There's bad, and then there's unintentional comedy, which might be the biggest insult a mystery director can get. Yet Chris Sivertson brings unintended humor to an embarrassing new level with I Know Who Killed Me, a sexy thriller that tries desperatly to be an art piece. Taking a page from masters of old, this picture attempts to use devices such as color and lighting and dissolves to bring subtext where words would fail. Yet his use of these "subtle" devices is so misguided that he bludgeons the audience over the head with them, so much that you can't help yelling from your chair in the theater, "We get it! We get it!" Describing the futility of this film's impact would be a waste of my time, but I wanted to at least make some small attempt, so I turned to my partner for help.
O: Whats the first [thing you] think of when your remember I KNOW WHO KILLED ME
L: Abominable!
L: Did you jurt (sic) watch it?
O: No just thinking of the years worst movies
This is one of those films that will be in movie libraries just for the sheer cult pleasure of laughing at it. If you have ninety minutes and a desire to learn what NOT to do as a filmaker, pick this one up. It dissapoints only if you expect it not to.
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