One Paragraph Movie Review: Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer
Two hundred and twenty-fifth film: Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, a brutally violent movie that manages to make Henry, a serial killer, the third worst character in the story after his roommate Otis and the city of Chicago. Shot in the mid-Eighties in the decade’s characteristic flat brown, we follow Henry as he dispatches victim after victim — some murders implied, some graphically portrayed — without raising a sweat. I looked away in one scene that troubled more than one international ratings board, surprising myself as a usually bravado-packed horror movie and true crime enthusiast, but was equally bothered by the bleak squalor of the setting and the fact that the titular serial killer is the only character who has a direction in life, or even a hobby. Not a recommended watch for everybody, but I don’t regret watching and will probably think about it for quite some time. Don’t fall in love with murderers, ladies. Three and a quarter electrocuted black-and-white television salesmen out of five.