“Summer of Sam” (1999)
One of Spike Lee’s most overlooked films, “Summer of Sam” only focuses on the Son of Sam Killer, who terrorized New York City in the Summer of 1976 and 77, in the periphery. In truth, the movie is really about the friendship of Vinny (John Leguizamo), whose failing marriage is brought upon by his constant cheating, and Ritchie (Adrien Brody), a punk rocker and prostitute, coming to terms with the changing sexual landscape of ’70s New York. Yet, even if the film is more about the “Summer of Sam” than the “Son of Sam,” when the “.44 Caliber Killer” (played by an unhinged Michael Badalucco) is given screen time, Lee truly embraces the nightmare, including the strangest, most disturbing talking dog sequence imaginable. “Summer of Sam,” like Lee’s previous film “Clockers,” sees Lee doing his best Scorsese impression, shifting between the killer and his two protagonists, showing how an entire city can become unhinged by multiple events colliding into each other. Leguizamo and Brody are in top form, with Brody giving a career-high performance (remember when he made good movies?). Come for the demonic dog and Plato’s Retreat orgy but stay for the nuanced multi-faceted New York character study that Lee excels at. – Christian Gallichio
“The Killer Inside Me” (2010)
When Casey Affleck’s Deputy Sheriff Lou Ford starts to calmly put leather gloves on while talking to Jessica Alba’s Joyce in Michael Winterbottom’s “The Killer Inside Me,” you know he’s about to doing something that can’t be undone. The resulting scene, a two-minute horrific sequence, in which Joyce’s face is beaten to a bloody pulp, show just how psychotic Lou Ford is, and how far he is willing to go to act out his sadomasochistic desires. Winterbottom’s adaptation doesn’t shy away from the violence inherent in the famous Jim Thompson novel (which everyone from Tarantino to Andrew Dominik tried to adapt previously). The film follows Lou Ford as he tries to clean up the mess of an affair with the town prostitute Joyce and, rightly, became famous for its depictions of violence against women. Yet, perhaps because of the violence, we are given a fully realized picture of a psychopath, unable to contain his inherent rage played with typical precision by Casey Affleck. Winterbottom traces the creation of Ford’s desires back through his childhood, and shows how his rage cannot function within the normal life he tries to create with fiancee Amy (Kate Hudson). Underappreciated when it was first released, “The Killer Inside Me” deserves reconsideration for the low-simmering performance that Affleck has perfected since. – CG
“Cure” (1997)
Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s signature style — long, pensive takes, wide compositions and elliptical editing — has a tendency to keep viewers at arm’s length throughout “Cure,” his 1997 J-horror masterwork. Nonetheless, this slow-burn story of a serial killer hypnotizing strangers to commit murder creeps up from behind and is apt to unnerve even the most steely spectator. Kurosawa staple Koji Yakusho plays Detective Takabe, a high-strung cop balancing the complexities of the curious case in front of him and his wife’s increasing dementia. Unfolding in parallel are the exploits of the killer-by-proxy (Masato Hagiwara), an amnesiac who mesmerizes those who cross his path with something as simple as the flickering flame of a lighter or a trickle of water. There is no criminal profiling on display in “Cure,” which displays more traditional hard-boiled and horror genre traits. What is most eerie about this drifter is his psychological vacuum; like the aliens’ appropriating of “conceptions” in Kurosawa’s latest, “Before We Vanish,” the killer consumes his victims’ minds in an attempt to fill his own void (which can never be satisfied). A few unexpected editorial flourishes imply that Takabe shares the violent hypnotic talents of his quarry, ostensibly pulling the rug out from under an audience when it is already too late to turn away… Even if it does not quite reach the heights of “Cure,” 2016’s “Creepy” covers similar ground and, most importantly, gets under your skin in the uncanny way that only Kurosawa’s best films can. – Bradley Warren
“Man Bites Dog” (1992)
Movies usually tease audiences with serial killers, only showing opaque glimpses until the end, like the shark from “Jaws.” “Man Bites Dog” takes the opposite approach, essentially ceding control of the film to its chatty, serial killer protagonist Ben, letting him pontificate on subjects like poetry and classical music. The film at first seems to have more in common with first-person indie movies, just a portrayal of an offbeat sensibility, and it’s hard not to have formed some identification with Ben by the time his conversation swerves to his tested tactics for rape and murder. It’s a terrifically ugly act of seduction, and if it works on the audience, it works far better on the onscreen “filmmakers,” as they soon put down the camera to join Ben in savage beatings. “Man Bites Dog” at first balances its violence with humor, only to rip away the humor to present the nauseating reality of its subject, in a manner that questions the ethics of all immersive filmmaking that stands aside to simply watch injustice take place. “Man Bites Dog” is the smartest film on this list about the relationship between serial killers and the movie audiences that watch their work, collapsing the moral distance between the characters and the audience and implicating the audience in the brutality onscreen. Like Haneke’s “Funny Games,” “Man Bites Dog” uses the conventions of cinema to lead the audience into hell, until the artifice collapses and only horror remains. Once you’re there, the worst part is realizing you asked for it. – Joe Blessing
“Red Riding Trilogy” (2009)
It is often a fateful twist of timing that enables a serial killer to elude capture. In the same way, the ambitious “Red Riding Trilogy” from 2009 was only a few years off from the binge-worthy streaming era, which partially explains why the films aren’t better known today. The three adaptations, “Red Riding 1974,” “Red Riding 1980” and “Red Riding 1984” — based on David Peace’s quartet of novels — were produced for British television but saw theatrical play in the U.S. following prestigious festival berths including NYFF. It’s definitely the kind of marquee project that challenges the limitations of the television medium, boasting a deep bench of English thespians that includes Sean Bean, Eddie Marsan, David Morrissey, Paddy Considine, Mark Addy and Peter Mullan. The filmmakers — Julian Jarrold, James Marsh and Anand Tucker — may be journeymen, but only in the best sense; each director employs a different film format and framing to bring the grimy post-industrial Yorkshire wasteland to life with remarkable craft. Even if you only have time for one of the films, Jarrold’s “1974” is probably the best, and stands well on its own. Andrew Garfield and Rebecca Hall feature in plum early roles; Garfield plays an eager-to-prove-himself journalist investigating local corruption, which may be linked to the disappearance of three young girls. As with genre classics “Zodiac” and “Memories of Murder,” the incomplete nature of ‘1974,’ which ties up every thread except for the actual murders themselves, captures the obsessiveness that makes true crime films so compulsively watchable. – BW