Moviedom's infatuation with serial killers continues in DEAD CERTAIN, a slick, sick slice of nastiness that film forensics should quickly identify as a takeoff on Jonathan Demme's THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS.
Back in 1979 John Barnes was convicted of cutting the heart out of girlfriend Debbi Jones (the proof apparently being that he's portrayed by veteran screen nutcase Brad Dourif). Flash ahead to the present, when Barnes, a pathetic human wreck still protesting his innocence, is discharged, much to
the fury of the investigating Detective John Reed (Francesco Quinn). Reed is a real piece of work, making BAD LIEUTENANT's Harvey Keitel look like Officer Friendly: Reed's a slovenly, unshaven, vicious, lapsed Catholic addicted to heroin and hookers, trailing behind him a shattered marriage and an
unresolved obsession with the long-dead Debbi. During custodial visits with his small son he takes the tyke to a favorite nudie bar where they swap profane precinct shop talk about the Jones case.
Reed is "dead certain" that Barnes is guilty, and when a freshly gutted female corpse turns up the cringing ex-con immediately gets thrown back in the clink. But the bloody butcherings continue. Obviously Barnes isn't responsible, but he's had taunting calls and letters from the copycat killer,
and Reed reluctantly cozies up to his former prime suspect for advice on nabbing the new slasher on the block. Barnes claims to know nothing, and the whole grim business drags on for a hellish 110 minutes before the murderer is fingered (literally--he amputates digits as part of his modus
operandi): he's Frank Jones (Joel Kaiser), little-known brother of Debbi. It seems he too felt Barnes got off easy, and took up serial-killing to drive the accused over the edge.
In that he succeeds. An amoral conclusion finds Barnes committing suicide, while Reed cleans up his act and regains his kids. (Frank helpfully disembowelled the detective's ex-wife.) A final tableau shows the restored family in a happy domestic setting--but the miracle of flashbacks reveals that
it was really jilted lover John Reed who slaughtered Debbi all those years ago and pinned the guilt on Barnes.
Writer-director Anders Palm renders this ugly yarn in fever-dream fashion, abetted by cinematographer John de Borman's florid lensing techniques: infrared b&w film stock for the flashbacks, scanlined video for stalker stuff, flashing strobes for the antihero's druggy visions, and rainwashed
nocturnal neon noir for everything else. Like an oil slick on stagnant water it's an interesting sight but unhealthy to ingest. The performances are equally crazed, and lines of dialogue are typically prefaced by "You sick bastard!" Freaky Frank introduces himself at one point as "the Candyman,"
though any resemblance to the similarly titled 1992 horror release flatters neither it nor DEAD CERTAIN, which arrived in most territories as a direct-to-video castoff. (Violence, substance abuse, profanity, nudity, sexual situations, adult situations.) leave a comment
