I Know Who Killed Me (2007)
Directed by Chris Sivertson
Written by Jeff Hammond
Starring Lindsay Lohan, Julia Ormond, Neal McDonough, Brian Geraghty
Release Date July 27th, 2007
Published July 26th, 2007
It was the great John Waters, in a cameo on an episode of The Simpsons, that gave me my definition of camp. "It's Camp, the ludicrously tragic, the tragically ludicrous". It is that line that resonated deep within my mind as I watched the new Lindsey Lohan pseudo-thriller I Know Who Killed Me. There are few things in Hollywood at the moment more tragic than Ms. Lohan. And, there are few movies more ludicrous than I Know Who Killed Me, a wacky torture porn wannabe, too squeamish to commit to full on exploitation and too balls out goofy to be merely bad.
Aubrey Fleming (Lindsay Lohan) has these really vivid dreams that she turns into stories for her creative writing class. They tell the story of a girl named Dakota whose life of crack houses and strip clubs provides a rich background for Aubrey's burgeoning storytelling talent. Aubrey's writing is taking her to Yale in the fall, or it would have; if not for one fateful night after a football game.
Aubrey was supposed to meet friends for a late night movie. When she didn't show, her friends got scared. They called the police; who called Aubrey's parents, Daniel (Neal McDonough) and Susan (Julia Ormond), who also did not know where she was. Weeks go by until a body is found along the highway, a leg and hand severed, but still alive.
The girl looks exactly like Aubrey but when she comes to, she claims to be Dakota. As the cops press her for information on who cut off her hand and leg, Dakota maintains that she is not Aubrey and spins a fantastic tale of how her hand and leg simply shriveled up and fell off. This as she sleeps with Aubrey's boyfriend (Brian Geraghty) and searches for the killer in her own unique ways.
That is the spoiler free version of the plot of I Know Who Killed Me and as often happens with movies this bizarrely bad, my description is far more concise than anything in the movie. It took me two showings of I Know Who Killed Me just to come up with that description. Watching the film for the first time, with a critic friend of mine, I could not stop laughing long enough to try and put the pieces of this ludicrous trash epic together.
Directed by Chris Sivertson, I Know Who Killed Me has delusions of grandeur as an art film, a torture porn ala Hostel with a dash of M. Night Shyamalan and just a hint of Brian De Palma at his most over the top. None of it ever approaches coherence but it's never boring. Imagine all of that crammed into one picture and then blended with a group of performances so off key you almost hear dogs barking and you get just a sense of how truly, brilliantly awful I Know Who Killed Me is.
It is so rare in modern Hollywood to find true camp or kitsch. Modern films are so self aware, so self consciously willing to wink at audiences that camp becomes manufactured or forced. Rarely do you get the earnest achievement of true awfulness. A group of actors and filmmakers who have truly deluded themselves into believing that what they are doing is working.
More often you get movies like Snakes On A Plane where the kitsch became the marketing hook, thus subverting the camp into simple bad filmmaking. Either that or you get a movie like Redline or Because I Said So, movies that are just so horrendous that you can't even take joy in the badness. There is no commitment on the part of the actors who are too bored or dull-witted to care whether the movie they are in is any good.
In I Know Who Killed Me however, you can see the grand delusions of all involved. You can see from the care taken to craft out their visuals and the attempts to create a color motif (blues and reds dominate the screen in a self conscious battle for control) that director Chris Sivertson and his team were convinced they really had something here.
Not unlike the work of the great Ed Wood who believed earnestly in his own talent, the creators of I Know Who Killed Me evince utter cluelessness as to how brilliantly awful this trash epic truly is. It is that joy of creation, that misguided judgment, that makes I Know Who Killed Me a truly wonderful bit of camp. That, and of course, the schadenfreude of watching star Lindsey Lohan hit bottom on the big screen as she hits bottom in real life.
You can see in Ms. Lohan's performance a level of commitment that says she truly believed the things her characters were saying. More important though, from a camp perspective, you can see how desperately out of her depth she is trying to give life to the goofiness she is trying to play as serious drama and mystery. And worse yet, you can see how her real life drug problem may have contributed to how truly awful her performance is.
On the one hand, I don't want to take pleasure in Ms. Lohan's problems. On the other hand, she is young, rich, privileged and not dead, so I don't feel too bad. Plus, her real life tabloid problems give trashy subtext to an already trashy movie and increase the camp pleasure of I Know Who Killed Me to a degree where I could actually recommend it in an ironic way.
Poor Ms. Lohan, she's not a bad actress, just one who doesn't make good decisions. Watching I Know Who Killed Me; one cannot escape the idea that the poor girl is being taken advantage of. Watch the stripping scenes, Dakota is a 'dancer', and you cannot help but be more embarrassed for Ms. Lohan as opposed to being titillated by her gyrations. She simply looks lost and sad on the stage and it's unclear whether those emotions are intentional or just a sad realization of how low her career has sunk.
I cannot recommend I Know Who Killed Me, from a typical movie standard. However, I can tell you that if you are looking for an ironic laugh, you might wait for this DVD to come out, gather some friends and have fun at this film and Ms. Lohan's expense. It sounds a little mean, but it's undeniably funny.
