Shot In The Dark

When we first see author William Langston (Kristoffer McMillan), he’s preparing to kill himself. He will spend much of the remainder of the film fighting for his life. These two things are only indirectly connected. A remarkable début from young Nevada filmmaker Keene McRae, this is a film inspired by the actions of a serial killer, yet for the most part it stays far away from the conventions of the genre. Although it contains some seriously gory scenes (not gratuitous but used to explicate the shocking effects of a clash between two very different ways of seeing the world), it is primarily interested in the internal, in the ways in which the killer’s brutality towards others mirrors William’s process of self destruction.

Stunningly shot, with what is probably the most striking cinematography of the year (courtesy of Ryan Baker), Shot In The Dark uses a melange of images first to immerse us in its world and then to explore William’s memories as he re-evaluates the course of his life, taking refuge from an intolerable present in the past. We enter by following a long, winding road into a small American town. A poster clings to a lamp post with a picture, black and white. ‘Missing: Joshua Ferrell. Age: 27. Hair: brown. Eyes: brown.’ Elsewhere identical posters are lying in the dirt, testifying to the passing of time. A woman, the right age to be Joshua’s mother, is in the police station. She has been there before. The officer is in the process of dismissing her when he opens a box, and a look of horror appears on his face.

This isn’t the first body. Later, in the pub, people speculate. The conversation meanders. Somebody mentions Madonna’s Like A Virgin, but despite the reference, this isn’t Tarantino country: everyone is much more interested in the macabre. Different theories about the behaviour of serial killers bounce around. Somewhere along the line, an argument starts. William storms out, subsequently engaging in a petty act of violence. There is discussion, later, of dropping the charges. Why? “Because he’s our friend.” Another disagrees. “That man in there hasn’t been our friend for some time.”

What happened to their friend? That is the mystery here. It’s not about the killer, whom we see soon enough, whose activities we observe in more detail than anyone would want to. Over time, through observation as much as listening, we learn more about who he is, about the pain in his recent past, about the brief period of joy before that. In these scenes McMillan looks younger, clean shaven, but it’s really the way he holds his face which makes the difference so astonishing, none of that tension visible.

Can William escape the killer? That’s a question which echoes in realms both physical and psychological, and it may not really be the point. The killer here is like a force of nature. He’s morally culpable, and reflective of much deeper sociatal problems, but there is nothing for William to take hold of, to reason with. Rather, like a man caught in a storm, he must focus on himself – and perhaps that’s worth something regardless of the result.