It’s no secret Bret Easton Ellis trades in nihilism. Every character in each one of his books lack a moral compass, which is why they’re easy prey of monsters like Patrick Bateman. Evil triumphs every time in his novels because being a shell of a person doesn’t amount to much against the wicked.
In Smiley Face Killers, Ellis tries his hand at scriptwriting and… the outcome is exactly the same. A well-crafted serial-killer-on-the-loose flick, Smiley Face Killers is more Zodiac than Friday the 13th. The body count is high, but there’s method to the madness. It’s allegedly based on real events, but as any reader of Ellis would tell you, the author’s notion of reality is different from yours or mine.
Jake (Ronen Rubinstein) is the classic Ellis antihero: Boyishly handsome, self-absorbed, and mentally fragile. He’s oblivious he has been targeted by a cult responsible for the deaths of dozens of equally hunky frat dudes across the California coast.
While the framing is hardly groundbreaking, the film is smart enough to submerge the audience into Jake’s life: He’s battling depression, suspects his girlfriend is in touch with her ex, and doesn’t get along with his roommate. As soon as we have a grasp of his reality, we see it unravel.
Veteran director Tim Hunter (River’s Edge, TV’s Hannibal) keeps a tight grip on the proceedings and succeeds at creating unease. The gore is a notch more unpleasant than your average slasher: The killers use blunt instruments against their victims and Hunter is not shy about showing the effects. The final quarter is a test to your resilience.
Smiley Face Killers’ main shortcoming is the performances. The film is jam-packed with bland, nondescript pretty people that fail to make a mark (think an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue splattered with blood or a late 90210 episode). The contrast with the scarred cult leader (an unrecognisable Crispin Glover) is ham-fisted and rather juvenile. Still, thanks to the plot and the old pro holding the reins, the film works better than it has any right to.
