Even before recent tabloid events exploded across the cultural wasteland, Lindsay Lohan's movie future was in dire straits. After viewing her latest big screen adventure, "I Know Who Killed Me," who could've predicted a bust for alleged cocaine possession, vocational self-destruction, and a general display of young Hollywood stupidity would be the career highlight of her weekend.
Aubrey Fleming (Lindsay Lohan) is a bright college student recently abducted by a serial killer who enjoys severing the limbs of his female victims, sending her parents (Neal McDonough and Julia Ormond) into panic mode. A short time later, someone resembling Aubrey is recovered, but the young woman claims she's Dakota Moss, a stripper and all-around hellraiser. With confusion in the air, Dakota sets out to solve this crucial mystery of identity, hoping to find Aubrey before time runs out.
"I Know Who Killed Me" is an insistently amateurish mystery/thriller/horror/comedy. I'm not sure where to even begin describing how awful the movie is, but Lohan's barely-alive performance is a good start.
You often read the description "talented" next to Lohan's name in the press, and this summer's "Georgia Rule" found a ripe emotional arc the actress rode to impressive results. After viewing Lohan's sleepy, baffling performance in "Killed," I'm beginning to question if the praise heaped on her wasn't premature.
"Killed" offers Lohan her first me-and-only-me starring role, presenting the actress a chance to play bookish and virginal, along with slutty (though she plays the strip scenes practically in a parka, you know, just like a regular stripper would) and dangerous. Lohan's interpretation of the material is to perform the dual role sluggishly, hoping the rest of the film will be wicked enough to cover her lackluster Univision-level reactions and fruitless attempts at expressing pain. She's just dreadful in the film, completely comatose where another actress would've leaned into the varying speeds of the screenplay more assertively.
Frankly, blaming Lohan for this turkey is cruel. From the buffoonish opening moments, "Killed" is obviously a lost cause and gets worse as it stumbles along. Director Chris Sivertson is shoving the material into nourish overtones, especially when the focus is on Dakota and her sultry pole-dancin' ways. Using Lynchian imagery to shape "Killed" into a surrealist nightmare, Sivertson is in way over his head, and it leaves the artsy touches looking foolish in a picture that soon dissolves into a bloody, lumbering "Saw" rehash. All the owl symbolism, color coordination, robotic body parts, and blazing neon can't hide the fact that every decision made in the execution of this feature film was a poor one.
There's an ending to "Killed" that I can't honestly recall a mere hour after watching it. I'm sure it had a twist and some explicit violence but I don't believe it possessed an actual resolution. My mind was elsewhere by this point in Dakota's investigation, recalling a time when the name Lindsay Lohan meant an expectation of quality acting and the promise of a passable feature. Perhaps those days are over.
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