Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer

A common criticism of slasher movies is how they romanticize the killer and the kills, and turn the victims into little more than cardboard cut-outs, existing only to be knocked down by the agent of death. They're designed, so the detractors say, to cheer on the murderer as he slaughters his way through the cast, en route to the final showdown with The Final Girl. The gore is the attraction, not the story. This is ... not entirely untrue, but it isn't entirely true either. Contrary to what the critics say, Jason Voorhees and Michael Myers and Chucky are not once portrayed as anything better than what they are: wholesale death merchants. They're not anti-heroes, and CERTAINLY never heroes. The carnage isn't there to be cheered; it's supposed to be sad, the unfortunate randomness of death that can cut down even the young with nary a whim. Movies like Friday the 13th and Halloween were supposed to reflect that grim reality, to scare not by the carnage alone but by piercing the delusional bubble youth lives in that convinces them they're immortal. Sadly, as the decade wound on and the slasher craze took root, everything the critics said came true; the carnage BECAME the attraction. Hell, half the selling point of Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter was the return of SFX master Tom Savini. And while the killers were never celebrated as heroes, they certainly enjoyed a perverted iconic status. Any Halloween past 1985 and you were guaranteed to see young children wearing hockey masks or carrying toy chainsaws. Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer was made as the slasher boom had reached its apex and was on its was down, but the only DNA it shares with the Jasons and Freddys of the world is the body count. It does not romanticize the kills. In fact, for the first third or so of the movie, you don't even SEE the kills; just the aftermath. And you never, EVER get to know the victims. Henry, you see, takes all the criticisms to heart, but then flips it back on the critics: in this movie, the killer IS the star. He is not some deformed mountain man, or a vengeful revenant, or some supernatural force. He is a regular guy who just so happens to have an unquenchable bloodlust. His victims are meaningless to the overall story; almost all of them are introduced and killed in the same scene, if they're even seen alive at all. This is HIS story. To that end, the movie does not treat the kills that you get to see like a spectator sport. They're harsh. They're ugly. They're invasive and disturbing. They are what murder is: one person taking the life of someone who does not want to lose it. "You think all the victims are one-dimensional garbage?", this movie asks; "you think the killing spree is there to be enjoyed?" The movie flips critics the middle finger and says "enjoy THIS". Because, make no mistake, this is NOT a movie to be enjoyed. The violence is naked and hostile and unpleasant, much in the way the violence of A Clockwork Orange. It is human tragedy presented with as much visceral discomfort as Kids. It is not hedonistic or cynical, and it never revels. It is blunt and caustic, and it dares you to enjoy it. Credit goes to literally every facet of the movie for building the atmosphere. The score is minimalistic, but perfect and effective, burrowing in you and triggering you at the exact right moment. The cinematography is intelligent, but never clever; it builds and lets the scene develop itself. It is if Rob Zombie had Hitchcock's patience and sense of suspense, or if Hitchcock had Zombie's darkness and brutality. Michael Rooker's acting is sublime, low key even in the darkest moments, rarely raising his voice above a conversational growl. He is almost sympathetic, if he weren't completely amoral and lacking any value of human life. The editing, the pacing, the direction, the casting, everything comes together for a movie that will leave you feeling dirty and uncomfortable. And that may be its one weakness: it is not enjoyable in any way. Friday the 13th, as base and lizard-brained as it is, is like a roller-coaster crossed with a Snickers bar and a Monster energy drink; it's high-octane junk food, moving at a frantic pace. It's a jolt of energy. This movie does none of that, and wouldn't even want to. It is unsettling in the extreme. It is unflinching and ugly and harsh in its portrayal of everything, from the people to the city it takes place in. In much the same way movies like Kids, or Traffic, or Passion of the Christ are brilliantly made films but too unbelievably heavy for repeat viewing. There's nothing to cheer for here, no vicarious thrill to find in the action, no heroes to cheer for. This is a movie that says "it is a dark world, deal with it", and does not give you a chance to rebut. You don't turn this off and think about the good time you had, or dissect the best scenes. You live with the knowledge you saw it, and you may recommend it. But it is not something you come back to.