Here is a film so uncomfortable to sit through, that around the half mark I actually checked my watch to see how much time remained.
Not because the film was bad-it’s not-, or the subject matter is delicate-it is-, but because the movie, which labels itself a comedy, portrays a serial killer in a way pictures rarely ever do.
Ryan Reynolds, who would have starred as the detective charged with bringing the killer to justice were this a different film, portrays a mentally ill middle aged man who starts murdering women because the voices in his head tell him to.
And it’s not as dramatic as the “God told me” lines you’d expect either. In this case, he becomes a killer on the advice of his pets, further aided by the advice given him by the ever growing collection of severed heads he stores in his fridge.
It all seems a bit too real, and sad and uncomfortable.