Review by
Eric Hillis
Directed by: Tolga Karaçelik
Starring: Steve Buscemi, John Magaro, Britt Lower
The Shallow Tale of a Writer Who Decided to Write About a Serial
Killer is the sort of comedy that was popular in the 1980s, one in which
regular people's humdrum lives are upended when they find themselves
caught up in a wacky situation. Had it been made in that decade it would
likely have a title like "Hijinx" and the VHS cover would feature its two
leads (Steve Guttenberg and Dom Deluise) making mugging faces as they lug
a corpse across the box art.
There's no mugging in this desert dry English language debut from Turkish
writer/director Tolga Karaçelik, but it's a product of the
school of wacky situation comedy nonetheless. The humour isn't so much dry
as dehydrated, but it places its characters in the sort of scenarios you
wouldn't be surprised to find Steve Martin and Martin Short in, and for
all its dryness it never gets as dark as the material suggests and
probably requires.
John Magaro's Keane is that tired old stereotype of the writer who
hasn't actually penned anything in years and is living off fading past
glories. At dinner parties he talks passionately about his elusive next
novel - a tale of Slovenian neanderthals - but makes no effort to actually
write the thing. His long suffering wife Suzie (Britt Lower) is
sick of playing a role closer to a mother than a spouse, along with being
the sole breadwinner, and so demands a divorce. Keane's literary agent is
losing patience with his client and tries to pressure him into writing
something with commercial appeal.
Keane's personal and professional woes get an unlikely boost when he
encounters Kollmick (Steve Buscemi), a self-confessed "retired"
serial killer who wants Keane to pen his memoirs. Rather than running a
mile from this crazy person, Keane decides to go along with the idea. When
Suzie comes across Kollmick, she mistakes him for a marriage counsellor
and surprisingly agrees to undertake counselling with her husband. This
sees Kollmick reluctantly take on the role of a fake therapist by day
while schooling Keane in the ways of a killer by night.
There's an interesting idea brought up here, that of a man who becomes
increasingly appealing to his wife the more time he spends under the
influence of a nihilistic sociopath. But the film isn't interested in
exploring this premise, which is quickly jettisoned in favour of a series
of tired old routines that see Keane and Kollmick lugging unconscious
bodies around New York while Suzie grows suspicious of her husband's
newfound interest in all things homicidal. While the overall concept is
vaguely amusing, there are no laughs generated from the premise. Every
idea is dragged out, none more annoyingly than the fake therapy sessions,
which involve a stuffed cat prop that I guess we're supposed to find
zany.
Likely on the strength of his Turkish work, Karaçelik has assembled
an impressive cast but squanders his performers' potential. In Buscemi,
Magaro and Lower we get hints of the darkly satirical comedy this might
have been in more decisive hands. Buscemi's deadpan killer and Magaro's
Sub-Woody Allen nebbish have the potential to make a great comic pairing
but the script never allows them to form any kind of substantial bond.
Lower is a striking presence, her stern fringe giving her the look of a
hybrid of a Romulan and an evil Amelie, but the harshness of her
domineering wife figure clashes with the suspicious and fearful spouse she
later morphs into, as we never feel she's in any real danger from her
pathetic hubby. A shallow tale indeed.
