The big question about the third part of the Millennium Trilogy is just how many hornets are in the nest being kicked. Some posters claim it's just one lonely hornet having his or her home trashed while others suggest there are many hornets who will soon find themselves seeking new accommodation.
In actual fact it makes no difference at all. No hornets get their nest kicked at any point in this film. In fact there are no hornets, no nests and precious little kicking of any note whatsoever. Which is a shame because if there had been it might have been remotely interesting, instead of two and a half hours of soul-crushingly tedious TV drama accidentally let loose in cinemas.
The Girl Who Kicked The Hornetses Nest continues the hard work put in by its predecessor in trying to erase all the hard work done by the first film. It's another painfully dull succession of medium shots of people talking, with a small fight in the middle to wake you up and a ridonkulous final showdown that seems to have been imported from a different film. The unforgivable clichés are still present, provided this time by a beardy, long-haired hacker geek in a dark room full of cables lit only by the glow of his Mac, and a low-speed car chase which includes the obligatory pram being almost run over but pulled out of the way at the last second.
Michael Nyqvist continues his semi-comatose Bergerac impression, not even bothering to explain the plot which went missing half way through The Girl Who Played With Fire, while Noomi Rapace spends the first unthrilling hour in a hospital bed and the second in an action-unpacked courtroom. Even she is so bored by it all that she dresses up as Edward Scissorhands in a vain attempt to enliven proceedings.
The most entertaining part is when we discover that the Swedish for "nasty shit" is "nasty shit", but that hardly makes it worth forking out cold hard cash to go and see it. What's more, at no point does anybody tuck into a delicious packet of Walker's Southern Style Barbecue flavour Sensations, and I think you already know how I feel about that.
Still, I did see it in the basement of an insanely expensive West End hotel where the cheapest glass of wine is eight pounds and the cinema seats are made of shiny new red leather. Proof:
I actually smelled the seat next to me to see if it really was leather, and as a result I can confirm that sniffing cinema seats is a surefire way to attract suspicious glances from film critics. Top tip: don't do it.