Psycho Therapy: The Shallow Tale of a Writer Who Decided to Write about a Serial Killer

Editors and literary agents always tell writers to write about what they know, but they also want them to write about commercial subjects. Maybe you can sort of understand why Keane O’Hara started hanging with a “former” serial killer, for the sake of a book. Arguably, he was just following their contradictory advice. However, the passive schmuck inevitably allows his new friend to completely disrupt his life in Director-screenwriter Tolga Karacelik’s Psycho Therapy: The Shallow Tale of a Writer Who Decided to Write about a Serial Killer, which releases today on VOD in the UK.

O’Hara’s first book was about Mongolia. He second will be about pre-historic Slovenia, if he ever finishes it. His wife Suzie has finally had enough of supporting his mopey, unproductive butt, so she finally decides on a divorce. Then Kollmick walks into O’Hara’s life.

Approaching the “writer,” Kollmick claims to be a fan and offers him a chance to write about his life as a serial killer—retired, of course. As homework, Kollmick assigns a load of forensic pathology books, which freak out Suzie. However, she sort of likes Kollmick, because she thinks he is the marriage counselor trying to keep them together. That was not the greatest lie O’Hara ever told, but Kollmick is willing to play along. In fact, some of his serial killer double-talk translates surprisingly well into shrink speak. Actually, not really, but Suzie weirdly seems to buy it.

Tribeca ’18: In the Soup

Today, “independent film” is a marketing term that inspires skepticism, but in the early 1990s, it was an institution that enjoyed a high level of public confidence. Since then a lot of mediocre and dreadful indies have disappeared into the obscurity they deserved, but this one was different. In many ways, it is the prototypical 90s indie, but it fell out of circulation due to the bankruptcy of its distributor and serious damage to the only surviving archival copy. The difficult but pristine-looking restoration of Alexandre Rockwell’s In the Soup had its world premiere at the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival—and repertory engagements are sure to follow.

In 1992, we were willing to believe film about a nebbish filmmaker struggling to finance his pretentious art film could hold intrinsic importance. In 2018, we can nostalgically look back on it for capturing a time when the Lower Eastside was still considered a slightly sketchy neighborhood. It was an era of punk clubs that Rockwell and his cast were comfortable navigating.

Adolpho Rollo has no money and a five-hundred-page screenplay. With rent due to his thuggish landlords, Rollo takes out a classified ad, offering to sell his unfilmmable monster for five hundred bucks (seems like a fair price on a per page basis). However, he immediately receives a call from “Joe,” a grifter-gambler, who offers to finance Rollo’s film—sort of.

Rollo is not as dumb as he looks, so he suspects Joe is looking to scam him somehow. However, until that shoe drops, he reaps the benefit of Joe’s largesse, including rent money and plenty of boozy parties. He even starts to think he might be able to make his film, which would allow him to save Angelica Pena, the neighbor he carries a torch for, by casting her as his lead.

Steve Buscemi plays Rollo, which is a major reason why In the Soup still sounds like an entertaining way to spend ninety-some minutes. In retrospect, it looks like the Expendables of nineties indie movies, because Buscemi is joined by independent stalwarts such as Seymour Cassel, Jennifer Beals, Will Patton, Stanley Tucci, Jim Jarmusch, Carol Kane, Debi Mazur, and Sam Rockwell.

As Rollo, Buscemi is definitely doing his indie shtick, but there is also a poignant naivete to his performance. He is a likable loser, but he has some guts too. Cassel is in his element, hamming it up as hammy “Joe.” The perennially under-appreciated Beals’ sensitive, multi-layered portrayal of Pena might surprise some viewers, but it really shouldn’t. Jarmusch, Kane, and Tucci all play outrageous caricatures, but their obvious enjoyment is contagious.

As a veritable time-capsule from the early 1990s, Soup is a fascinating and nostalgic viewing experience, but it is also fun. Sure, we have a good idea of how the beats will line up, but it is so much more earnest and energetic than the parade of calculatingly eccentric indies that followed it. It is hard to believe a Sundance Jury Grand Prize winner, with such a notable cast, could come so close to being lost. Fortunately, it is back and worth looking for when it comes around again. Affectionately recommended for the New York nostalgia, the freshly restored In the Soup had a special retrospective screening at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Sundance ’18: The Death of Stalin

Maria Yudina was such a brilliant classical pianist, she survived the Great Terror, even though she made no secret of her Orthodox faith and her contempt for Stalin’s brutal regime. According to a story mostly considered apocryphal, she was dragged back for a repeat concert performance (with full orchestra) after Stalin requested [demanded] a recording of her live radio broadcast of Mozart’s Concerto No. 23. That true-in-spirit historical legend inadvertently ignites a political crisis in Armando Iannucci’s The Death of Stalin (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 Sundance Film Festival in Park City.

The poor, harried director of Moscow Radio does indeed call back Yudina and the orchestra to accommodate Stalin’s whims. She is not inclined to be so agreeable, but her participation is quickly purchased. It is also an opportunity for her to slip a personal note of pointed condemnation to Stalin, who is so surprised to be criticized in such terms, he has a massive coronary and dies.

Of course, this ignites a power struggle within the Central Committee. Technically, the pompous Georgy Malenkov is next in line as the Deputy General Secretary, but the real contenders are Lavrentiy Beria, the sadistic chief of the NKVD and Nikita Khrushchev, the closest thing to a reformer in Stalin’s inner circle. Thanks to his de facto control over Kremlin administration, Beria gets a jump on Khrushchev, hypocritically positioning himself as reluctant participant in the purges and a would-be liberalizer. However, Khrushchev will win over key allies, such as Field Marshal Georgy Zhukov and the dithering senior statesman, Vyacheslav Molotov.

Adapted from Fabien Nury and Thierry Robin’s French graphic novel, Death of Stalin is a wickedly funny, pointedly scathing satire of corrupt power run amok. Frankly, the succession battle waged by Khrushchev and Beria ranks up there with the rivalry between Simon Yam and Tony Leung Ka-fei in Johnnie To’s Election, but Iannucci’s film has a higher body-count—by a factor of at least one hundred. Despite the mordant wit and subversive slapstick humor, Iannucci and his platoon of co-screenwriters make it chillingly clear what happened to inconvenient witnesses and ninety percent of the victims Beria swept up during the Stalinist Terror. It is hard to believe one can laugh so much during a film openly discussing torture and mass executions, but such is the case.

It is also hard to believe that A: we can find ourselves openly rooting for Nikita Khrushchev and B: pencil-thin Steve Buscemi would be the perfect actor to portray him, but both also prove to be true. In fact, Buscemi gives a tour-de-force, possibly career best performance as Khrushchev, with the help of a little stomach padding. Arguably, Iannucci’s conception of Khrushchev as shrewd opportunist and a fount of nervous energy rather puts him in Buscemi’s wheelhouse.

Buscemi is perfectly counterbalanced by Simon Russell Beale’s wonderfully sly and flamboyantly sinister portrayal of Beria, which rather helps align viewer sympathies with Team Khrushchev. Jeffrey Tambor basically does his regular shtick as Malenkov, assuming he won’t be replaced by Christopher Plummer for the film’s American theatrical release. However, it is a real stitch to watch Jason Isaacs ham it up as Zhukov. Yet, maybe the best surprise in DOS, is a late-career comedic gem from Michael Palin as the astonishingly indecisive Molotov. Plus, Olga Kurylenko adds some class and poise as Yudina, while Andrea Riseborough gives it greater human dimension with her vulnerable and conflicted turn as Stalin’s future-defector daughter, Svetlana Stalina.

Satirizing a period of such widespread fear and suffering is a tricky business, but Iannucci and company pull it off with flying colors. DOS manages to be absolutely hilarious and totally chilling, simultaneously. It is a terrific film, but don’t take my word for it. The Putin regime is considering banning it, so you know it must be good. Very highly recommended, The Death of Stalin screens again on Saturday (1/27) in Park City, as part of this year’s Sundance.