoint is what breeds the tension throughout Nicholas van Orten’s
journey. It all begins innocently enough – little brother Conrad signs Nicholas
up for a game. This will be the best birthday present ever, he promises. But
when curious people and events oddly intersect in his prim and proper life,
Nicholas can’t help but believe something more sinister is at work than just a
“game.”
Much like the apathy and subsequent chaos bred throughout
the city in Se7en, The Game constructs a similarly chaotic
world in which rules are broken as easily and as swiftly as Fincher desires. By
all measures, Fincher paints the San Francisco we see in the film as a genuine
city, one with norms, rules, and consequences. And yet, like in Se7en, we find ourselves drawn to the
anarchist in the story, rampaging through this city with an agenda of his own.
He has no regard for the laws; he’s after a higher purpose. In this sense, both
Se7en and The Game seem to argue that in extreme circumstances – situations
in which a character feels overly compelled to take action regardless of social
acceptance – characters conquer a personal weakness at the expense of social
understanding.
It’s interesting to note here that both these films share
this common thread of socially disobedient males. The big distinction however,
lies in who we as the audience are so quick to label “hero” and “villain.” Where
Se7en paints Doe as the harrowing,
albeit quasi-sympathetic, antagonist to the hero cops, The Game features no conventional villain. Indeed, I would argue
that in The Game, the anarchist to
society – the very same person showing absolutely no regard for public safety
and social order – is actually the protagonist. So with the primary conflict
driving the story taking place within its protagonist’s own head, the film has absolutely
no need to construct an external villain. Indeed, the inclusion of an
antagonist would add nothing to the story and in fact, detract from Nicholas’ own
journey.
This chasm between anarchy and acceptance, between hero and
villain, is an important fulcrum in Fincher’s world. Why are we so much more
inclined to sympathize with Nicholas van Orten than John Doe? Both men live
alone in their own desolate bubbles. Both men view the worlds in which they
work, interact, and live with a certain sense of disconnect. Driven to madness,
Doe begins killing other inhabitants in society to reach a higher truth, a greater
purpose. Driven to madness, what does Nicholas do except threaten the very same thing?
Fincher’s fascination with the male ego and its extreme
costs from a social acceptance perspective drives the early portion of his
cinematic career. Notice here that I did not include any discussion regarding
Christine, the female lead in The Game.
This choice was made not out of preference but necessity. For all intents and
purposes, Christine acts as little more than the catalyst to spark Nicholas’
transformation from cold mogul to generally warm and fuzzy man. This treatment
of the female lead is not too dissimilar to Tracy’s treatment in Se7en. Indeed, Fincher is primarily interested
in telling stories featuring ambitious, conflicted males and their slow and
painful disconnect with those around them. And what better way to cut through
all the macho-man crap than using a beautiful woman?
Soon enough, we’ll see the ultimate culmination of this
male-angst-meets-disarming-woman formula…
