Seven [Se7en] [Platinum Edition]

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I've mentioned before my love of mystery and detective stories, and "Se7en" is one of the best of its kind. Yet, after seeing it during its theatrical release in 1995, I was so disturbed by its ending I had no desire ever to watch it again. Time heals all wounds, I suppose, and I was able to view and enjoy it with fresh eyes in its newest, special-edition DVD transfer. But I would caution any viewer in advance that the film, like others from director David Fincher ("Alien 3," "Fight Club"), explores unsavory territory and ends in a most unsettling manner. Be forewarned.

Although Brad Pitt gets top billing, the film really belongs to Morgan Freeman, who proves once more why he is one of Hollywood's finest actors. He is brilliant as the aging New York City police detective, Lt. William Somerset, who is seven days from retirement when he stumbles onto a series of grisly serial killings. Somerset is reluctant to work the investigation; he wants nothing more than to retire to the quiet of the country. But he is at heart a policeman, and the lure of one last big case is irresistible. His new partner is a young up-and-comer named David Mills (Pitt), a person completely opposite the older man. Whereas Somerset is single, quiet, reserved, studious, contemplative, and probably quite lonely, Mills is married, macho, hot-tempered, anxious, and impetuous. Mills has been with the force five years but thinks he knows more than Somerset. The younger detective is more emotionally open and more apt to break rules than his conservative partner. The older detective is more calculating, more the detached observer. The story is as much about their relationship and their individual personalities as it is about the murders they investigate.

Now, about those murders. The detectives initially discover an obese man dead from overeating. When they see his hands and feet are tied and he has bruises from the end of a gun pressed to his forehead, they conclude he's been forced to eat himself to death. However, it isn't until they find the second victim that they notice a pattern. The second guy is a wealthy defense attorney who has been bled to death, with a pound of flesh extracted from his body. Somerset sees it first. The victims are being murdered according to the medieval "Seven Deadly Sins": gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, pride, lust, and envy. Mention of the sins dates back probably as early as the sixth century, but they were made famous by Saint Thomas Aquinas in his thirteenth-century manuscript "Summa Theologica." They were celebrated again a century afterward by Dante Alighieri in his "Divine Comedy" and still later by Geoffrey Chaucer in his "Canterbury Tales." The third casualty falls victim to sloth; he's found tied to a bed where he's been kept alive and tormented for a full year. And so on.

Indulging in a clever bit of character exposition, the story has the two detectives attack the mystery of the killings in different ways. Somerset goes to the public library and does his homework by checking out Aquinas, Dante, and Chaucer. Mills, on the other hand, researches the crime by ordering up copies of "Cliff's Notes." Thankfully, by the way, the murders are never shown. The victims are already dead when we get to them, which doesn't make the film any the less gruesome for forcing us to use our imagination.

Among the excellent supporting cast are Gwyneth Paltrow as David's long-suffering wife; R. Lee Ermey as a police captain; Kevin Spacey as one of several murder suspects; and Richard Roundtree and John C. McGinley thrown in for good measure. There is no role that isn't superbly brought off, but they all pale beside the granite substance of Freeman's portrayal. We come to respect his character for the perseverance he displays; we admire him for the intelligence and dedication he demonstrates; yet we pity him, too, for the solitary condition he has imposed upon himself. He is like an insightful yet resigned poet, able to see and comment on the defects of human behavior without ever able fully to remedy them.

In addition to his enormously successful delineation of character in the film, director Fincher uses a dark, evocative atmosphere to capture superbly the essence of the story he's telling. As the murderer leads the policemen a merry chase, purposely leaving clues for them to follow, either daring them to find him or wanting to be caught, he draws them deeper into the dark bowels of the city, much as Dante's sightseers in "The Divine Comedy" are lead ever lower into the depths of hell. To be sure, Fincher stretches credibility on more than a few occasions. One doubts, for instance, that any murderer could be as precise or as patient as this madman is; that any metropolis, even New York, could possibly be as ugly as this one; or that any city could have as many crimes committed on every street corner at every moment as are depicted here. But as good figurative storytelling, the film comes as close to perfection as possible, with its biggest exception being that ending I mentioned--unnerving, disquieting, and, worse, unsatisfying, intellectually and emotionally. Still, it may be what people remember most.

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