Killing isn’t art, it’s just killing. Following last year’s screening of the rarely shown Austrian gem Fear, we continue our deconstruction of the twisted minds of deranged killers with a similarly unique work Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer. In many ways the two are complementary opposites. While Fear offers an animalistically frenzied view from within, Henry is a clinically detached study, strictly viewing its subject from the outside. Loosely based on the story of real-life serial murderer Henry Lee Lucas, John McNaughton’s feature debut is an unflinching, visceral piece of filmmaking. Half art film, half schlock-horror cheapie, Henry strips away genre tropes in favour of raw, documentary-style realism. It’s disturbing, mercilessly bleak, and designed to make you feel deeply uncomfortable. It doesn‘t comment. It doesn‘t judge. And it has young Michael Rooker in a career-making role as the disturbed protagonist. McNaughton’s film remains a polarizing work that is admired and reviled and both sides have credible points in taking their sides. You want a truly memorable viewing experience? Look no further.
