DVD The Killer Inside Me

If you've followed the history of this film, then you know it was twenty years in the making. The producers who optioned the rights were on a veritable quest. At one point, Val Kilmer was slated to act, Sean Penn, to direct.

Eventually, many Thompson fans consigned the project to limbo, not knowing how passionate the parties involved actually were. (Chris Hanley is the same producer who delivered This World, Then the Fireworks — one of the most faithful and unapologetic Thompson adaptations.) Having seen Winterbottom's final cut, I'm glad the producers took their time. The screenplay writer and director have made a film so uncompromisingly faithful to Thompson's novel that a few audience members will usually leave the theater during the most graphic scenes.

Make no mistake: This movie is more grisly than anything by Sam Peckinpah, and the subject is as misogynistic as that of Straw Dogs (though it's the character, not the director, who hates women in this case). If you're a person who can't watch or sanction scenes in which women are brutalized, then this is a film to avoid.

If not, then you're ready to see the book represented in its pulpy essence, with excesses and virtues on display.

Psychopathic sheriff Lou Ford is equal parts self-destructive sadist, con man and facade. For him, excessive politeness and long-windedness are forms of veiled hostility. Brutal sarcasm is delivered in a good-natured everyman way. Everything Ford says is double entendre, the punchline, only apparent to him. He ushers people to their doom in the same tone he might use to offer them a drink.

Other film adaptations, from Tavernier's Coup de Torchon to the 70s version of Killer, have missed Ford's quintessentially Southern hostility. Those French and So Cal readings failed to recognize the specific way in which Thompson turns the naive good-natured American stereotype on its head. Winterbottom understands it and shows it, as does his lead.

The actor who plays Ford is famous but not yet so ubiquitous that his celebrity obscures the power of Ford's character. Since character carries an unusual amount of weight in Thompson stories, Casey Afflick was a perfect choice: Likable and chameleonic, with an admirable range and a delivery so spent and inviting it will remind you of Bill Clinton's. You don't just enjoy this portrayal of Ford because he's an interesting villain. You actually sympathize with the character's attempts to regain self-control.

When I read a reviewer's description of Ford listening to classical music and reading Freud, I groaned. I thought he'd been reduced to another Hannibal Lecter.

Not to worry: Affleck's Ford never talks about culture and he never air-conducts.

From the period-specific tone to the apparent humility and social restraint of the killer — which made readers sympathize with him even after he committed acts that seemed designed to justify the death penalty — this film is to Thompson what Wynton Marsalis is to Miles Davis: Reverent to the point of sacrificing personality, but giving back everything in terms of performance, style and formal correctness. The attention to form was particularly appreciated: Having read the book twice, I knew what was coming and still enjoyed the ending.

The Killer Inside Me is tough. Directed by Michael Winterbottom, the film gives the audience an experience that is hard to describe. If you have heard anything about the film so far, it most likely concerns the graphic violence that is depicted against women, and it is graphic. Some may consider it a success for its ability to make the viewer squirm, but the deliberately paced film has a muddled story that will leave you feeling confused and uneasy.

Based on Jim Thompson's 1952 novel of the same name, The Killer Inside Me tells the story of Deputy Sheriff Lou Ford (Casey Affleck). Taking place in a small West Texas town, Lou is a soft-spoken and patient man. The community pays Lou no mind thinking him to be a bit boring, but nothing else. Little do they know that there is another side of Lou lingering beneath the surface. He has been able to repress his "sickness" since his childhood but an interaction with local prostitute Joyce Lakeland (Jessica Alba), reawakens the monster within.

Cinematographer Marcel Zyskind deserves all sorts of credit for the way the film is shot. The depiction of the period is spot-on. A reserved palette is used throughout the entire film. The muted colors help to allow the screen to ooze 1950s nostalgia. There is a visual honesty in the way everything looks that makes the images intriguing. Even during moments when I wanted to turn away because of events taking place on the screen I was drawn back.

The acting is hit-and-miss. Casey Affleck is fantastic as Lou Ford. He is able to portray a gradual slide into insanity in such an understated manner that you can lose track of how deep he has fallen. From the first appearance of Affleck on screen, I felt uneasy. At a point in the film where nothing has really happened yet, the viewer can sense that there is something not right about Lou Ford. I can't put my finger on exactly how Affleck does it but it is abundantly successful. This is no Dexter Morgan. You want Ford to be caught. As the film progresses your hatred for Ford grows exponentially. This may be the reason why the film's ending isn't satisfying. Other than Affleck, the acting is nothing special. Kate Hudson and Jessica Alba are simply there. The story's punch comes from a caring for both Hudson and Alba's characters, but the film never makes you care. They seem to be there literally to be Ford's punching bags. The two are little more than props for Affleck to use and this hurts the story.

Time to address that violence I mentioned. There are a couple scenes in the film in which women are brutally beaten. Personally, this is up there with rape on the list of things I don't want to see in film. That being said I can recognize the intent of its use in this film. The brutality in which Ford harms the women is juxtaposed with his kind and understated demeanor in his town. The film hopes to show that this "killer" can dwell within anyone, that a person's outside appearance does not dictate the manner in which he may act in other settings. Crudely put, the film emphasizes that we cannot judge a book by its cover. However, the way in which the violence is presented does not further this theme. The camera lingers on the gruesome abuse for extended periods. I didn't think Pulp Fiction was too violent; nor did I think that The Departed was too violent. However, and I say this with complete conviction, The Killer Inside Me is too violent. The moments of violence are relatively short but they are shown with such realism that it is nearly nauseating to watch. It seems like Winterbottom is daring the audience to turn away. As a man I felt the duration and brutality of the violence against women to be borderline misogynistic. If the violence is not enough, the twist ending, which left a bitter taste in my mouth, seems to add more credence to the misogyny argument. I cannot imagine a woman that will be able to enjoy this film.

I wanted to enjoy this film, I really did, but upon leaving the theater I was happy that it was over. Shot with an honesty that reflects its period, the muted colors serve as an additional commentary on the main character himself. Affleck becomes Lou Ford and depicts his descent into psychosis believably, sucking the viewer into his troubling world. Despite its accomplishments, the films depiction of violence against women is shot in a way that will leave the viewer cringing and ultimately does more harm than good. The Killer Inside Me has the rumblings of a good film that are overshadowed by brutal and unnecessary violence.