Killer Instincts

Dysfunction spirals toward depravity 

by Morgan P Salvo

Killer Joe’s opening credits gives us the head’s up on the second collaboration of writer Tracy Letts and Director William Friedkin (first was Bug). Garnishing an NC-17 rating due to some full frontal rampant nudity and some kick ass sexual simulation, there is an even weirder vibe that hangs on the entire flick resulting in a need to wash out your brain afterward.

Here again the writing/directing  duo tries to reinvent the critical fame of Bug with this screwed up potboiler, but Killer Joe allows the subject matter to only half translate to film. The whole viewing time I was wishing I was watching the play and not this mostly defective film version. But what is weird about this movie is that, even for all its flaws, it remains this extremely haunting memory. Replaying scenes in my head and the strange, warped, uncomfortable feeling I got from watching this flick has somehow morphed into the same feeling of recalling a dream, like ‘did that really happen?’

The plot is pretty far fetched but allows some diabolical fun. From the wrecked world of trailer trash comes the tale of a supremely dysfunctional family who gets wind of a detective (Matthew McConaughey) who moonlights as a hit man and they want the matriarch of the family dead so they can rake in the cash from her insurance policy. This major plot reels into minor sub text about what makes messed up people tick way more than worrying about the logistics of being believable, although the twists Killer Joe takes are pretty darn good and disturbing.

Reveling in demented glee, McConaughey seems to be having as much fun as he did in Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation. Matt fares pretty well as the cowboy detective who relates with soft spoken terror: a menacing monster capable of torture and humiliation, but I focused more on the fact that he whistles when he says words that in ‘s’. At first all the acting felt off kilter and forced except for Gina Gershon and Juno Temple who are both excellent. Then I actually put my finger on it halfway through -- I wanted two of lead actors, Thomas Haden Church and Emile Hirsh, to be different actors; almost anyone (aside from Justin Timberlake) because there was something inherently wrong with their delivery making most of their scenes a chore to get through. The best guy in the whole flick was Marc Macaulay, a solid character actor since the ’80s with 134 movies and/or TV episodes under his belt, who gives us scene-stealing screen time that indelibly smears the mind.

Director Friedkin juices up this flick with some great locations, nice bloodletting-violence and insanely wrong sexual situations. To enhance how Friedkin and Letts feel toward their audience, the assault of vindictiveness (not so coincidentally) plays along with how the characters in the film feel about themselves. Friedkin/ Letts have no regard for anyone else, which can be a good thing as it remains in the realm of art. It’s the imprint this flick makes on your brain where the impact lies. Unfortunately in so doing we lose the grasp of why and what’s happening on screen one time too many and that proves too distracting.

After a ton of disjointed weird dialogue, mounting danger, sexual innuendo and some mistake-ridden editing, the third act of the movie gets extremely engrossing. It will make you forgive the questionable acting and the cavernous loopholes. An earlier twist that is somewhat “thriller movie” based turns a new corner and we are at the crossroads of the sadomasochistic and disturbed. The unanswered questions of certain things fall into place still leaving everything totally ambiguous. But the wretched characters rear their ugly agendas in full force as dysfunction goes brutal and turbo. We begin to witness certain things that baffle, shock, titillate and disgust simultaneously. It’s a crescendo of a climax that almost makes the wait worth it.

Morbidity and lurid pleasure are batted around like softball practice, and there are some really quotable take home lines like calling Colonel Sanders’ grub  “K FRY C” or when Gershon is told she is “fumigating the gates of hell” after spraying on too much perfume.

Killer Joe is one slow burn towards an inevitable “didn’t-see-all-of-that-coming” ending. When all is said and done, this tall Texan tale coming from the pen of an Oklahoman playwright and the director of The French Connection is a prime example of hit and miss filmmaking. But due to the nasty weird-ass stuff battling it out on the screen this flick is worth a look and will undeniably stick with you forever.

Killer Joe

Starring Matthew McConaughey, Emile Hirsch, Juno Temple, Thomas Haden Church, Gina Gershon, Marc Macaulay

Directed by William Friedkin

Rated NC-17

3 stars