Horror Film Review: Se7en (dir. by David Fincher)

Posted on October 28, 2026 by Arleigh

“I just don’t think I can continue to live in a place that embraces and nurtures apathy as if it was virtue.” — William Somerset

The nastiest thing about David Fincher’s Se7en is how quickly its horrors start to feel like part of the landscape. A gruesome murder should bring the world to a halt, but here it’s another room to enter, another report to write, another terrible thing happening while the rain keeps falling. Released in 1995, the film takes a serial-killer investigation and builds an atmosphere so oppressive that simply spending time in its unnamed city becomes uncomfortable. Yet the ugliness never feels entirely like an exercise in shock. Underneath it is a troubling question: what happens when people get used to looking away?

Morgan Freeman’s William Somerset has spent a career fighting that impulse, and he’s tired. Days away from retirement, he gets paired with Brad Pitt’s David Mills, a younger detective whose enthusiasm comes with a generous helping of impatience. Their investigation centers on a murderer arranging killings around the seven deadly sins. It’s a strong hook, but the movie doesn’t coast on the ingenuity of its crimes. Andrew Kevin Walker’s screenplay makes the detectives’ reactions just as important as the evidence. They’re looking at the same awful things while drawing very different conclusions about what their work can accomplish.

Freeman is terrific at suggesting how much effort Somerset’s composure requires. His quietness isn’t an absence of feeling; it’s a way of keeping feeling manageable. He asks questions carefully, studies details other people dismiss, and seems painfully aware of how easily a victim can become an inconvenience to everyone else. The familiar retiring-cop setup could have made him predictable, but Freeman gives his weariness a personal texture. Somerset still cares enough to be hurt by the job. Leaving is less a triumphant escape than an admission that he no longer knows how to keep doing it.

Pitt gives Mills an emotional openness that both challenges Somerset and exposes his own limitations. He’s cocky, easily irritated, and eager to interpret caution as defeatism. Sometimes he’s right to push back; sometimes he clearly needs to stop talking and listen. Pitt lets both sides exist without turning Mills into either a lovable hothead or a complete fool. His belief that police work should make a difference feels genuine. The tension comes from watching that belief encounter situations it can’t easily absorb. Together, the actors make a familiar mismatched partnership feel like an ongoing argument rather than a screenwriting obligation.

Fincher surrounds that argument with a city that seems to encourage surrender. The rain, clutter, cramped rooms, and dirty light create a place where basic comfort feels unavailable. Even spaces that should provide privacy seem invaded by noise or unease. What matters isn’t simply that everything looks miserable. It’s that people move through this misery as though it barely registers anymore. The setting gives Somerset’s exhaustion a believable source while making Mills’s confidence seem increasingly precarious. Neither man is investigating from a position of safety; they’re already living inside the atmosphere the killer exploits.

That’s also why the horror works beyond the immediate disgust of the crime scenes. Se7en often makes us confront what happened after the fact, with the detectives trying to reconstruct suffering from its remains. Fincher understands how disturbing a delayed realization can be. A room initially presents one terrible image, then a detail or explanation makes it worse. The film doesn’t need to show every act of violence because the aftermath supplies enough information for the imagination to take over. The dread comes from knowing that looking more closely will probably reveal something you would rather not understand.

Despite that relentless mood, the investigation stays engaging. There’s satisfaction in watching Somerset and Mills read, argue, follow leads, and gradually assemble a clearer picture. The library sequence is especially effective because it changes the film’s texture without breaking its spell. Somerset finds a measure of calm among books and music, using thought rather than momentum to approach the case. It’s a small reminder that the world contains more than brutality. Those quieter passages also make the shocks hit harder. Fincher knows that an audience needs time to anticipate the next discovery, not just recover from the last one.

Gwyneth Paltrow’s Tracy provides another necessary interruption. As Mills’s wife, she has a different relationship with the city: she isn’t trying to solve it, just work out whether she can live there. Her scenes bring out the personal cost of the detectives’ opposing attitudes. The dinner sequence allows some awkward humor, while her private conversation with Somerset reveals tenderness beneath his guarded manner. Paltrow makes Tracy feel vulnerable without making her helpless. Still, the screenplay gives her less independence than she deserves. She’s emotionally important, but the film is more curious about what she means to its men than about her own life.

John Doe takes that tendency to reduce people to their usefulness and pushes it into monstrous territory. To him, human beings are props in a moral demonstration. His certainty is chilling, but it isn’t the same as wisdom, and the movie works best when that distinction remains clear. There are moments when his elaborate planning feels almost too convenient, as though the screenplay needs him to possess whatever advantage the next development requires. Even so, his vanity keeps him from becoming merely an all-knowing villain. Beneath the preaching is someone desperate to force the world to acknowledge his importance.

Without detailing the final revelations, the closing stretch brings the film’s ideas into brutally personal focus. The shift into daylight feels wrong in a way that’s difficult to shake. After so many shadowy interiors, open space should offer relief, yet there’s nowhere emotionally safe to stand. The suspense becomes less about discovering another clue than watching people recognize what is happening and struggle to respond. That distinction gives the ending its force. Knowledge doesn’t automatically create control, and professional experience doesn’t make anyone immune to being overwhelmed. The case stops being something the detectives can hold at a distance.

What lingers after Se7en isn’t just the memory of its worst images. It’s the uncomfortable distance between noticing suffering and knowing what to do about it. Somerset has experience without much hope; Mills has conviction without enough restraint. Neither can offer a complete answer, but their struggle gives the film something more substantial than stylish despair. Fincher makes looking away seem tempting, even sensible, before leaving us with the cost of that choice. This is a grim, occasionally contrived, remarkably controlled thriller whose deepest horror is also its most recognizable: the fear that the world can wear down our willingness to care.

Film Review: The Doors (dir by Oliver Stone)

Posted on April 2, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

I like The Doors.

That can be a dangerous thing to admit, about both the band and Oliver Stone’s 1991 film. Yes, both the band and the film could be a bit pretentious. They both tended to go on for a bit longer than necessary. They were both centered around a guy who wrote the type of poetry that I used to love back in my emo days. It’s all true.

But, with The Doors as a band, I find that I can’t stop listening to them once I start. Even if I might roll my eyes at some of the lyrics or if I might privately question whether any blues song really needs an organ solo, I can’t help but love the band. They had a sound that was uniquely their own, a psychedelic carnival that brought to mind images of people dancing joyfully while the world burned around them. And say what you will about Jim Morrison as a poet or even a thinker, he had a good voice. He had the perfect voice for The Doors and their rather portentous style. From the clips that I’ve seen of him performing, Morrison definitely had a stage presence. Morrison died young. He was only 27 and, in the popular imagination, he will always look like he’s 27. Unlike his contemporaries who managed to survive the 60s, Morrison will always eternally be long-haired and full of life.

As for The Doors as a movie, it’s definitely an Oliver Stone film. It’s big. It’s colorful. It’s deliberately messy. Moments of genuinely clever filmmaking and breath-taking visuals are mixed with scenes that are so heavy-handed that you’ll be inspired to roll your eyes as dramatically as you’ve ever rolled them. Stone loved the music and that love comes through in every performance scene. Stone also loves using Native Americans as symbols and that can feel a bit cringey at times. Why would Jim Morrison, whose was of Scottish and Irish ancestry, even have a Native American spirit guide? At its best The Doors captures the chaos of a world that it’s the middle of being rebuilt. The 60s were a turbulent time and The Doors is a turbulent movie. I’ve read many reviews that criticized The Doors for the scene in which Morrison gets involved in a black magic ceremony with a journalist played by Kathleen Quinlan. I have no idea whether or not that scene happened in real life but the movie is so full of energy and wild imagery that the scene feels like it belongs, regardless of whether it’s true or not. Stone turns Jim Morrison into the warrior-artist-priest that Morrison apparently believed himself to be and the fact that the film actually succeeds has far more to do with Oliver Stone’s enthusiastic, no-holds-barred direction and Val Kilmer’s charismatic lead performance than it does with Jim Morrison himself.

The Doors spent several years in development and there were several actors who, at one time or another, wanted to play Morrison. Everyone from Tom Cruise to John Travolta to Richard Gere to Bono was considered for the role. (Bono as Jim Morrison, what fresh Hell would that have been?) Ultimately, Oliver Stone went with Val Kilmer for the role and Kilmer gives a larger-than-life performance as Morrison, capturing the charisma of a rock star but also the troubled and self-destructive soul of someone convinced that he was destined to die young. Kilmer has so much charisma that you’re willing to put up with all the talk about opening the doors of perception and achieving a higher consciousness. Kilmer was also smart enough to find the little moments to let the viewer know that Morrison, for all of his flamboyance, was ultimately a human being. When Kilmer-as-Morrison winks while singing one particularly portentous lyric, it’s a moment of self-awareness that the film very much needs.

(When the news of Kilmer’s death was announced last night, many people online immediately started talking about Tombstone, Top Gun, and Top Secret. For his part, Kilmer often said he was proudest of his performance as Jim Morrison.)

In the end, The Doors is less about the reality of the 60s and Jim Morrison and more about the way that we like to imagine the 60s and Jim Morrison as being. It’s a nonstop carnival, full of familiar faces like Kyle MacLachlan, Michael Madsen, Crispin Glover (as Andy Warhol), Frank Whaley, Kevin Dillon, and a seriously miscast Meg Ryan. It’s a big and sprawling film, one that is sometimes a bit too big for its own good but which is held together by both Stone’s shameless visuals and Val Kilmer’s charisma. If you didn’t like the band before you watched this movie, you probably still won’t like them. But, much like the band itself, The Doors is hard to ignore.

Lisa Marie Reviews An Oscar Nominee: Born On The Fourth of July (dir by Oliver Stone)

Posted on January 27, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

In 1989, having already won an Oscar for recreating his Vietnam experiences in Platoon, director Oliver Stone returned to the war with Born On The Fourth Of July.

Based on the memoir of anti-war activist Ron Kovic, Born on the Fourth of July stars Tom Cruise as Kovic. When we first meet Kovic, he’s growing up on Long Island in the 50s and 60s. He’s a clean-cut kid from a nice family. He’s on the school wrestling team and he’s got a lot of friends. When he was just 15, he heard John F. Kennedy telling people to ask what they can do for their country and he was inspired. He decided he wanted to join the Marines, despite the fact that his father (Raymond J. Barry) was still haunted by the combat that he saw in World War II. (In one of the film’s better scenes, a young Kovic notices that the elderly veterans marching in the Independence Day parade still flinch whenever they hear a firecracker.) He enlists in the Marines after listening to a patriotic speech from a recruiter (played by Tom Berenger). Ron runs through the rain to attend his prom and has one dance with Donna (Kyra Sedgwick), on whom he’s always had a crush. There’s nothing subtle about the way that Stone portrays Kovic’s childhood. In fact, one might argue that it’s a bit too idealized. But Stone knows what he’s doing. The wholesomenss of Kovic’s childhood leaves neither him nor the viewer prepared for what’s going to happen in Vietnam.

Vietnam turns out not to be the grand and patriotic adventure that Kovic thought it would be. After Sgt. Kovic accidentally shoots one of his own men in a firefight, he is ordered to keep quiet about the incident. After he is wounded and paralyzed in another firefight, Kovic ends up in a Hellish VA hospital, surrounded by men who will never fully recover from their mental and physical wounds. Kovic is eventually returns home in wheelchair. The film then follows Kovic as he goes from defending the war in Vietnam to eventually turning against both the war and the government. At one point, he ends up with a group of disabled vets in Mexico and there’s a memorable scene where he and another paraplegic (Willem Dafoe) attempt to fight despite having fallen out of their chairs. Eventually, Kovic returns to America and turns his anger into activism.

There’s nothing subtle about Born On The Fourth Of July. It’s a loud and angry film and Oliver Stone directs with a heavy-hand. Like a lot of Stone’s films, it overwhelms the viewer on a first viewing and it’s only during subsequent viewings that one becomes aware of just how manipulative the film is. Tom Cruise gives a good performance as Ron Kovic but his transformation into a long-haired, profane drunk still feels as if it happens a bit too abruptly. A good deal of the film centers on Kovic’s guilt about accidentally killing one of his men but the scene where he goes to the soldier’s family and asks them for forgiveness didn’t quite work for me. If anything, Kovic came across as being rather self-centered as he robs the man’s mother and father of the belief that their son had at least died heroically in combat as opposed to having been shot by his own sergeant. Did Kovic’s need to absolve himself really give him the right to cause this family more pain? Born on the Fourth Of July is an effective work of agitprop. On the first viewing, you’ll want to join Kovic in denouncing the military and demanding peace. On the second viewing, you’ll still sympathize with Kovic while also realizing that he really owes both his mother and father an apology for taking out his anger on them. By the third viewing, you’ll be kind of like, “Wow, I feel bad for this guy but he’s still kind of a jerk.” That said, when it comes to making an effective political film, Adam McKay could definitely take some lessons from Oliver Stone. Born On The Fourth of July is at its best when it simply captures the feeling of living in turmoil and discovering that the world is not as simple a place as you once believed. As idealized as the film’s presentation of Kovic’s childhood may be, anyone who has ever felt nostalgia for an earlier and simpler world will be able to relate.

Oliver Stone won his second Best Director Oscar for Born On The Fourth Of July. The film itself lost Best Picture to far more genteel version of the past, Driving Miss Daisy.