Kill List

Ahh. Jolly old England. Where quiet country cottages dot the scenic countryside, Royal gossip trumps celebrity tabloids, bustling foggy fabulous London makes us yearn for Burberry, and Ben Wheatley co-writes and directs a film so wretchedly, ravenously, splendidly disturbing you’ll 1) never want to watch it again 2) want to watch it over and over again to try and find something you missed before 3) promise you’ll really never watch it again.

I had the great fortune to see Wheatley's latest film, Kill List, at Film Society Lincoln Center's SCARY MOVIES 5 series. At first glance, List is a family drama. Behind closed doors it’s a hit man movie—with hammers, guns, fists and knives to prove its gruesome point. And at its core, it’s a freaky supernatural occult horror with a finale that will prompt more WTFs than Kim Kardashian’s disastrous marriage.

Jay (Neil Maskell) is a retired hitman, retired not by leisured choice but by force from psychological duress caused by the death of a colleague. His days in suburbia with wife and son are far from blissful as his spitfire spouse, Shel (MyAnna Buring), fearlessly hounds him about finding more work before the family hits financial rock bottom.

To appease her (and finally have the money to repair his hot tub) he takes an assignment with his best friend, Gal (Michael Smiley) against his better judgment. The peculiarities begin when, rather than have Jay sign a contract, the new client slices Jay’s hand with a blade. And when the first man on the client’s kill list turns out to be a priest who seems to not only be expecting Jay but also utters a genuine ‘Thank You’ before Jay pulls the trigger, the peculiarities, violence and dramatic tensions only continue to escalate until they come to a screeching, terrifying halt in the last five minutes of the film.

In the hands of someone else, so many genres intertwined might become muddled or pointless. But Wheatley (and co-writer Amy Jump) manage to combine drama, action and occult so well that they might very well be creating their own genre. What to call it? Your guess is as good as mine. Just be certain that it’ll scare the s**t out of you.

Now, if Mr. Wheatley could collaborate with Ti West and blow all of our f**king minds, it would be greatly appreciated.