Rating: D+
Dir: Kim Sønderholm
Star: Kim Sønderholm, Peter Ottesen, Christian Magdu, Trine Stårup
This is a film which struggles to have any purpose. If you’re going to make a film about a serial killer, from the point of view of a serial killer, you probably should have something to say. Either this doesn’t have anything to say, or it is mumbling into its coat sleeve, and consequently is muffled and inaudible. This is a movie which probes at the very existential heart of cinema itself. Because I honestly do not know why this film exists. Maybe so co-writer, director and star Sønderholm could faux-bang attractive Scandinavian totty. If so… Yeah, I’m actually fine with that. There are worse reasons to make a movie, let’s be honest.
It begins with Craig (Sønderholm) being questioned by the world’s worst police over a suspicious fire which killed his parents and sister. This seems to start him on a downward spiral of mental issues, not helped by possibly the world’s worst psychiatrist. Craig’s poor social skills with women don’t improve matters, and hiring the world’s worst prostitute probably isn’t going to help. Indeed, this is what pushes him over the edge. Her incompetence – she has two speeds, either “Corpse” or “Painfully fake enthusiasm” – causes her to becomes his first victim. I dunno what was wrong with him simply leaving a poor review on PunterNet, but I’m not a psycho. We’re then off to the races, with further victims and an impressively inept police investigation.
This likely reaches its peak when Craig murders a victim – who isn’t wearing a gag or anything (top) – while Det. Incompetent is in his house. Craig then dismembers her, and carries out the remnants in trash bags, still without the copper noticing. At this point, I was wondering if the film was some kind of spoof. If so, it’s the most utterly straight-faced one I’ve ever seen. Not helping matters are the worst hard-coded subs I’ve seen outside of eighties kung-fu flicks. There are subs when nobody is speaking, sometimes no subs when people are speaking, and when they do appear, often appear to be a bad lip-reading of the conversation. Since everyone is speaking English, I was left to wonder what purpose they served.
Craig doesn’t have any kind of modus operandi either, making him either a genius or… yep, the world’s worst serial killer. Sometimes he chases people down in the street. Sometimes he brings them home and stabs them. Sometimes he takes them to a nearby wood, lets them go and chases them down with a gun. This fate before Angela (Stårup), the only girl who’s nice to him, leading to an ending which… Yeah. It’s as logical as the scene where his dead, burned father shows up in the car next to Craig. Unlike An American Werewolf in London, this rave from the grave serves no purpose, putting it alongside the cameo here from Lloyd Kaufman. I can only presume everything made more sense in Sønderholm’s head.