Review: Texas Killing Fields

The title refers to an area in Texas where over the course of 30 years several dozen women have been abducted, murdered, and dumped in the fields in cases that are unsolved. These real-life killings, however, serve as mere backdrop to the fictional story involving two detectives (played by Jeffrey Dean Morgan and Sam Worthington, the former having moved from New York with his family, the latter having a perpetually angry disposition) investigating a serial murder case in Texas. Thing is, the murders are happening just outside of their jurisdiction, they’re only getting involved at the request of fellow detective Jessica Chastain, who just so happens to be Worthington’s rather hostile ex-wife. Hard arse Chastain (who does have jurisdiction) and Morgan team up to investigate one line of thinking, whilst Worthington (who doesn’t want to go out of his own jurisdiction, let alone for his ex-wife) goes off on his own line of investigation. Along the way we meet various characters, including Chloe Grace Moretz as a local teen from the trashiest of white trash trailer home families, whom Morgan tries to help out from time to time. Sheryl Lee plays Moretz’s trailer trash mother, Stephen Graham plays a white trash local always lurking about, and Jason Clarke creeps about in his car from time to time leering inappropriately at Moretz with clearly bad intentions. Annabeth Gish plays Morgan’s loving and supportive wife.

 

I love a good ‘true crime’ story, but this 2012 film from debut director Ami Canaan Mann (daughter of the occasionally brilliant but occasionally foolish Michael Mann) and screenwriter Donald F. Ferrarone (also a debutant, formerly a producer of the hideous remake of “Man on Fire”) takes its ‘inspiration’ from ‘true events’, and botches things completely (‘Inspired by True Events’ being film code for ‘We looked at the true story and decided to make up some shit instead’). I have no idea how close any of this story is to anything in recorded criminal history, but I do know that it’s a film with a better grasp of atmosphere and mood than story or characters. It never grabbed me, as all of the jurisdictional issues seemed small potatoes to me, and I kept wanting more of the serial killings case. Unfortunately, it’s a meandering mess that doesn’t have enough time for the jurisdictional issues, the murder case, and all of the characters and relationships to be dealt with in one film. Pretty much everything goes lacking as a result, through no fault of most of the cast. There’s probably a good movie in the Jason Clarke character, but it goes begging. In fact, it feels like a lot of stuff has been cut, leaving an unsatisfying whole.

 

It’s been impressively shot and lit by Stuart Dryburgh (“Once Were Warriors”, Ben Stiller’s “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty”), in a manner that I can only describe as darkly lit, oxymoronic as that might sound. The whole film has a rainy, broody, hopeless vibe to it that can’t easily be shaken, matched by a perfectly haunting performance by young Chloe Grace Moretz, perhaps her best to date. Also giving a career best performance is Aussie Sam Worthington, essentially playing a more insensitive Russell Crowe in “L.A. Confidential”. I’m not remotely a fan of Worthington, but the role is a good fit for him. Best of all, however, is the immediately unsettling, leering and sneering Jason Clarke (another Aussie!), in a role that ultimately proves not as important as one first suspects. However, whenever he’s on screen, you take notice. He just gives off seriously bad, creepy, insinuating vibes. I swear Mr. Clarke is one role away from an Oscar nomination. It’s coming, I can feel it. Brit actor Stephen Graham gives off rather creepy vibes too, in a more important role. Look out for a practically unrecognisable Sheryl Lee (AKA Laura Palmer!) as the white trash mother from hell. I didn’t even pick her out, and had to read it afterwards. Bravo to whoever thought of casting her, however. She’s a good choice for the part. I’ve never understood the appeal of the far too ubiquitous Jessica Chastain, and casting her as a hard-arse cop is about as appropriate casting as hiring Jennifer Garner to play a baseball bat-wielding Mafioso would be. It’s especially infuriating when the perfectly capable and just plain frigging lovely Annabeth Gish is saddled with the virtually nothing role of Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s supportive wife. That’ not just my 16-17 year-old crush talking, the lack of good roles for this versatile actress (who has mostly been confined to TV since the mid-90s), is one of cinema’s greatest crimes in my completely unbiased, not at all love-struck opinion. That said, as much as she gets virtually nothing to work with, Gish proves she doesn’t need a damn thing to work with as she convinces as a woman with a clearly good heart in her fleeting moments on screen due either to something inside of herself, or through having played good-hearted people plenty of times over the years. I’d say it’s a mixture of both. And I’m totally not still in love with her in the slightest. As for Jeffrey Dean Morgan, I don’t think he’s the most charismatic of actors, however he is relatable and sympathetic.

 

Acting is not this film’s problem. The mess of a screenplay is the problem. It has no idea what it wants to be, and doesn’t run long enough for it to find its way to a clear path. It’s pretty easy at the end of the day to see why this one has struggled to find an audience, having been dumped direct-to-DVD in Australia (It briefly played in theatres in the US, apparently). It’s meandering, mostly uninteresting, and good performances and an interestingly morose atmosphere can only take it so far. “Zodiac” it ain’t. It’s the kind of film that when it ends, all you can think to yourself is ‘Huh?’. Something clearly went wrong here, and no one seemed to pick up on it during shooting. It sure does have a well-conveyed depressing atmosphere about it, though.

 

Rating: C