Confessions of a Serial Killer

This movie isn't kidding. That's why so many comments are hostile to the extreme. The late Robert A. Burns plays the serial killer who's confessing, and he's unforgettable. It's one of those performances that really get you because there's no pretense in his acting. Burns plays a guy who, on the surface, seems pretty ineffectual: polite, soft spoken, and when dealing with the police, always upbeat and gentle. But when the seasoned sheriff starts to interrogate our friend, this soft spoken fellow never breaks a sweat nor raises the tone or timber of his voice as he tells of one murder after another after another. I know of no other actor who has so vividly created this kind of sociopath on the screen before. Burns never plays it up. Rather, the contradictions he seamlessly illustrates in this character continually draw us into his horrible world. That's why all these folks have written negative, hostile comments. Burns gets to you in a way that's profoundly unsettling. You can't take you eyes off him. The film itself takes the approach that the world exists to provide killers like this with toys to play with. It relentlessly positions the viewer in the center of the sociopath's experience, creating a world that defies civilized restraint, tenderness of any kind, and replaces all with a cold and casual cruelty. This is a film that reeks of endgame; God is dead and the beasts rely on instinct and the smell of blood to survive. Not a pleasant film, for sure, but in it's own right a kind of classic because it fulfills its goals without generalizing or in anyway trumping up its dark, relentless vision into something like Jason and Freddy, a faceless cartoon. This movie haunts one because the terror it illustrates comes from a very real and very recognizable human being. Terror is a man. Burns is extraordinary, and so is the film.