Misogyny squared

Why anyone would feel the need to bring the dark imagination of hardboiled novelist Jim Thompson into the light of day (or rather, the darkened confines of the cineplex) is an open question. If this critic were to weigh in, he'd warn the faint of heart away from the brutal and troubling scenes contained in director Michael Winterbottom's remake of The Killer Inside Me. 

Love it or hate it, however, Winterbottom's film is a faithful adaptation of Thompson's tale of a criminally insane woman-hater on a bender of self-destruction and murder. There may not be any redeeming elements fit to justify the upsetting images of a maniac beating beautiful females to death, but the performances are strong, and the production values are remarkably high.

Casey Affleck is immaculate as an outwardly respectable psychopath. His Lou Ford is a West Texas sheriff who taps into a wellspring of pent-up misogyny generated by an incestuous relationship with his mother when he enters into an affair with a wayward prostitute (Jessica Alba as the ill-fated Joyce Lakeland). Once awakened, Ford's murderous tendencies are unleashed on various victims, and the lion's share of the film is concerned with his attempt to evade detection and incarceration.

Affleck achieves the seemingly impossible by engendering empathy for his largely despicable character. Sensitive viewers will find themselves rooting for the protagonist, even as he commits needless and traumatic acts of violence. We want him to succeed in evading justice. We want him to reform. We want his proposed marriage to Amy Stanton (Kate Hudson) to flower, even as we abhor his sacrificing of a young local (Liam Aiken as the hapless Johnnie Papas) on the altar of his deceit. One feels complicit in his horrifying crimes, if for no other reason than our desire to see the perpetrator escape the inevitable consequences of his actions.

The whole affair is rendered more disturbing still by the frighteningly realistic scenes of assault and sexual abuse. Winterbottom has an eye for the sadistic. The slow deaths of Ford's victims are painstakingly rendered. The spectacle of cruelty is unrivaled by anything in recent circulation. We watch as Ford beats a lover to death one slow punch at a time, and this after the director has belabored the couple's mutual affection. We watch as Ford reads a newspaper nonchalantly while his betrothed perishes on the kitchen floor. It's genuinely haunting, and there's nothing about any of it that saves the film from qualifying as decidedly gratuitous. 

Nonetheless, some credit must be afforded on account of sheer artistry. Marcel Zyskind's cinematography is visually arresting, and the loveliness of the tone and frames are continuously, almost tortuously, watchable. The sound-editing team renders every sickening blow lifelike and distressingly unforgettable. This is torture-porn-cum-noir-thriller. The whole point seems to have been to make violent death as realistic as possible.  

Ned Beatty as the recalcitrant Chester Conway and Tom Bower as Sheriff Bob Maples are excellent. Elias Koteas is heartbreakingly earnest as Ford's close friend and champion. Both Hudson and Alba are fetching and endearing as Ford's inamoratas.

Lest any of the aforementioned praise tempt the reader into the cinema, your faithful critic issues the following warning: You know the kind of film that rocks your psyche to the extent that you almost wish you'd never seen it (Antichrist, Requiem for a Dream and, more recently, The Human Centipede, etc.); well, add The Killer Inside Me to the list. If you're in the market for a bad mood, by all means, enjoy Winterbottom's celebration of sexual pathology and violence.   

James Walling can be reached at
jwalling@praguepost.com