A different kind of serial killer story. More to do with the fascination of killings, rather than a story about killings.
One one hand, you have your actual serial killers, and then there's those who are absolutely fascinated with them.
In this case, it's a curious fascination that turns into obsession - a very unhealthy obsession.
I know of people who are very into their serial killer crime history, as well as fictional stories in both the book and TV format. All of these people happen to be women for some reason. Two of whom are colleagues and love their true crime stuff - with emphasis on serial killers - and a couple of months ago we were at my wife's friend's place, and apparently her friend is only interested in watching true crime murder docs and serial killer stuff.
I'm not sure I'd want to know their web history, but they're otherwise lovely people.
But in The Red Spider our protagonist goes a few steps further. Because when he comes across a freshly murdered body, of a child no less, he doesn't freak out, or even report the body. His reaction, a very subtle one, is simply one of surprise and curiosity; as if finding a dead animal. He suspects the culprit is a man that's just walked back to a crowd of people that are about to get on a bus (they were at an evening fanfare site), and so begins 'the stalking'.
Over time, our protagonist somewhat befriends the killer and is clearly interested with getting in on the action, but whether he can go ahead with committing such a terrible deed himself is another matter.
Does he even have it in him? Or does he merely fancy the idea of it?
I suppose that's the concept the film is trying to sell. The film's third act, however, takes a very different turn, in which the young man - Spoilers here on - failing to go through with a killing of his own, does 'the next best thing'. He decides to take credit for all the murders himself (what a cheat!) and 'confesses' it all to the police.
Now I'm sure there's countless studies on the psychology of what makes killers tick, of what motivates them and what the act means for them. But how messed up must one be to simply want to take all the credit for some pretty gruesome murders, without actually having done anything. They're basically throwing their life away for infamy in return.
I would maybe understand if this was someone serving a life sentence in some godforsaken prison and fancied making a name for themselves. Instead, this concerns a bright young lad with his whole future ahead of him, skilled as an expert diver at school, with present but typically quiet and serious parents (normal for that period), and even the good looks to find a suitable love interest.
Is he so far gone that he finds his life and future so meaningless that he'd rather be known as the most prolific serial killer that his country has ever had?
What about the shame to his family? The shock to everyone who ever knew him? The hated figure that he will inevitably become?
On the other hand, maybe that's a notion he eventually gets off on. Generations to come will study his wicked nature as one of the faces of evil. Others, like him, will look upon his brutal acts with curious fascination, and stories will be written inspired by his crimes. (Despite being a killer fraud.)
Maybe some people wish to live forever only in name, no matter the cost or reason - even if it means being one very disturbed individual.
Even as a fictional piece, there's something very captivating in the psychological theory behind this premise.
One one hand, you have your actual serial killers, and then there's those who are absolutely fascinated with them.
In this case, it's a curious fascination that turns into obsession - a very unhealthy obsession.
I know of people who are very into their serial killer crime history, as well as fictional stories in both the book and TV format. All of these people happen to be women for some reason. Two of whom are colleagues and love their true crime stuff - with emphasis on serial killers - and a couple of months ago we were at my wife's friend's place, and apparently her friend is only interested in watching true crime murder docs and serial killer stuff.
I'm not sure I'd want to know their web history, but they're otherwise lovely people.
But in The Red Spider our protagonist goes a few steps further. Because when he comes across a freshly murdered body, of a child no less, he doesn't freak out, or even report the body. His reaction, a very subtle one, is simply one of surprise and curiosity; as if finding a dead animal. He suspects the culprit is a man that's just walked back to a crowd of people that are about to get on a bus (they were at an evening fanfare site), and so begins 'the stalking'.
Over time, our protagonist somewhat befriends the killer and is clearly interested with getting in on the action, but whether he can go ahead with committing such a terrible deed himself is another matter.
Does he even have it in him? Or does he merely fancy the idea of it?
I suppose that's the concept the film is trying to sell. The film's third act, however, takes a very different turn, in which the young man - Spoilers here on - failing to go through with a killing of his own, does 'the next best thing'. He decides to take credit for all the murders himself (what a cheat!) and 'confesses' it all to the police.
Now I'm sure there's countless studies on the psychology of what makes killers tick, of what motivates them and what the act means for them. But how messed up must one be to simply want to take all the credit for some pretty gruesome murders, without actually having done anything. They're basically throwing their life away for infamy in return.
I would maybe understand if this was someone serving a life sentence in some godforsaken prison and fancied making a name for themselves. Instead, this concerns a bright young lad with his whole future ahead of him, skilled as an expert diver at school, with present but typically quiet and serious parents (normal for that period), and even the good looks to find a suitable love interest.
Is he so far gone that he finds his life and future so meaningless that he'd rather be known as the most prolific serial killer that his country has ever had?
What about the shame to his family? The shock to everyone who ever knew him? The hated figure that he will inevitably become?
On the other hand, maybe that's a notion he eventually gets off on. Generations to come will study his wicked nature as one of the faces of evil. Others, like him, will look upon his brutal acts with curious fascination, and stories will be written inspired by his crimes. (Despite being a killer fraud.)
Maybe some people wish to live forever only in name, no matter the cost or reason - even if it means being one very disturbed individual.
Even as a fictional piece, there's something very captivating in the psychological theory behind this premise.
