For some time, I have been of the opinion that, if a few things were different in the universe, I could make a fairly serviceable serial killer. I do not say this because I particularly want to be a serial killer, but rather, because it simply strikes me as a growth industry and serial killers — at least those in movies — seem to lead really rewarding lives.
Like most Americans, my impressions of the modern serial killer have largely been molded by Hollywood. While many sects complain about unfair portrayals in the mainstream media, I doubt any group has benefited more from the Hollywood treatment than that of serial killers. Somehow, they've managed to replace spies and gangsters as the kind of charming rogues audience members love to hate. And this is kind of interesting — and also probably a little troubling. But more than anything, it makes me mad, because I'm sick of serial killers constantly pointing out that my own life is a hollow lie.
I realize that Hollywood has a tendency to glamorize people who work in inherently unglamorous occupations, such as cops, journalists, and mercenaries in outer space. Again though, I have to say I feel like movie serial killers really do get the best of everything. Whereas their real-life counterparts live and work in unglamorous third-rate cities like Wichita, Gainesville and Baton Rouge, known mainly for housing major state universities with above average Division I football teams, movie serial killers manage to live jet-setting lives, full of intrigue, purpose and self-satisfaction.
The obvious illustration of this principle is Dr. Hannibal Lecter, as played by Anthony Hopkins in Jonathan Demme's "The Silence of the Lambs," Ridley Scott's "Hannibal," and, lest we forget, Brett Ratner's "Red Dragon." During the 1990s, Lecter quickly became one of our most loved fictional characters, to the point that there was a time in 1998 (I think) when a survey said a majority of women in England wished that their husbands were more like Baltimore's most famous cannibalistic psychiatrist. The only person who seemed actively troubled by having Hannibal Lecter turn into a kind of pop icon was Hopkins himself, who felt the need to consciously distance himself from the rock-star murderer he helped create. Apparently, Hopkins wasn't all that thrilled with having given birth to a mass murderer that all the kids could relate to.
But here's the thing — Lecter was pretty damn cool, at least until Ratner got hold of the franchise and turned him into something resembling a beached whale. Hannibal Lecter lived a life only a fool would dream of — he was curator of a museum in Florence, ran a successful psychiatry practice in Maryland, killed Ray Liotta, courted many attractive Italian women and managed to develop skills as an artist and author. On a more concrete level, he also was able to literally devour his greatest enemy, feed a man in a wheelchair to a pack of wild boars and manage to maintain his sanity while living next door to the one-and-only Multiple Miggs. He was like a paunchy, slightly more literate version of James Bond. Hannibal Lecter managed to live a life very close to Fitzgerald's idea of the American Dream, with the possible exception of that whole feeding-men-in-wheelchairs-to-wild-boars thing.
If the crimes of Hannibal Lecter showed us the glamorous side of serial killing, other pictures showed us that mass murder can be an effective way to gain some sort of self-satisfaction out of life. In "Se7en," Kevin Spacey played John Doe, a fastidious maniac with exemplary handwriting who tormented two detectives played by Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman. Doe's motives could probably best be described as questionable, but one can't question his devotion to his craft.
All of this has me convinced that serial killing might be a rewarding field, but I question whether I have the discipline to really succeed. Also, my handwriting stinks, which would severely hinder my ability to author taunting notes to the police, a staple of the serial killer movie. I am also not sure whether or not I have the discipline to inflict long, painful vengeance upon my enemies. There is a very real risk I could become preoccupied with a college basketball game and simply forget about my whole brilliant plan. The only way I think I could adequately work as a serial killer would be if another serial killer kidnapped my family and then made me kill people in order to get them back. (Note to self: Call Brad at Paramount tomorrow and pitch him my idea for Untitled-Guy-Who-Has-To-Become-A-Serial-Killer-To Save-His-Family screenplay as a possible vehicle for Michael Douglas or Dennis Quaid.)
I'm not entirely sure whether our obsession with serial killing — both in the real world and in the movies — is a good or bad thing. I'm not a sociologist, and frankly, I don't really care that much about whether or not children are having their innocence corrupted by Judd Nelson in "Relentless." If you're eight years old and you're allowed to watch "Relentless," your parents have already sold you down the river (or they may just be my parents).
My concern comes more as a movie lover: I'm bored with serial killers. I'm bored with their perfection, dedication and jet-setting lifestyles. I'm bored with the fact they are self-starters, and the people chasing them are largely seen as flawed and unmotivated. I don't understand why serial killers and bank robbers are apparently now the only movie villains that have a trace of depth to them and are allowed to be charming.
If we're going to be forced to endure another decade worth of serial killer movies (and at this point, this looks to be inevitable), let's think outside the box and knock these guys down off their pedestals. I mean come on — why can't we have a movie about a comically incompetent serial killer who keeps screwing things up and fights with his mom when she asks him to clean up his crawl space? That just might be awful, but then again, it might be brilliant.
Ray Gustini is a sophomore majoring in English and journalism. Do you think Hannibal Lecter is a damn cool cannibal or a serial-killing psycho? Send your cryptic emails and news-clipping messages to Ray at [email protected].
