15 KILLINGS deliberately does the one thing you'd think a movie about serial killers wouldn't want to do: it makes its subject matter boring. It doesn't even pretend to be suspenseful: its main conceits are revealed within the first ten minutes, so there's little to wonder about in terms of whodunnit, where and when.
But that's not necessarily a bad thing, since the film does give its audience an alternative to the usual stale serial killer narrative.
This inevitably starts with the dispatch of a (generally attractive female) victim, and plods on, through the point of view of either amoral killer or pursuing cop, to the also-inevitable capture. Which is never easy, because serial killers in movies are One Per Centers-independently wealthy, no Gover'mint Cheese in their fridge. They have plenty of money to fund their fiendish rituals, and plenty of time to carry them out in public spaces.
On the Silver Screen, however, the most murderous career is 120 minutes long. So filmmakers are forced to choose: the killer can satisfy his bloodlust and quit, or taunt the cops and move the plot along. Coincidentally, they usually choose the latter. So we're not surprised when cop and killer must finally settle their differences mano a mano. But the killer is usually a savant in one way or another: super-smart, super-evil, super-human. So naturally only super-cops can catch him (the "him" is also a given), because who wants mediocrity in either their heroes or villains?
15 KILLINGS, on the other hand, puts its action within a relatively novel frame. A doctor-the prim-and-proper type, complete with bun and clipboard-is studying psychopathy via neurological research. She visits a prison to ask Norris, a convicted serial killer, if he'll undergo a series of brain function tests, designed to compare his brain to that of "normal" people. As the doctor begins explaining theories to her potential subject, flashbacks show him in action.
This is where the film presents a glint of editorial genius: the flashbacks are oddly inconsistent with the present action between Norris and the doctor. As she delves into the subject of deviant brains and their origins, we watch an average, somewhat schlubby guy lure pathetic runaways and other destitute young men back to his home with the sterling pickup line, "I'll cook you a hot meal."
As the film goes on, we also can't help noting that the doctor describing the cold and emotionless interior of the psychopath sounds...cold and emotionless. While she expounds on the psychopath's manipulative behavior, Norris is shown having interactions so mundane they say almost nothing about him, other than to shout, "ORDINARY!" So we see what the doctor apparently can't: she can pore over charts and spout nomenclature all day, but at the end of that day she'll be no closer to explaining or bridging the gulf between herself and her subject.
And she can't remotely predict his future behavior. We know far sooner than the doctor that Norris will never take those tests; he'll string her along, suck up her coffee and chocolates, until she's either forced to desist due to lack of funds, or laughed out of her study due to lack of results.
Underscoring this is the series of victims. We see them only as Norris does: briefly alive, then dead and compliant. Soon their faces run together-as they do for Norris, and even the investigating cops. The victims are throwaways, and when he's done, Norris throws them away. He uses the techniques made famous by John Gacey, Dean Corll, and Jeffrey Dahmer-but also like them, he's utterly ordinary, mysterious as a Big Mac. The film conveys perfectly the fact that killing is the only remotely exceptional act Norris performs, and that's only because there aren't more serial killers. When the cold-cut variety pack becomes a smorgasbord, he'll still be baloney.
This is a far cry and a nice break from the Hannibal Lechters we sneakily admire from our safe spot behind the fourth wall. It's a point worth noting: when you cross paths with Evil, it may be so mundane you almost step over it. The exceptional is no more common in crime than in any other field of endeavor.
That may be the film's clearest message, if it feels it needs one: evil dwells in the split-level ranch next door. That's where we create our Dahmers and Corrls and Norrises-in the cozy neighborhoods of why-do-you-think-it's-called-nuclear families. And that's where we find them later, stalking their victims in the streets of their childhoods. Or yours.
It's not up to the film to explain either Norris or the origins of his lethal obsessions; in fact, the movie is all but an argument against facile attempts to "understand". The doctor's inability to relate to her human subject on any level is a reminder that naming something is not the same as understanding it. We can break down the components of psychopathy, but that doesn't bring us any closer to changing it. We're forced to settle for an uneasy truce, rather than the decisive victory over the horrifically mundane-or is it the mundanely horrific-that we long for.
The Norrises among us, in other words, will endure. Until one day they make the mistake or two (or fifteen) that drags them out of the subterranean shadows and into the light-where they look just like the rest of us.
