As the genre of true crime has exploded over the years, there is a particular breed of criminal that has come to fascinate audiences: the serial killer. Defined as “someone who kills three or more people, often in service to abnormal psychology”, the serial killer has gripped our collective curiosity for one reason: what would compel someone to kill repeatedly? From such figures like the early terror of Jack the Ripper to the manipulative charm of Ted Bundy, we cannot help but want to know why. However, in trying to understand such a figure and structuring a story around them, pop culture has shaped a particular vision of what a serial killer is like. If they can evade the law, then they must be smart, perhaps even cultured. If they can kill, then they must have a clear system for how they kill and understand why. If they are our protagonist, then they must go against a far greater evil. The truth is not always so benevolent or orderly, however, and one movie serves as a reminder of that. Filmed in 1985 and loosely inspired by the confessions of Henry Lee Lucas, Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer is a horror film that would not find a release until 1990. Even then, it would only get a limited unrated release, playing a hand in the eventual development of the NC-17 rating. These results do not stem from merely the graphic violence. It comes moreso from the film’s brutal, objective realism.
Traveling across the country and leaving a trail of bodies in his wake, Henry is a drifter whose one clear passion in life appears to be murder. Between his killings, he has found himself a place to stay in the apartment of Otis, a friend from prison. Their home for two becomes three when Becky, Otis’s sister, arrives to live on the run from an abusive husband. What follows is a story of the day to day life of these three broken souls, as Henry’s presence shapes and molds the other two. With Becky, a kind of connection forms with Henry from his own revulsion against sexual violence after hearing of her tragic past. Meanwhile, Henry opens Otis up to the world of murder, imparting his views and opinions as the two take part in a murder spree. It all leads to a horrific end, as Otis’s depravity blossoms into a new level of grotesquerie and Becky is reminded of the cruel world in which she resides.
This is a film that is uniquely chilling among the pantheon of horror movies. Most stories that involve a serial killer present an implicit moral view, oftentimes painting the killer as some grand monster to defeat (if he is the antagonist) or a tragically flawed figure challenging worse evils (if he is the protagonist). Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer does not take such easy outs. Filmed with a gritty realism to its locations and characters, viewers are treated to a dispassionate walk in the life of a serial killer. The violence is brutal, but not in a way that is theatrical or grandiose like many a slasher movie. It is grounded, its violence given a sense of real consequence. It displays wicked actions, yet makes no moral claims one way or the other. It commits to its title, which is no wonder why the film had made such a stir when it hit the film festival circuit. Even the true crime genre tends to portray its sensational crimes through the lens of justice eventually prevailing no matter how small or a warning so as to ensure justice in the future, whereas this movie simply tells a story of banal everyday evil lurking beneath society’s surface. Nowhere is this more evident than in its titular serial killer, Henry.
As portrayed by Michael Rooker in his film debut, Henry is an emotionless, dispassionate figure. He has a flat tone to his speech, a simple rhythm to his words. For him, the murder of a prostitute elicits the same frustration as kicking a busted television. There is no sense of brilliance or intelligence in his attitudes, when compared to someone like Hannibal Lector. What cunning is there is mostly shone through his killing methods: always vary the method and target, and always live on the move. There is not even a clear reason as to why he is the way he is. There are a few hints of something under the surface, like his specific revulsion to sexual violence and sexuality in general or his worldview of “them or us”. However, viewers are denied any answers deeper than that. As for the common framing of a serial killer against a greater evil (such as Dexter Morgan from the Dexter franchise), the film makes no attempt to portray Henry as good. If he is read as such, it is only in contrast to the impulsive ugliness of Otis, whose litany of depravity includes incest and necrophilia. Even when played in contrast to Otis’s actions, the film never deigns to present Henry as something better. He is simply a different breed of monster, that is all. Perhaps that is why this film has endured as a unique beast of a picture. It is willing to present this ordinary evil and not shirk from its truth, like so many stories of serial killers will in trying to gleam an understanding to their horrific actions. It is simply a portrait of a serial killer, revealing the awful actions that exist in our world and the chilling chaos spun from a plain figure with no attempt to answer that question of why.
In the collective fascination of serial killers, a trend has blossomed to make them into unique and captivating figures for us to understand. Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer feels almost like a rebuke to all of those later attempts, presenting an ordinary and ugly reality with a brutal figure whose inner workings we are denied and whose actions are portrayed with no judgment.
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