The Clovehitch Killer

Skiles's film doesn't care so much if you think you know how it ends, even if you're right. It's all about twisting the knife in the process of confirming those fears.

As good as Plummer and McDermott are here, [writer Christopher D. Ford] ultimately writes himself into a corner that requires actions in the final act that don't ring true.

Unlike so many recent horror movies, The Clovehitch Killer is patient with its thrills, almost excruciatingly so.

McDermott is admirably unsettling, and Luke McCoubrey's artfully sterile cinematography adds an air of suffocating wholesomeness that can make you squirm.

First-time feature director Duncan Skiles brings some spooky atmosphere to a smart script by Christopher Ford.

Offers an intriguing perspective on the darker side of American values, but lacks the conviction to entirely expose the cultural contradictions that often enable compulsive murderers.

This could happen anywhere, and that is, perhaps the most chilling aspect of the film.

The Clovehitch Killer is too predictable to be a compelling thriller, but too hollow to be taken seriously as a critique of middle-class rot.

Though bloodless it keeps you squirming in your seat.

Given the strong performances and admirable restraint from genre conventions, it's a shame this murder mystery comes unraveled as easily as it does.

While I had really enjoyed it and was glued to the screen, when it ended, there was a feeling of "What was the point?"

The Clovehitch Killer might stratify some genre fans but it's much quieter than you would expect walking in.