Directed by Chris Siverston
Prior to seeing the film, I had intended to write the review for I Know Who Killed Me without mentioning Lindsay Lohan’s infamous personal problems. The few reviews I had scanned all seemed unable to restrain themselves from the same tired “I Know Who Killed My Career” jokes, and I wanted to avoid that trap. Guess what? It turns out there’s no way you can dissociate the Lindsay Lohan persona from this flick. In fact, as far as I can tell, the whole purpose of I Know Who Killed Me is to cast a high profile Hollywood narcissist in a horror movie about Platonic self-love. It’s pretty damn hilarious, but I don’t think the multiplex crowd is going to get it.
Anyone who is lucky enough to have seen director Chris Sivertson’s first film, The Lost (review), can’t help but be excited to see his follow-up effort. Here I go again, but like its famous star, the film I Know Who Killed Me is a bit of a trainwreck. Like trainwrecks, the movie is eminently watchable, but once the smoke has cleared, all those shiny little pieces still add up to a big mess.
Very little of the story can be revealed, since the whole thing is an elaborate setup for a twist ending. Ultimately, the payoff is shallow, but the artifice holds up for most of the film, leading you to believe that there’s more to it than a cheesy Cheech & Chong plot device (after seeing the movie you’ll know what I’m talking about). What can be told is that Lohan plays Aubrey, a snooty rich kid, who is kidnapped by a serial torturer with a penchant for amputating the limbs of his victims. After losing some important parts, Aubrey escapes; but after waking up in the hospital, she doesn’t recognize her family and insists that her name is Dakota. The bulk of the story is spent trying to resolve her true identity.
Now, to be fair, if I restate what I’ve just said and tell you that the film is visually stunning and experimental, that the horror is intense and cringe-worthy, and the overall tone is, (to contribute to an overused comparison) Lynchian, then you’d be forgiven for wanting to rush out and see the film. Such is the dilemma with recommending I Know Who Killed Me. It’s a huge mess, but at the same time I can’t shake the feeling that Sivertson’s movie will be with us for some time and that it’s only going to get better with repeated viewings. The whole twist ending, multiple red-herrings, serial killer plotline actually gets in the way of what this movie is really about, which is to explore self-obsessesion.
The tabloid crowd is going to hate this movie, but educated horror fans will find much to like in it. Taken individually, many of the plot devices and twists are highly derivative, but Sivertson has skillfully molded an essentially pulpy story into something greater than the sum of its parts. Like its star, the film has an uneasy, illogical appeal and one that shows some promise of ripening with age.
3 out of 5
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