Psycho Killer is the Kind of Movie That Makes You Wish Satan Himself Would Show Up to Burn the Reels

PSYCHO KILLER IS THE KIND OF MOVIE THAT MAKES YOU WISH SATAN HIMSELF WOULD SHOW UP TO BURN THE REELS

Andrew Kevin Walker, the writer of Se7en, has delivered Psycho Killer, a film so devoid of tension, personality, or even basic competence that it plays like a first draft scribbled on a napkin between bong rips. Let that sink in. The same man who gave us a serial killer so meticulous, so inevitable, that his crimes felt like a slow-motion car crash into the void, now brings us a movie that lacks any semblance of his previous work.

HOW DO YOU TURN SE7EN INTO A SLEEPOVER SLASHER?

Gavin Polone, producer of 8mm and now making his directorial debut, should know better. Having been in the trenches of gritty, uncomfortable cinema, it's surprising that Psycho Killer is less a horror movie and more a corporate-produced content mill product—something churned out to fill a streaming slot, not to haunt anyone. Walker's script isn't just bad; it's offensive in how boring it is. We've seen this story a hundred times: a detective, a serial killer with a gimmick, a twist that lands with all the weight of a deflated balloon. However, Se7en worked because it understood that evil isn't just gross—it's inescapable. Psycho Killer doesn't even try.

The Satanic serial killer at its center isn't a villain; he's a walking Wikipedia entry, spouting edgelord nonsense about power and faith while Malcolm McDowell, in what should be a career-low cameo, delivers his lines like a man reading them off a teleprompter in hell's DMV.

THE SCENE THAT PROVES THIS MOVIE SHOULD HAVE BEEN A SHORT FILM

There's a moment midway through where McDowell's character—a Satanic benefactor who might as well be a Bond villain if Bond villains had the charisma of a wet cardboard box—lectures some poor sap about his religious and financial influence. The guest is visibly bored. His eyes glaze over. He checks his watch. That's you. That's everyone in the audience. The camera lingers on this exchange like it's waiting for a laugh, a gasp, something. But there's nothing. No menace. No stakes. Just two actors going through the motions while the script shrugs its shoulders. If McDowell, a man who chewed scenery with volcanic glee in A Clockwork Orange, can't save this scene, then nothing can.

WHAT HAPPENED TO ANDREW KEVIN WALKER?

This isn't the first time a Se7en alum has stumbled. David Fincher, the film's director, has had his share of misfires (The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is a three-hour snooze). But Fincher's failures at least try something. The Game is messy but ambitious. Fight Club is flawed but alive. Psycho Killer has the ambition of a man who set out to make a sandwich and ended up with a lukewarm bowl of regret. Walker's script doesn't just recycle tropes—it drowns in them. Satanic cults. A detective with a tragic past. A killer who leaves cryptic clues that don't actually mean anything. There's no subversion. No bite. Just the skeletal remains of what was once a promising career.

THE ONLY GOOD THING ABOUT PSYCHO KILLER IS THAT IT'S NOT SE7EN

Imagine if Se7en's climax had been John Doe monologuing about his brand while a detective half-listened on the phone. Imagine if Mills' wife's head in that box had been revealed with all the drama of a grocery store coupon expiring. That's Psycho Killer. A movie so afraid of its own shadow that it forgets to cast one.

WHO IS THIS MOVIE EVEN FOR?

Not horror fans. Not thriller fans. Not even bad-movie enthusiasts—because even The Room has energy. Psycho Killer is for the algorithm. For the "Recommended For You" tab that pops up when you've scrolled too long and Netflix's AI, in its infinite wisdom, decides you might tolerate 90 minutes of nothing. It's a movie that exists because someone at a studio saw Se7en's box office numbers, then decided to reverse-engineer the aesthetic without any of the soul.

THE VERDICT: A MOVIE SO BAD, SATAN WOULD DENOUNCE IT

Here's the truth: Psycho Killer isn't just a bad movie. It's insulting. It's the cinematic equivalent of a serial killer who leaves his victims with a participation trophy. There's no artistry. No craft. No point. Just a hollow, generic slog that wastes the talents of its cast and the patience of its audience. If you're desperate for a Satanic serial killer movie, rewatch The Devil's Rejects. If you want a detective story with actual weight, rewatch Zodiac. If you want to see Malcolm McDowell chew scenery like a man possessed, rewatch anything else he's ever been in. Psycho Killer doesn't deserve your time. And neither do the people who made it.