"I am Aubrae Fleming. My name is Aubrae Fleming. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and playing the piano. I have never seen the inside of a strip club or a crackhouse and never sold my body to hairy old men with B.O. because I am perfect."
I think this is the part where I make some lame joke about how I Know Who Killed Me is the most shameful, embarrassing thing Lindsay Lohan's ever done, and for someone who hasn't left the front page of the Enquirer in the past year and a half, that's saying a lot.
I Know Who Killed Me stars Firecrotch as Aubrae Fleming, a bright, talented high school senior bound for Yale with a passion for writing and an innate talent as a pianist. She's so gosh-darn pinch-her-cheeks perfect that she's much too chaste to go all the way with her boyfriend, but...gasp! The ritzy suburb of New Salem is being ravaged by a serial killer who targets the adorable, barely legal daughters of the rich and powerful, and Aubrae's next up on the hit parade. Hepped up on speed to keep her lucid as she's slowly vivisectioned, Aubrae's necrotic fingers are sliced off, her arm is cut away, and her leg is left dangling by a thin, fleshy thread. A passerby stumbles upon her seemingly lifeless body on the side of the road, and when Aubrae wakes up in the hospital short one arm and one leg, she insists that her name is Dakota Moss. She says that she's not some privileged rich girl -- she's the amputee stripper offspring of a dead crack whore. I seen me a stripper with one breast, and I seen me a stripper with twelve toes. I've even seen me a stripper with no brains at all, but I ain't never seen a one-legged stripper...and I've been to Morocco.
Everyone in earshot writes off her memories of "Dakota" as some sort of breakdown after being mutilated by this butcher, and Aubrae's doting parents (Neal McDonough and Julia Ormond) do their best to help the poor girl during this ::sniffles!:: trying time. She's outfitted with a superhumanly strong robot hand and a battery-sapping cybernetic leg to make her life as normal as...well, as normal as a batshit crazy stripper-turned-cyborg gets, I guess. Dakota's not a good girl, though, chain-smoking and screwing Aubrae's double-digit IQ, poon-chasing jock boyfriend. She's insistent that she really is Dakota -- that the persona isn't some sort of psychological safety net that Aubrae is cowering behind -- and...whatever. She seeks out some sort of explanation for this double life, there's a search for the killer...you know the drill.
Look, I'm not going to bore you with some long, rambling review 'cause we both know there's no chance of you actually forking over thirty or forty bucks for this trainwreck. Nothing about I Know Who Killed Me works. Nothing. Not its thoroughly unsexy stripteases (and why someone who's exposed her nethers to half the free world is so timid about getting nekkid when she's actually collecting a paycheck, I have no idea). Not Aubrae's supposedly brilliant writing, which reads like something off of a 10th grader's LiveJournal and namechecks Cameron Diaz, for Christ's sake. Not the abysmal dialogue, with lines like "She, uh, lives on this thing. It's her life. Writing. She loves to write.", "Jesus, hope our little investigation doesn't get in the way of Bingo night", or "You're Fuzz, aren't you?"
How in the hell can a movie with a cyborg stripper doppelganger be this boring? It's pretty horrifying when the overly graphic dismemberment of a screaming, drug-addled teenager isn't the most difficult part of the movie to sit through. I Know Who Killed Me tries to straddle the line between an exploitation flick and arthouse, clumsily juggling ample gore, long, long stripteases, a one-legged sex scene (easier access, I guess), and a Goddamned Six Million Dollar Man robot arm (!) in with overly pretentious visual touches like a football game rewinding to have all of its color drained away except for shades of blue and Dakota staring at a heart tattoo with animated fluttering wings. Actually, that bit with the animated heart tattoo continues with some random guy muttering, "Higher than your heart. Odd, even. Right, left. Rest, motion. Peace, war. Love, hate. Two halves to everything. Sometimes people get cut. Sometimes people get cut in half." Never shows up again. Has no relevance to anyone or anything. That's what this movie is like. Crabman forking over a robot hand that makes that sort of Robocop whirring gear sound. Dakota grabbing a customer's cigarette in the middle of a dance, shoving it into her off-screen twat, taking a puff herself, and then handing it back to the guy. A respectable actress like Julia Ormond scrunching her face and growling, "This...is MISTER JERVIS!!!!!!" as she yanks a teddy bear out of a bag. Art Bell chimes in with an exposition-laced cameo, puffing on a cigarette on some YouTube knockoff as he rambles on about stigmata.
If you're reading that and thinking that this sounds like the greatest shitball epic this side of Shark Attack 3: Megalodon, well...no. Clocking in around 106 minutes, I Know Who Killed Me drags on at least twenty minutes longer than it really should, and you could probably cut the runtime in half if you trimmed out the overly dramatic twenty second pauses between every line of dialogue. I Know Who Killed Me is far, far too boring to qualify as howlingly bad, and as morbidly fascinating as its many "...the fuck?" moments are, it's not worth wading through the rest of the movie to get to 'em. I would say that I Know Who Killed Me is is a career killer, but no one saw it, and I'm trying to do my part with this review to keep it that way. Skip It.
Video: I Know Who Killed Me's high-def presentation -- in its original aspect ratio of 2.39:1 and encoded with AVC, Sony's codec of choice -- is kind of erratic. Many of the tightest close-ups are startlingly crisp and detailed, but when the camera pulls back, the image tends to hover somewhere in the neighborhood of pretty good rather than great. Part of it's because director Chris Sivertson fiddles with the contrast, leaving some scenes (particularly many of the earliest stretches of the movie) looking kind of murky. The hyperstylized colors, drenching Dakota in red and bathing damned near everything else in a flourescent blue, probably causes fine detail to take a bit of a hit too. It's a solid but fairly ordinary presentation overall, with one exception: the climax is surprisingly speckled for a movie fresh out of theaters. They don't quite look like the normal flecks of dust I'm used to seeing creep into some of these transfers, leaving me wondering if it's intentional, some sort of oddball compression hiccup, or something else entirely. Whatever. "It's okay" sums it up well enough.
Audio: I Know Who Killed Me sports a set of three lossless and uncompressed soundtracks: TrueHD 5.1 audio in English and French alongside an uncompressed PCM track. The sound design's pretty slick, putting a particularly hefty emphasis on immersing viewers in the sleazy underbelly of this faux-noir suburban town. The surrounds are kept roaring throughout, teeming with discrete ambient effects -- the mewing of Aubrae's repulsive bald cat, cops fumbling around in their cramped command center, background chatter in the hospital, and lapping water during one of Dakota's visions, to spout off a few -- and the rears reinforce the thunderous score and the cock-rock as Dakota writhes on the stripper pole. The lower frequencies boom as well, from the resounding flurry of toms in Joel McNeely's score to the punchy slap bass in one of the...what are we up to, three or four stripteases? The film's dialogue -- down to Lindsay Lohan's raspy scotch-and-cigarettes line readings -- comes through perfectly, never really buried in the mix even when the music's cranked up to 11.
The parade of subtitles includes French, Spanish, and both traditional English and SDH streams.
Extras: Y'know, to give just some idea how much everyone's trying to distance themselves from this train wreck, literally no one involved with I Know Who Killed Me appears on camera to talk about the flick. The writer and director don't hide behind an audio commentary either. Hell, an extended version of Lindsay Lohan's striptease is longer than all of the other extras on the disc combined.
Other than that six minute strip sequence, there are also two deleted scenes, each clocking around a minute in length. The alternate opening has, um, a bunch of shots of water, and the alternate ending makes the movie seem even more pointless than it already is. The three minute blooper reel got a laugh as one actor keeps confusing the name of the killer's latest victim, catching himself saying over and over that "there was enough speed in Jennifer Tilly..." It ends with one of the questions I was kinda left with: if you only have one leg, how do you get up and down a flight of stairs?
All of that footage is in standard definition, by the way. None of the high-def bells and whistles have anything to do with the movie itself: just a standard issue Blu-ray promo and trailers for Superbad, Resident Evil: Extinction, The Brothers Solomon, Spider-Man 3, and Hostel Part II.
Conclusion: I Know Who Killed Me is a complete and total disaster, too plodding and pretentious to even get a nod for the "so bad, it's good" crowd. Skip It.
The images scattered around this review are promotional stills and aren't meant to represent the way the movie looks in high definition.