Jim Thompson was tailor-made for Hollywood success. He worked there for some time, and found early success with no less august a personage than Stanley Kubrick; he worked on the screenplay for Kubrick's terrific late-period noir The Killing and wrote the stunning war movie Paths of Glory in its entirety. Later on, a number of very fine films would be made from his novels, including two different versions of The Getaway of differing success, as well as The Grifters, After Dark My Sweet, and Coup de Torchon, Bertrand Tavernier's masterful adaptation of his Pop. 1280. Thompson's books carried a bleak criminal sensibility that was perfect for the noir era, and he wrote terrific, snappy dialogue that sounds great coming out of actors who have a feel for his work. Due to a combination of bad luck (many of his projects were prematurely scuttled by studio interference or money problems), politics (he was blacklisted in the McCarthy era due to his leftist leanings), and his own personal demons (he was plagued by alcoholism and innumerable other issues), Thompson never became the motion picture legend he could have been. Though critics have rediscovered his work, previously relegated to pulp status, and he's undergoing a similar reassessment to Raymond Chandler, many of his best books remain unadopted for the big screen. That's a shame, but not as bad as the fact that what's arguably his greatest accomplishment -- the nasty but near-perfect noir novel The Killer Inside Me -- actually did get made into a movie, but a movie that's been almost entirely forgotten, and with good reason.
With The Killer Inside Me, Jim Thompson created one of the most chilling portraits of pure psychotic evil ever committed to paper, but it's not just a bloody thrill-ride trash novel the way that serial killer novels developed in later years. Lou Ford, the novel's main character, is a man of surprising depth, and Thompson's unfolding of the character is a psychological portrait that transcends its pulp origins and becomes something worthy of Dostoevsky. Ford is the sheriff in a small mining town in Montana, trusted by everyone; he's such a folksy character, straight out of cowboy art, that even his fellow townsfolk, hearing the endless cliches and banal observations he spouts, think of him as somewhat simple-minded. But Lou Ford has a secret: a twisted mind and a history of dark childhood abuses by his physician father have turned him into a monster. He's far more intelligent than he lets on, putting up his stupidity as a show to allay suspicion from his grim hobbies. As he puts it, "When things get a little rough, I go out and kill a fewpeople, that's all." In fact, part of his downfall is that he assumes everyone else is as stupid as they think he is. Ford is under no illusions about his future: he describes himself as "waiting to be split down the middle", the inevitable result of the double life he's committed to lead. But in the meantime, a lot of people are going to get hurt by the man Lou Ford is, and the man people think he is. In 1976, Western veteran Burt Kennedy (Welcome to Hard Times, Support Your Local Sheriff) brought Thompson's greatest novel to the screen.
WHAT IT HAD: Any adaptation of
The Killer Inside Me lives and dies by the man who plays Lou Ford, and the movie version at least succeeded on that point. As Ford, Stacy Keach is terrific; he presents a clear understanding of the character and plays him well at every turn. When Lou Ford is called upon to be folksy and corny, Keach plays it well without ever hamming it up; and when Lou Ford's dark side needs to come out, Keach is fantastic, displaying his character's psychotic tendencies in an understated, subtle, almost tender way that perfectly suits the role. A few of the supporting cast stand out as well, particularly Keenan Wynn and Don Stroud; they're not up to Keach's level, but they provide a nice veteran anchor to the cast. While the script (by Robert Chamblee and Hollywood gadabout Edward Mann) isn't stellar, it at least does its best to preserve some of Thompson's best dialogue.
WHAT IT LACKED: The Killer Inside Me is, to be perfectly honest, a grade-Z production. It's not an exploitation flick -- in fact, a little more gore and sex probably would have pepped it up a bit -- but just from looking at it, you can tell it was made on the cheap. Its production values are substandard and at times the whole thing plays like a bad TV movie. Few of the supporting roles, most especially Susan Tyrell as Keach's foil and romantic interest, are up to snuff, and the plethora of half-assed acting diminishes his performance. It's not clear whether it was just timidity or a eye towards the ratings that kept the writers and director from fully embracing the brutal violence of the book, but it leads to some crucial scenes being left out or soft-pedaled. And while Kennedy's direction is competent, it's never any more than that, and it's sometimes less. Overall, the entire film has a lackluster, patched-together quality; it never coheres into the elegant and vicious thing that is the book.
DID IT SUCCEED?: Nope. It's a testament to how unsuccessful the movie is that it's most widely available in DVD format on a double-feature disc with another forgotten thriller from the '70s. As a resume item, it didn't do much for anyone's career, and while it's not a terrible film, its pleasures -- largely, Keach's performance and some choice bits of Thompson's dialogue -- are few and far between. Even if a remastered edition were available that sheds the crappy digital transfer and overall poor visual quality, it's not as if there's much to watch. It's a project worth revisiting; in the hands of a skilled director with a feel for noir and an affinity for Thompson's gorgeous, nihilistic prose, this book could make a great movie, especially today when an antihero like Lou Ford could really resonate with Tarantino-hardened moviegoers. There's a fine film waiting to be made out of The Killer Inside Me, but unfortunately, this isn't it.