Anamorph Review
Posted by Jeremy Thomas on 04.23.2008
A serial killer with a gimmick...what a revolutionary concept!
Directed By Henry Miller
Starring: Willem Dafoe - Stan Aubrey Scott Speedman - Carl Peter Stormare - Blair Clea DuVall - Sandy James Rebhorn - Brainard Amy Carlson - Alexandra Fredericks Yul Vazquez - Jorge Don Harvey - Killer Paul Lazar - Medical Examiner Edward Hibbert - Gallery Owner Mick Foley - Antique Store Owner
Running Time: 124 minutes
Rated R for disturbing grisly images, some violence and language.
Every serial killer’s got to have a gimmick in Hollywood. Unlike your average real-life homicidal maniac, when it comes to killers on the big screen, there’s some need to create elaborate modus operandi in order to make them as unforgettable as possible. From John Doe’s aping of the Deadly Sins in Se7en to Jigsaw’s elaborate traps of Saw, the success of such gimmicks ranges across the spectrum. The tendency to create such intricate gimmicks is part of Hollywood’s penchant for over-the-top. Ironically, some of the more effective killers on celluloid have been simple ones. Hannibal Lector didn’t leave huge, elaborate traps; he just killed people and ate them. Aileen Wurmos, immortalized by Charlize Theron in Monster, didn’t leave huge displays. This is one of the problems at the core of Anamorph, the latest film to follow in a host of serial killer movies in recent years. The gimmick overshadows the film, leaving little else to push it into being a great movie.
Willem Dafoe stars as Stan Aubrey, a New York Detective. Five years earlier, he caught a serial killer known as Uncle Eddy, a case that both earned him the rank of senior detective and caused him to step away from active investigation duty. Now, in the present, he’s an obsessive-compulsive alcoholic, who lives alone, keeps mini-bottles of booze neatly arranged in the glove compartment of his car for consumption, and takes two minutes to correctly organize his grocery purchases at the register. His only connection to life is a prostitute he saved (Duvall) from the streets around that time, and his job is teaching rookies about how to look at crime scenes. He’s called in by his chief to look at a crime that seems to mirror the Uncle Eddy murders…killings that use anamorphosis, a Renaissance painting technique in which images are hidden within the work that can be properly viewed only at different angles and perspectives. Paired up with a brash, newly-promoted senior detective (Speedman), Stan instead chooses to largely work alone, relying on his association with an antique dealer (Stormare) to provide clues as to what’s going to happen next. Predictably, the killings start hitting close to home, dredging up the past of another prostitute, one that fell to Uncle Eddy and whose death Stan feels responsible for.
Director Henry Miller, who co-wrote the script, does well with creating a gloomy, gritty image of New York City. This film takes place far away from the iconic images we all know, and in doing so, sets a good mood for the film. Miller’s problem isn’t so much in the directing as it is the writing. The plot, viewed outside of the gimmick of the killer, is dull and lackluster, not presenting much. There are several hints at a deeper story here, but it’s never allowed to come out. Instead, Miller lets these hints hang there while he focuses on the anamorphosis killings. Elaborate and suitably disturbing as they are, it’s difficult to believe in them, as the killer somehow manages to create an entire fake room in one victim’s apartment or keeps another’s hung body parts staying in one spot so they can form the greater palette of the artwork. Leaving things to the imagination is a good thing, but Miller takes it too far. We never even learn the name of the killer, or what his connection (if any) to Uncle Eddy is. Was he the real killer? We’ll never know.
The acting is decent, for the most part. Dafoe gives a quiet but intense portrayal of Stan, a man haunted by his past. Clea Duvall does well in her relatively bit part as Sandy, and Peter Stormare gives one of his usual quality performances. Even Mick Foley, who shows up in a brief role as an antiques dealer, does all right, though it was certainly hard to view him as anything other than ‘Mick Foley.’ The one glaring exception is Scott Speedman. Speedman, sporting a constant smirk, is nothing but straight-out annoying as Carl, Stan’s new partner, and he acts like he’s failing to take his role seriously. Whenever he’s on the screen, one finds oneself waiting until he leaves.
Anamorph is, as part of IFC Films’ marketing strategy, playing on On Demand cable simultaneously with its very limited theatrical release. This is a smart move on IFC’s part, as it allows it to be seen by people who otherwise wouldn’t be able to catch the major-city-only release. It gives the film a Direct-to-DVD feel, but the film would have gone that route outside of New York and Los Angeles anyway, so it’s no great blow to the film. In the end, this is a film best viewed probably from the comfort of one’s living room anyway, where it can be enjoyed for what it is—another gimmicky serial killer film.
The 411: Anamorph is a serial killer film that's smart enough to stick to it's seamier roots, but not wise enough to rise above the highly artistic gimmick behind its killer. Willem Dafoe turns in an excellent performance in the lead role, but he's dragged down by Scott Speedman's constantly smirking, lazy performance as Dafoe's partner. Not enough questions are answered, but the mood and imagery are enough to make this a decent, though not good, entry in the increasingly large field of serial killer thrillers.
