A young Martin Scorsese directed bits of this creepy psychological thriller about Ray Fernandez and Martha Beck, the "Lonely Hearts Killers" who murdered a shockingly large number of women in a two-year spree in the late 1940s. As the camera prowls and the framing draws deliberate attention to itself, you can sense Scorsese – before, that is, he was sacked and replaced with Leonard Kastle. This would be Kastle's only film, and it's pretty good all things considered.
How true is this "true story"? Not very. For a start it's clearly set at the time it was made (1969), and yet states in the epilogue that Ray (Tony Lo Blanco) and Martha (Shirley Stoler) met their fate twenty years earlier. But how about the more general truth of fiction? Here the film succeeds, focusing on the psychology of this chunky, frumpy lady and her lithe Latino partner-in-crime; the bitter jealousy and the vile scheming, and the growing tensions between them. It works well, thanks to a smart script with a sharp edge of ironic wit.
Martha is a sad-sack who is empowered at work but desperately lonely at home. Ray is a vile opportunist whose control is cracked by the juvenile love he shares with Martha. It's a story of its time. These days the couple wouldn't need to lure the lonely through newspaper ads – they could swindle all their money over the internet. But Ray and Martha are hands-on and in-your-face, and the film portrays a collection of increasingly sinister encounters as they convince a series of sad spinsters to part with their cash. Ray wields charm like a scimitar, while Martha is like a wrecking ball.
With its suburban sitting room setting and its unsettling blend of the OTT and the naturalistic, the influence on Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer is clear. When the killing begins, Kastle doesn't shy away. The death-by-hammer scene is genuinely shocking, even by today's standards.
Mostly the movie eschews graphic violence in favour of tense episodes laced with morbid, mordant wit. You can see why it was disregarded at the time, just as you can see why it's being reconsidered today. For all its melodrama (Gustav Mahler parps over the serial killers' domestic dramatics) and its sleazy exploitation appearance, it's surprisingly subtle and has flashes of real craft. It is undoubtedly a genre-evading oddity – but an accessible one which will be enjoyed by anybody looking for something clever, nasty, and funny.
How true is this "true story"? Not very. For a start it's clearly set at the time it was made (1969), and yet states in the epilogue that Ray (Tony Lo Blanco) and Martha (Shirley Stoler) met their fate twenty years earlier. But how about the more general truth of fiction? Here the film succeeds, focusing on the psychology of this chunky, frumpy lady and her lithe Latino partner-in-crime; the bitter jealousy and the vile scheming, and the growing tensions between them. It works well, thanks to a smart script with a sharp edge of ironic wit.
Martha is a sad-sack who is empowered at work but desperately lonely at home. Ray is a vile opportunist whose control is cracked by the juvenile love he shares with Martha. It's a story of its time. These days the couple wouldn't need to lure the lonely through newspaper ads – they could swindle all their money over the internet. But Ray and Martha are hands-on and in-your-face, and the film portrays a collection of increasingly sinister encounters as they convince a series of sad spinsters to part with their cash. Ray wields charm like a scimitar, while Martha is like a wrecking ball.
With its suburban sitting room setting and its unsettling blend of the OTT and the naturalistic, the influence on Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer is clear. When the killing begins, Kastle doesn't shy away. The death-by-hammer scene is genuinely shocking, even by today's standards.
Mostly the movie eschews graphic violence in favour of tense episodes laced with morbid, mordant wit. You can see why it was disregarded at the time, just as you can see why it's being reconsidered today. For all its melodrama (Gustav Mahler parps over the serial killers' domestic dramatics) and its sleazy exploitation appearance, it's surprisingly subtle and has flashes of real craft. It is undoubtedly a genre-evading oddity – but an accessible one which will be enjoyed by anybody looking for something clever, nasty, and funny.