The so-called Green River killer was responsible for more than three dozen deaths of women, mostly prostitutes, in the Seattle/Tacoma area of Washington state. This lengthy, slow, dark film isn't really his story. It follows the career of Dave Reichert (Thomas Cavanaugh), the head of the Green River task force at the King's County Sheriff's Office, with some additional time given over to the trials and tribulations of one of the killer's victims, Helen Remus (Amy Davidson).
It's not much more than a routine rendering of what has by now become a familiar narrative -- the mounting toll of bodies, the frustrated police, the dead ends, the pressure from the press, and finally the cathartic payoff.
"The Deliberate Stranger", the TV movie about Ted Bundy, for all its flaws, was a more tightly wound and better scripted tale, focusing as it did on the ensemble of cops, on the one hand, and Bundy's peregrinations on the other. The insertion of Bundy's affair with one or another woman was an informative diversion. Here, Helen Remus provides the narration, speaking from beyond the grave, in a warehouse filled with the GRK's other victims standing in a silent tableau. Her maunderings cover a lot of philosophy, with God dragged in by the heels, mostly centering around free will versus fate. (She quotes from William Henley's "Invictus" -- "I am the captain of my fate./ I am the master of my soul.") It all sounds like so much padding, although everyone is entitled to his or her philosophy about life, whether elegant or folksy. Heck, it's REQUIRED that we have one, even if we have to bootleg it in by the back door. It does get tiresome, though, and predictable. She was basically a good-hearted girl who came from a dysfunctional family and all the rest of it. If she weren't a hooker, she might have been a nun. That kind of portrayal of the victim as abused but still brave and generous, cheapens the narrative. She was murdered and her body dumped. Would it have been less a crime if she'd been shown as the cynical, self-indulgent hooker she might well have been? But that's just part of the problem with this film. There is no wit in the meandering script, no sparkle. And what passion it tries to evoke is undercut by the weak acting. Thomas Cavanaugh looks the part of the chief detective, but he has only a tentative hold on his instrument. His explosion of anger at the end of his interrogation of the captive killer looks like that of an actor trying to act out an explosion of anger, and his tender scenes aren't much better. I don't mean this as a slur on Thomas Cavanaugh the man. He probably has a loving family and a nice dog. It's just that, as a performer, he has a way to go.
There are a couple of nice shots of rivers flowing through dismal gray rocks, stirring and foaming, suggestive of peace and nature and submerged corpses. Now THAT makes one wax philosophical. It would have been nice, finally, if it had had a faster pace and if it had had a few more scenes that were brightly lighted. Even the sheriff's offices are filmed with only a few scattered lights. The lighting isn't stylish or dramatic. It's just too low. Where did this noirish nonsense come from -- "The X Files"?
It's not much more than a routine rendering of what has by now become a familiar narrative -- the mounting toll of bodies, the frustrated police, the dead ends, the pressure from the press, and finally the cathartic payoff.
"The Deliberate Stranger", the TV movie about Ted Bundy, for all its flaws, was a more tightly wound and better scripted tale, focusing as it did on the ensemble of cops, on the one hand, and Bundy's peregrinations on the other. The insertion of Bundy's affair with one or another woman was an informative diversion. Here, Helen Remus provides the narration, speaking from beyond the grave, in a warehouse filled with the GRK's other victims standing in a silent tableau. Her maunderings cover a lot of philosophy, with God dragged in by the heels, mostly centering around free will versus fate. (She quotes from William Henley's "Invictus" -- "I am the captain of my fate./ I am the master of my soul.") It all sounds like so much padding, although everyone is entitled to his or her philosophy about life, whether elegant or folksy. Heck, it's REQUIRED that we have one, even if we have to bootleg it in by the back door. It does get tiresome, though, and predictable. She was basically a good-hearted girl who came from a dysfunctional family and all the rest of it. If she weren't a hooker, she might have been a nun. That kind of portrayal of the victim as abused but still brave and generous, cheapens the narrative. She was murdered and her body dumped. Would it have been less a crime if she'd been shown as the cynical, self-indulgent hooker she might well have been? But that's just part of the problem with this film. There is no wit in the meandering script, no sparkle. And what passion it tries to evoke is undercut by the weak acting. Thomas Cavanaugh looks the part of the chief detective, but he has only a tentative hold on his instrument. His explosion of anger at the end of his interrogation of the captive killer looks like that of an actor trying to act out an explosion of anger, and his tender scenes aren't much better. I don't mean this as a slur on Thomas Cavanaugh the man. He probably has a loving family and a nice dog. It's just that, as a performer, he has a way to go.
There are a couple of nice shots of rivers flowing through dismal gray rocks, stirring and foaming, suggestive of peace and nature and submerged corpses. Now THAT makes one wax philosophical. It would have been nice, finally, if it had had a faster pace and if it had had a few more scenes that were brightly lighted. Even the sheriff's offices are filmed with only a few scattered lights. The lighting isn't stylish or dramatic. It's just too low. Where did this noirish nonsense come from -- "The X Files"?