Mr. Brooks

“Mr. Brooks” is a tough film to get into. It has all the elements of a great thriller, but for some reason, something still didn’t feel right. Kevin Costner’s coldly detached performance as Earl Brooks, aka “the Thumbprint Killer,” is intriguing, frightening, and confusing all rolled into one.

He kills, because he likes it, yet we’re never really offered any further explanation for his obsession. His life is dark, secret, and often so humdrum that he needs to experience that murderous rush just to keep things on an even keel. He recites the Serenity Prayer and languidly attends A.A. meetings in hopes of curing his addiction, but somehow nothing seems to do the trick.

That’s how director Bruce A. Evans’s film begins. Quite promising, no? At least that’s how I felt, until I realized just how many directions this film was going in. On the one hand, we have a sinister story about a callous sociopath, who goes to great lengths to keep his identity hidden from the people he loves. On the other, we have a morality tale centered around a spiritually inhibited family man with a fear that his daughter has inherited his uncontrollable thirst for carnage. That’s a lot for any movie to juggle. Especially one that refuses to embrace either side and leaves the audience wondering what exactly the director is trying to say about the human condition.

Every move Mr. Brooks makes is questionable, but he’s so clever and meticulous that he never even comes close to being apprehended. Tracy Atwood (Demi Moore) is the detective assigned to the case, but even she’s too wrapped up in her own decaying marriage to give a genuine effort.

At times, Moore’s performance is pure and convincing; however, her annoying attitude quickly overstays its welcome. While interviewing witnesses, she comes across a mysterious photographer played by Dane Cook, who can’t seem to shake his fiery comic persona. He says he has no knowledge of the killings, despite having developed an odd alliance with Mr. Brooks himself.

Their acquaintance doesn’t add anything interesting to the plot other than another excuse for Earl to kill, so it could’ve easily been done away with. The film’s saving grace comes from the masterful William Hurt, who steals the show as Marshall, the Two-Face to Costner’s Harvey Dent. His twisted sense of humor carries the film most of the way and allows the audience to get inside the unhinged mind of a killer. His only problem is that he’s not on screen enough. It’s a shame the writers didn’t find a better way to handle his character, because they may have really had something.

When the film enters its final act, a great sequence involving Earl’s daughter comes barreling in out of nowhere only to be devalued by reality. Had the film ended with that scene, I may have had a different opinion. Unfortunately, the director had other plans.

- ** ½ out of 4