Review of 'Mr. Brooks"

The man named Mr. Brooks (Kevin Costner) has a problem: although he’s rich, successful, good looking, with a beautiful wife and daughter, he’s a serial killer. But the film named Mr. Brooks has an even more serious problem: although it’s stylishly photographed in a collection of classy locations with a well-known cast, it is utterly ludicrous. Man and film are beyond comprehension or redemption.

Serial killer films can head in a few directions. There are whodunits where the audience tries to stay one step ahead of the police investigation. Or there’s the psychological thriller, where we know who’s doing the killing but enjoy the slow and appalling revelation about why. There are also the grisly slasher and erotic mystery versions, where the kicks are more visceral. Mr. Brooks is none of these, although it offers some bloody and some sexy moments. For all its many (far too many) storylines, it neither provides any suspense, nor tries to explain what is going on in the minds of any of the characters involved. And what a bunch they are! Firstly there’s Mr. Brooks himself, who is accompanied by his alter ego - or more likely his alter-id - Marshall (William Hurt) who pops up like an annoying jack-in-the box to explain the plot for anyone who might have fallen asleep. Then there’s Detective Tracy Atwood (Demi Moore) a beautiful multi-millionaire police detective chasing Brooks whilst fending off an ex-husband and a second serial killer named Meeks (Matt Schulze) who’s on the loose. Then there is Mr. Smith (Dane Cook), a serial killer in training who joins Brooks and the pop-up Marshall in the hunt for fresh targets. Lastly there’s Brooks’ daughter Jane, who seems to suffer from the same serial killing condition as Brooks senior, Marshall, Meeks and Smith. With all these killers, there may have been an opportunity to make this a black comedy – but there’s not a shred of humour in sight.

Writer and Director Bruce A. Evans was nominated for an Oscar back in 1986 for his writing on Stand By Me, but has really fallen short of the mark on this one. The performances are universally contrived and wooden, and everyone delivers their lines as if speaking to a dimwitted and hard of hearing aunt – particularly Hurt who manages to turn what should be the driving force of mania into a smarmy side-kick. Most strange however is the unresolved ending, which staggers from high action shoot-out to gothic graveyard horror before trying to convince us that Mr. Brooks is actually just a family man we’re meant to like and feel sorry for. Give us a break.