The Killer inside me

A slow burning, intriguing and morally ambiguous piece, which has divided critics and audiences alike; The Killer Inside Me has made it over to Britain after a shaky controversial start. There seems to be an annual low budget grisly film that causes a stir at a festival; this year, it’s Killer inside me.
Casey Affleck plays Lou Ford, a quiet cop in a sleepy 1960’s Texan town. Ford slowly reveals through his actions and his hypnotic narration that he isn’t just a cop, he’s a serial killer. However, you will not find the tongue in cheek comedy of Dexter or American Psycho here. He develops a sadomasochist relationship with Joyce (Jessica Alba) whilst Amy (Kate Hudson) falls for his charms. However, certain folk suspect that behind that calm exterior, Lou is hiding something.
The character of Lou is interesting and his presence really drives the story. Like all good memorable serial killers, he has a dual personality. His character is well developed, with hints of a troubled past scattered throughout (psycho mother issues alert) which allows us to begin understand to why he is why he is. Affleck is a charismatic, interesting lead, who takes us through his rather strange view point of his world, effectively using his slightly deranged voice in an endearing performance.
Some of the plot may be difficult to follow; many characters names are often just referred to, making it difficult to match names to faces, especially as the supporting cast of the local men with heavy accents are so interchangeable and because Affleck effortlessly dominates every scene he is in.
Several sequences are masterfully put together and shot and moments are genuinely surprising. The bleak story unfolds at a steady pace, with Affleck’s unnerving narration and the wonderful cinematography oozing noir atmosphere. Unfortunately, the story eventually runs out of steam and deteriorates into silliness. The overuse of opera music, which has become a cliché to indicate ‘psychos are at work’ becomes slightly irritating, but thankfully the equal dosage of classic almost eerie country music makes up for it.
This high level of violence is nothing new in cinema, but it is un-relentlessly and brutally against women. The violence and sadomasochism feels almost glamorised as the camera lingers upon the women’s pain without fail. On the other hand, male characters are taken out swiftly by bullets to the head or with dignity off screen. The Killer Inside Me also paints a horrendous depiction of women; they are all weak, unlikeable and verge on being pathetic. Jessica Alba is fine, but she is not required to do much more than have sex, cry and occasionally wink and smile at the camera like she is on a magazine cover. Kate Hudson is poor; she does not possess the southern sass the character requires, nor is the character developed enough for the audience to engage with. She should stick to romantic comedies, however, that could certainly be argued against also.
However, ignoring the baggage that has accompanied the film and ignoring the countless flaws, The Killer Inside Me is an interesting, bleak exploration of a twisted individual with disturbing imagery and slow burning tension. It’s an acquired taste. Looking at Winterbottom’s back catalogue, he is no stranger to causing a fuss or shying away from gritty themes or controversy, and Killer inside me is no exception.