The lifeless hand stiffly hangs, gently swaying from the hook piercing the bloody stump where severance occurred just below the elbow. Rude looking chains flank the title screen image that appears to quiver as I role my eyes at this gratuitous, Saw-esque prelude to Anamorph. If this preliminary representation is a reliable instrument with which to gauge the artistic intentions of a film, I was convinced that this would be a fruitless affair. Though, one must never judge a movie by its poster. Anamorph (released by Contender Entertainment) has a certain intelligence and reserve that is intriguing from the outset. Writer, director Henry Millers’ psychological thriller centers on Stan Aubrey, a troubled detective played by Willem Dafoe. Haunted by his involvement in the ‘Uncle Eddie’ serial killings, Aubrey has retreated to lecturing on criminal profiling. A fresh murder bearing strikingly similar hallmarks to those of Uncle Eddie draws him back to investigate what could either be a copycat killer or a signal that the original killer, who Aubrey believed he had killed, is still at large. The killer arranges the corpses of his victims to create incredibly intricate works of art. In positioning each of his works to be of greatest effect from one particular point of perspective the killer employs the painting technique of anamorphosis. Each murder is presented as an artistic offering to the discoverer,

though specifically to Aubrey, who becomes increasingly integral to the killers craft, almost to the point of becoming implicated on some level himself.

These shocking displays of creativity by the killer provide the most interesting aspect to the film and though it feels, at times that they are too heavily relied upon they are utterly potent and disturbingly striking. Anamorph has a strong filmic sense of distinctiveness and imagination. However, the directing never really engages the drama and suspense the film is attempting to convey. It feels detached and a touch unfeeling. This gives the film a cold, desensitised feel, which, in a paradoxical twist, actually adds tone to the film whilst disarming many of its other stronger devices. The film takes a while to get going and though tension is built well, the slow movement somewhat defuses the atmosphere and big reveals so crucial to this genre. Though considered, it does not seem as wholesome as similar movies such a David Fincher’s Seven which is, undeniably, the progenitor, the blueprint of unparalleled perfection of this bleakly lit genre of barbarism laced with human consciousness. The acting is underplayed and subtle yet consistent. Dafoe is steely and intelligent playing a character that is interestingly uncop-like. The supporting cast is solid in Scott Speedman, Peter Stormare and Clea DuVall.

There’s even a superfluous cameo from Blondie singer Debbie Harry. After a period though, this lack of feeling leads you to lose contact with the characters, to simply watch what is happening to them rather than experiencing the suspense alongside them. Anamorph, at times lacks the punch its macabre, thematic murders suggest it should pack. That aside, it is at points compelling, well written and distinctive and worth your attention.

Words > Ben Wood