I can’t remember seeing a film so depraved, immoral, and
pointless as William Friedkin’s Killer
Joe, based on the play by Tracy Letts. Of course, I’ve never seen The Human Centipede, so there may be
hope yet. I’ve seen it described as a dark comedy and yet I found no humor in
it. It is full of characters so stupid, who make such bad decisions – life-changing
decisions – without much thought, that it’s almost impossible to side with
anyone. There is perhaps one exception in the form of a pure innocent young
woman, but she is such an odd portrait of a human being that her entire
character has no credibility.
This is exploitative filmmaking run amok. It’s not even
fun exploitation like the B-classics of the 70’s that inspire so much of
Quentin Tarantino’s work. He, after all, is a writer who understands character
and motivation, which is much more than I can say for Letts, who also wrote the
screenplay, based on Killer Joe. He
might be the only playwright on earth who thinks it’s enough to have his
characters want something to explain that they would do anything for it. And
Friedkin takes every opportunity to show us nudity and graphic violence. One
woman is introduced with a waist-level shot of her naked crotch. Are we
supposed to marvel at the brazenness of the character, who answers the door without
pants, or the filmmaker?
The violence is depicted in such shocking terms it is
squirm-inducing for the hardest of viewers. Remember Tarantino’s camera moved
away when Mr. Blonde cut off the cop’s ear in Reservoir Dogs. Suggested violence is not a concept with which
Friedkin seems to be familiar. It almost makes me want to reconsider whether The Exorcist is little more than
exploitation of a little girl – charges Friedkin has had to answer to over the
years. He stages one scene of such appalling humiliation, degradation, sadism,
and brutality that I had difficulty continuing. The Killer Joe of the title,
after breaking a woman’s nose, forces her to perform fellatio on the simulated
phallus of a fried chicken drumstick. You might find it in you to laugh at the
absurdity of the scene, but apart from sadistic pleasure, I could hardly think
of a reason for its inclusion and length.
That scene comes as the first part of the climax of a
story that involves a young man named Chris’s (Emile Hirsch) attempt to raise
the money he owes to drug dealers by hiring a contract killer to do away with
his useless alcoholic mother for the insurance money. We never meet her, but
everyone seems to hold her in extraordinarily low regard. The speed with which
Chris convinces his dad, Ansel (Thomas Haden Church), to go in on the deal is
mind-boggling. Then it only gets worse when they both agree to offer up Dottie
(Juno Temple), Ansel’s daughter and Chris’s sister, as a retainer in lieu of
payment. Throw in Gina Gershon as the washed up and miserable second wife of
Ansel and you have one of the strangest families in cinema since the deranged
killers of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
Under normal circumstances these are fine actors, but
from an initial scene involving lots of yelling, the acting is so ratcheted up,
so hysterical and theatrical, so forced, that it was grating on my ears. The
only actor who brings anything serious to his role, and helps elevate the film
at least a tiny bit, is Matthew McConaughey as Joe. He is simply mesmerizing in
a sadistic and evil role. This is easily one of McConaughey’s best performances
and he is ever-watchable in all his menace, even while you want to avert your
eyes from some of the aberrant behavior.
Quite frankly, I don’t know what anyone has seen in this
movie. I came to it through its reasonably good reputation and particularly on
the strength of McConaughey’s performance, but I found an irredeemable movie
replete with such dreadfully misconceived narrative inconsistencies and
unexplainable character behavior that I was tempted on more than one occasion
to rewind the disc to see if I’d missed some crucial explanation for why, for
example, a character might enter a room to find his stepmother bleeding
profusely from her face and, having absolutely no reason to know what has
happened or why, doesn’t even blink an eye at the sight. Killer Joe strikes me as a grotesque and cynical excuse to throw it
all out there.
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