The Killer Inside Me was directed by Michael Winterbottom. Which is crazy, because Winterbottom is clearly a bear’s name. Like a bear who lives by a wintry mountain stream. He’s always sitting in the snow eating fish and berries, hence the name Winterbottom. I guess if Winterbottom the Bear directed this movie, Casey Affleck would spend a lot more time catching salmon and climbing trees and less time hitting women in the face.
Casey Affleck plays a small town cop in the 50’s who is secretly violent and murderous. Not much of a secret, though. Seems like he can’t go five minutes without burning a hobo’s hand with a cigar or beating his prostitute girlfriend. I sure wouldn’t trust him with the details of a surprise party, or not to punch every lady who attended the surprise party in the mouth.
There sure are a lot of shots of women’s reddened butts from getting spanked in this movie. I get it, movie- you’re into spanking. I bet the cameraman was thinking, “What, another spanked butt shot?” Then he shrugs and spanks the key grip. If The Killer Inside Me was a famous graffiti artist it would call itself Spanksy. If it had a favorite Little Rascal it would be Spanky. Favorite way to hide unsightly belly fat and improve its silhouette? Spanx. Favorite Egyptian cat-looking building? Sphinx.
The Killer Inside Me is based on a pulp crime novel from the 50’s. Bruce Springsteen, Stanley Kubrick, all these people are saying they love this book and what an influence it was on them. I wonder if Jim Thompson would spit his bourbon out in surprise if he saw how hardcore they made his shit look on screen. His fedora would probably spin around in mid-air. His suspenders would jump off his body and run around the room shooting a revolver. I guess if your 1950’s style suspenders are coming to life and running around shooting guns you have bigger problems than flawed movie adaptations of your famous crime book.
I’ll tell you what I didn’t like- all the graphic scenes where Casey Affleck is beating his girlfriends to death. What the hell, movie?! I know this isn’t Hannah Montana: The Movie, but maybe turn the camera to the ceiling or something. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that unless you have an amazing incredible Pulitzer/Nobel Prize winning masterpiece of a script then maybe you shouldn’t try to put on such a horror show of beating women. Try to shoot for slightly more upsetting than the Monster Plantation at Six Flags but way less upsetting than actually watching it happen in real life in front of you.
Oh right and the ending. Jessica Alba wasn’t dead after all. In the final scene the cops bring her to Casey Affleck’s house and he stabs her. Then his house goes up in flames because he poured gasoline all over it. “Thanks for putting me in the hospital, guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re stabbing me now. I still love you, apparently. Let’s be on fire together while we embrace and really metaphor it up! PS- You’re the worst boyfriend ever!”