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Somerset grieves over the suffering and despair that has overcome his city but years of hiding behind philosophical truisms and sentient self pity have rendered him an emotional husk. And for all his self-righteous activism, David has become equally jaded by a different kind of anger – no amount of work by any one man can rid the world of evil, and it weighs on him. Yet Tracy feels the despair around them, and quite deeply. Somerset wants to give up and retire, David wants to fight the good fight but Tracy wants to leave – she frets over the possibility of raising a family in such a toxic environment and wishes to save what she has before it is taken from her. She forges a connection with Somerset that proves surprisingly poignant (if also a bit heavy handed), and it provides the film with another layer of unanticipated urgency.

The most fascinating part of it all is the way the unseen killer manages to remain very much a part of the story - not just because of his escalating carnage, but because you feel him there. He hovers just off screen, hanging over the lives of Mills and Somerset like an oppressive mist. They come close to catching him, using one of the most utterly contrived methods I think I‘ve ever seen in a detective movie. Yet as he moves from Lust to Pride and inches ever closer to the end of his bloody list, the killer turns the tables on his adversaries, inserting himself into their lives and making them part of the game.

Of course, as a staple of most serial killer films, the "hunter becoming hunted" motif is certainly nothing new. But even this potential shortcoming is offset by the inventive way in which the killer reels in the detectives, raising the stakes to a level that goes unnoticed until it is tragically too late. Se7en is an excellent example of how a highly conventional story told with highly conventional characters can be rendered unconventional by the inventiveness of its execution.

The film’s intimidating backdrop, measured direction and solid performances allow Se7en to transcend a mundane narrative and draw the audience’s attention to the main characters, instead of to the details of their surroundings. The net effect is that Fincher carefully steers the story around unexpected corners and down improbable alleys without the viewer becoming openly aware of it. He drops the answers to our questions like bread crumbs along the killer’s trail, if only we’d look down and see them. When the true identity of the suspect – who calls himself only John Doe - is finally revealed, it is in a highly unusual way, and we come to realize that he has been an even bigger part of the tale than we or the detectives have realized. Once John Doe’s deadly denouement is put into motion, all that remains is for Mills and Somerset to put the convictions they’ve so confidently held throughout the film to a final, grisly test.

You’ll notice that I have failed to mention the name of the actor who plays John Doe – this is because if you haven’t seen Se7en, for me to do so would ruin the effect of his revelation. This is one of those films where the identity of the killer is just as much a surprise as how he executes his endgame. And if you have seen Se7en, you’ll never forget the ending – and it will never fail to send icy chills up your spine every time you see it, or even think about it. It’s right up there with The Sixth Sense or Jacob’s Ladder – but instead of that chill giving way to an uplifting sense of warmth and resolution, it sinks in and stays there. Somerset has no idea how right he is when halfway through the film he mutters – almost offhand – “This isn’t going to have a happy ending.”

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