Psycho Killer arrives in theaters on Friday, February 20.
Psycho Killer is a grim mess. In fact, it’s the draggiest, sloppiest revenge-driven road trip serial killer mystery since… 1997’s Switchback? It also might be the only revenge-driven road trip serial killer mystery since Switchback. Maybe these particular elements just shouldn’t blend.
Psycho Killer invites you into the lumbering word of the “Satanic Slasher,” the latest hulking masked maniac to take a stab at becoming an insta-classic within the pantheon of horror hellions. He’s tall, swole, has a voice like Mike Lanegan (RIP), and loves hacking, slashing, bludgeoning, shooting, and slurping (?) his way across the country in a quest to, as he writes in blood, “open the gates.” The massive James Preston Rogers holds court well as the Satanic one, and the character has a lot of promise, his face constantly obscured by long hair, hoods, sunglasses, or all three. Unfortunately, first-time feature director Gavin Polone mostly wastes this giant madman’s potential, attempting scares that fall flat and staging bloodlettings that don’t pop.
There’s a one particular massacre scene that closes out a story chapter that should have landed so much bigger and better than it does. Yes, CG blood can be distracting, but that wasn’t the issue here. It’s the staging and framing. Instead of drawing us into the Slasher’s size and might, the camera keeps a weird distance that diminishes his power. Going for oners that also utilize slo-mo only enhance flaws in effects and choreography. Come to think of it, most scenes in Psycho Killer feel like half-measures in need of a few extra tweaks. Palone, a successful TV (Curb Your Enthusiasm) and movie (Zombieland) producer, gives this an earnest shot but when your film is heavily advertised with “from the writer of Se7en” and the director then lacks David Fincher’s command for composition, color, and pacing, the lack of experience will be glaring.





