The House that Jack Built

Matt Dillon is all sorts of horrifying as the title character, a serial killer in 1970s America. He’s an architect. He has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and he’s a killer who likens his work to art. He describes his murders to an off camera inquisitor (Bruno Ganz) as if they were symphonic masterworks. The allegory is a bit heavy handed, and the satire a little more than obvious. At times, it plays a lot like American Psycho before it was made into a movie. (The book was nastier than the film.) Lars von Trier, who is getting nastier and stranger with every film, has always been quite the provocateur. This one marks a slight comeback from his awful Nymphomaniac movies, although it doesn’t stack up next to his best works (Melancholia, Dancer in the Dark, Antichrist). The main reason to see it is Dillon, who delivers one of his career best performances as a very complicated, very sick dude. The final act of the movie is its best act, as Jack completes a journey that takes him to a hot place, along with an impressive ride on the river Styx. Dillon, and a supporting cast that includes Uma Thurman and Riley Keough, make this worth seeing. Von Trier makes a good looking movie, but he gets a little carried away sometimes, and this one is quite insane. He seriously needs to make a movie about puppies and rainbows and perhaps calm his shit down. (Available to rent on iTunes, Amazon.com during a limited theatrical release.)