Copycat serial-killer film. But let's be clear: it's not really the killer who's a copycat -- one of those diabolically clever, games-playing, wits-matching superfiends -- but rather the film itself, with its strained performances, transparent tricks, jack-in-the-box jolts, and palpable, sliceable, spreadable sense of dread. The big influence is Seven, from the jumpy credits through the pockets of murk and gloom pierced by probing shafts of light. The series of killings, ranging across the breadth of Canada, goes back twenty years; but the first one in the bleached-out overlong prologue is no help in identifying the killer, since the actor will afterwards be replaced by a bigger name with an unmatching face. The FBI profiler on loan to the Montreal homicide cops is Angelina Jolie (a Silence of the Lambs influence), whose laser-eyed perceptiveness produces a lot of microscopic closeups but no real insights. With Ethan Hawke, Olivier Martinez, Tcheky Karyo, Kiefer Sutherland, and Gena Rowlands; directed by D.J. Caruso. (2004) — Duncan Shepherd
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