The term "so bad you'll think you've gone insane" is bandied about a lot these days.
"I Know Who Killed Me" (alternate title: "Plan 9 From Who Thought It Was a Good Idea to Let Lindsay Lohan Act?"), however, is one of those rare films that's so badly done that watching it will make you feel like your popcorn's been laced with a hallucinogenic drug that makes the whole world look mind-bendingly boring and confused.
Lohan plays a promising young student, illustrated by thrilling scenes where she practices piano, writes stories, and then reads those stories to her classmates. It almost feels like a spoiler to mention anything more, since it takes so damn long for the movie's plot to groan along, but after an immeasurable length of time, she disappears.
As the FBI searches for the presumed kidnapper -- there's a killer with a thing for mutilation on the loose -- we're treated to gruesome scenes of Lohan whimpering while her limbs are mangled by her captor.
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Do we hate Hollywood starlets this much, or do movie-people just think we do? Either way, I'm at a loss as to why we're supposed to enjoy watching girls get horribly tortured. I'm going to take the bold stance that lovingly crafted shots of women getting their hands rotted off isn't fun, it's sick, and not in a good way.
Lohan's then found in a ditch, but when she wakes up, she says she's not Aubrey, the golden girl, but Dakota, a hard-knocks stripper who never gets naked. Aubrey's character didn't had a recognizable personality to contrast Dakota's with, so the difference is shown by the fact Dakota swears like a sailor with Tourette's.
Is she Aubrey, suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder? Or is she really Dakota? And if so, why's she got a freshly amputated arm and leg? I don't know, but I've got a feeling the answer may be utterly ridiculous!
During "I Know Who Killed Me," my fellow theatergoers were audibly asking questions like "Who's that?" and "Whose house is that?" But this wasn't annoying, it was comforting: scenes jump so arbitrarily and details are revealed so ham-fistedly that keeping up with what's going on is a far harder chore than it should be.
Characters exist for a scene or two, then never show up again. Flashbacks last so long you'll forget why they started. Once things get unbelievably nuts, when the movie's become so far-fetched there seems to be no hope it'll ever make sense again, Lohan's situation is explained by a YouTube clip of Art Bell.
I couldn't make that up if I tried. The cornerstone of the plot is based on Art Bell, who's never had one true thing on his show, and the Internet, whose chief concern is pictures of cats speaking poor English.
Huzzah for hyper-ludicrous stories! Up to that point, "I Know Who Killed Me" was one of the most tedious, lifeless thrillers I've ever seen. I think the parts where characters paused meaningfully outnumbered the times they actually spoke. After Art Bell's helpful explanation -- which I'm pretty sure is how the script's writer was introduced to the concept in the first place -- the movie finally gets silly enough to be entertaining. And it only took almost two hours!
With bad acting, bad writing and bad directing, this movie's incompetent in a way few movies are. Lohan is driven by a feeling she's missing a part of herself, but "I Know Who Killed Me" is missing any redeeming qualities whatsoever.