Please note: I wrote the following comment after watching the R2 UK DVD release, which I have since learnt is heavily edited, with the complete removal of graphic violence (including rape scenes), a heavily cropped nude shower scene, and even lowered volume whenever swearing occurs. Since I abhor such censorship, I refuse to give a rating until I have had a chance to see the whole thing as originally intended by the film-makers, and remind you that all remarks I have made apply only to the butchered UK version.
Rule number one according to 'BA_Harrison's Indispensible Guide to Blind-Buying Horror Films': beware of DVDs bearing glowing quotes from IMDb users (unless you know for a fact that they were written by me): chances are the film isn't the masterpiece it purports to be.
Confessions of a Serial Killer has two such enthusiastic quotes on its cover (plus a rather cheesy picture of a loony in a Hannibal Lector style mask that never actually appears in the film), and although it's definitely not the worst film I've ever seen (which would be a mighty achievement in itself), I wouldn't describe it as 'an excellent, shocking movie' or 'gruesome and compelling' either.
Shooting on grainy 16mm film, first time (and only time) director Mark Blair effectively captures that grimy vibe synonymous with the nastier, grittier serial killer flicks; he also commands some credible performances from his cast of unknowns, and displays a certain amount of know-how behind the camera. However, despite these admirable qualities, Confessions of a Serial Killer fails to satisfy thanks to a somewhat leaden pacing, a tendency by Blair to be rather careless with his narrative (some silly moves are made by both victims and assailants), but most noticeably, a refusal to get really down and dirty when necessary.
Presented as a series of flashbacks, the murderous activities of psycho Daniel Ray Hawkins (Robert A. Burns) and evil siblings Moon and Molly Lewton (Dennis Hill and Sidney Brammer) are frustratingly bland, never entering the truly shocking territory inhabited by similarly themed classics such as Henry Portrait of a Serial Killer and Maniac: the film shies away from depicting the actual murders, preferring instead to let the audience to use their imagination—which is fine some of the time, but not for every bloody (or rather, unbloody) scene.
A shame, because with some in your face brutality, this could have been the exception that proves my IMDb rule.
