True Story
Jonah Hill is a journalist for the New York Times and wants to write a book about a guy (James Franco) who was alleged to have murdered his wife and kids. He slowly falls under the spell of the accused, leading him to think maybe he didn't do it.
It's crap. It's only about 75-80 minutes long, if you don't count the opening and closing credits, and it feels like a fair bit of the story ended up on the cutting room floor, because it's pretty empty. I didn't think Hill carried any sort of air about him that made me think he was a journalist. I almost expected him to snigger and show that he'd drawn a cock in the scene where him and Franco were doing that psychotherapy word association game. He's just Jonah Hill. He's his usual deadpan self, which is a great setup when he's the straight man in a comedy, but just doesn't work in this, which is supposed to be a psychological thriller type of film.
Franco is marginally better, but, again, just doesn't really carry the weight of such an intense character. The guy killed his wife and kids, put them into suitcases and threw them into rivers 15 miles apart. Then claimed that it was his wife who killed the kids and that he caught her doing it and killed her in a fit of rage. He manages to make the journalist doubt his guilt. The journalist had all sorts of conversations, tape recordings, interviews and correspondence with the killer and was approached by the prosecution to give them it so that he could be convicted, but the journalist doesn't, because deep down he wants to believe that the guy is innocent. It's a great story. It deserves to be told in a compelling way. But not by these two idiots, who are only good for yarns about riotous frat parties.
Give it a miss. 3/10
