I Know Who Killed Me
I Know Who Killed Me is an unpleasant shocker. Who killed who isn't important. What is important is that the movie's not worth seeing.
After losing an arm and a leg to a deranged serial killer--as if there were any other kind--all-American teenager Aubrey Fleming (Lindsay Lohan) is discovered in a ditch outside of town. Trouble is, she's not Aubrey--at least that's what she says. She claims to be Dakota Moss, a hard-edged stripper whose vocabulary proves how hard she is. Through flashbacks, we see she's no goody-goody, but she's determined to get to the bottom of the mystery while everyone around her waits for her to "remember" who she really is. But if, indeed, the killer is still at large, then this baffled babe might still be on the hit list, which is where the story's ostensible suspense is supposed to emanate from. Is all of this a figment of Aubrey's--or Dakota's--imagination, or a by-product of the trauma she's suffered? If it were, there wouldn't be a movie. As it is, there's not much of one, anyway.
As if she didn't have enough to deal with already, Lohan seems particularly ill at ease here. She has yet to really distinguish herself as a strong actress, and she's certainly not strong enough to do much with the material she's given here. Her character simply isn't likable--and she's the whole show. There's a slightly uncomfortable, if blackly comic, irony in watching Lohan, at various points, take pills, drink alcohol, pole-dance and swear up a storm. Oh yes, and she's also bloodied, bruised, terrorized and tortured--for those who care. Most won't. If this is what passes for character development in horror movies these days, then we--and the genre--are in trouble. As Aubrey's parents, Julia Ormond and Neal McDonough stand around, mostly looking confused, as well they should be. At least, Brian Geraghty, as Aubrey's jock boyfriend, doesn't embarrass himself. But no one else is around long enough to make much of an impression. Then again, as a whole, I Know Who Killed Me doesn't leave much of an impression. Just a bad aftertaste.
Aside from technical proficiency, there's not a lot director Chris Sivertson brings to the party, and it's as much the fault of first-time screenwriter Jeffrey Hammond. Sure, the story has a lot of twists and turns, but they're stupid twists and turns--and too many of them are introduced too far into the narrative, as an increasingly desperate way of keeping the film going long after anyone cares. In the end--actually, by the middle--I Know Who Killed Me simply doesn't add up. It's too silly to be remotely credible or interesting, and too murky to be laughable.
Hollywood.com rated this film 1 star.