Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer Blu-ray offers solid video and decent audio in this enjoyable Blu-ray release
Michael Rooker is unforgettable as Henry, a soft-spoken loner with a cool exterior masking an
inner rage that boils at blast furnace intensity.
When fellow ex-con Otis invites Henry to move into his Chicago apartment, he becomes a
willing participant in Henry's senseless, random killing sprees. Meanwhile, Otis' unsuspecting
sister, Becky (Tracy Arnold) is smitten with Henry, whose broken childhood mirrors her own.
Masterfully directed by John McNaughton, Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer is a chilling character
study of a mass murderer that continues to shock and disturb twenty years after its debut.
For more about Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer and the Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer Blu-ray release, see the Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer Blu-ray Review published by Casey Broadwater on October 6, 2009 where this Blu-ray release scored 3.5 out of 5.
In cinema, if violence is entertaining it's usually because it's unrealistic. We clap when a survivor
dispatches a zombie with a satisfying headshot, scream with squeamish delight as a masked slasher
deals an original deathblow, and hold our breath waiting for the bad guys to get their bloody
comeuppance. Dramatic conventions have a distancing effect, allowing on-screen violence to
heighten or expunge emotion without the sickening consequences of real-life bloodshed. The
outcome is much different, however, when a film tries to present violence as it actually is—chaotic
and senseless, brutal and unnecessary. Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer opts for the latter,
objectively examining a week in the life of an unrepentant murderer. Ultimately, Henry is
not only about violence, but also, in a specifically meta-cinema way, about an audiences' perception
of and reaction to the carnage they're seeing committed in the film.
The face of a killer...
The movie opens very effectively with a protracted, twisting zoom away from a dead woman, her
eyes glassy and unseeing. We then follow Henry (Michael Rooker) as he goes about the mundane
details of his daily business—grabbing a meal at a diner, driving around town—shots that are
intercut with grim still-life tableaus of other murder victims. When Henry picks up a guitar-toting
female hitchhiker, and then returns to his apartment to present the six-string as a gift to his
dim-witted roommate Otis (Tom Towles), we're officially let in on Henry's macabre profession.
Having split with her husband, Otis' sister Becky (Tracy Arnold) comes to stay with the two men,
who met one another during overlapping stints in prison. Becky is a former dancer—not of the
reputable sort—and she has a history of sexual abuse, a history that's constantly repeated by her
brother, who eyes her leeringly. When she learns that Henry has a similarly abused past—it's no
surprise to find out his mother was a whore—Becky falls for him. After Henry stops Otis from
trying to kiss Becky, the guys go out for a night on the town, the steam-letting culminating with
Henry snapping the necks of two prostitutes. What follows is a slowly spiraling descent into
depravity, as Henry introduces Otis to the thrills of murder.
Of course, Otis proves to be a star pupil, gunning down his first solo victim with glee in a desolate
underpass. The film slowly begins to present Henry as the story's anti-hero—we don't exactly root
for him, but compared to the lecherous and simian Otis, Henry seems almost intellectual. As they
go about their "spree," there are two moments that typify violence in drastically different ways.
When Otis and Henry have an encounter with a black market electronics dealer (Ray Atherton),
the build-up to the big moment is purely Hollywood. The dealer repeatedly insults the two, and by
the time Henry stabs him with a soldering iron, we're led to feel, having been manipulated in a
characteristically cinematic way, that this guy had it coming, that he deserved it. Minutes later,
with no set-up, no rational, we witness a home invasion as videotaped by Henry. We watch the
events unfold on a TV—a screen inside our own home theater screens—and as the two men
brutally murder a suburban family, we're given a very different view of violence, one that is
strikingly real and genuinely horrifying. As the camera pans away from the screen and toward
Henry and Otis, sitting on their couch—as we likely are—we're made to feel complicit, engaged,
like the two murderers, in a feedback loop of cruelty. The commentary is less about violence itself
than our willingness to watch it, savor it even, a trait explored more pointedly—and less subtly—
in Michael Haneke's divisive Funny Games.
The film doesn't exactly transcend the schlock of its decidedly exploitive genre, but writer/director
John McNaughton and co-writer Richard Fire imbue the film with unexpected frankness and more
dramatic meat than similar fare. I'd even say that the relationship between the three principal
characters has more in common with Jim Jarmusch's Stranger Than Paradise than with
the stock stereotypes and situations of your average slasher flick. The film's most potent
exploration is the humanizing effect that Becky has on Henry as she offers him a way out, a
chance at normalcy. This is the dangling carrot that propels the plot, and the tension between
the two is sustained until the very end. On a technical level, the gritty look matches the film's
$100,000 budget, but with cleaner visuals, I'm not sure Henry would work. The
characters
inhabit a dismal, seedy squalor, and the performances convincingly reflect the surroundings. Tom
Towles is frightening and predictably unpredictable as Otis, and his greasy comb-over and dull
teeth are menacing in their own right. Tracy Arnold is the film's one ray of light, and her presence
elevates the material by contrasting the killings with brighter possibilities. It's Michael Rooker,
though, that carries the film with looming unease. Every tick of his face implies latent anger, his
taut posture evidence of a man trying desperately to stay in control. His portrait of Henry is
realistically painted, forming the centerpiece for one of the most shockingly brutal and original
horror films of the 1980s.
Let's not sugarcoat this. Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer is an ugly film. No matter how
much you bump the resolution or tweak with the color timing, it will always be an ugly
film. In a sense, though, it's perfectly ugly, with form and function, medium and message serving
the same gritty, grime-covered ends. Here on Blu-ray, the film receives a 1080p/VC-1 encoded
transfer that shows a slight but appreciable upgrade from prior DVD releases. Colors certainly
seem stronger, warmer, and more stable, particularly reds, like Henry's coat and the film's ample
blood. As Henry was shot on 16mm, an occasionally heavy grain field buzzes over the
image and, by extension, the film isn't exactly sharp by modern standards. Close-ups obviously
show more detail than the film's DVD counterpart, but some of the medium and longer shots
have a softer, unresolved appearance. Black levels prove to be the film's repeat offender,
frequently crushing detail during darker scenes. The daylight segments in downtown Chicago
tend to look best, but I was also momentarily impressed by the hood-mounted shot of Henry and
Otis driving in the rain, a shot that shows a surprising amount of depth. Still, much of the film
has a dull, dingy, depressive look that is an inalienable effect of the low-budget source material.
Even dressed up in a high definition transfer, Henry is still a grim and dirty affair, but I
can't imagine it being any other way.
Henry's Linear PCM 2.0 stereo track likewise represents the film well, even if the lo-fi audio
capture is less than impressive today. As director John McNaughton reveals in his deleted scenes
commentary, only two lines of dialogue were dubbed in post-production. All other lines were
captured on-set or on-location, and the result is a somewhat uneven vocal mix. For example, you'll
notice some discrepancies in ambient volume as the camera cuts back and forth between two
actors. The sound quality during the scene in the underpass sounds flat-out horrible—muffled and
indistinct—and I also noticed two instances of slight clipping. Still, the rest of the dialogue is
intelligible and mostly clean. The dated score sounds as good as it can—with digital drums and
buzzing synth lines—and for a 2.0 mix there's a decent amount of bass. I won't hesitate to say that
this is the best that Henry has ever sounded, but it is noticeably inferior to other catalog
titles from the mid-1980s.
Commentary by Director John McNaughton
McNaughton is joined on this feature-length track by documentarian David Gregory, who steers
the conversation with thoughtful questions pertaining to thematic material and the film's
production. McNaughton is candid and talkative, and the interview format of the commentary
means there's never a dull moment.
Portrait: The Making of Henry (SD, 52:34)
Through interviews with director John McNaughton, co-writer Richard Fire, co-producer Steven
Jones, and all the principal actors, this new documentary paints a portrait of what it was like to
work on Henry, from the early inspirations for the film to the film's battle with the MPAA.
While there's a degree of overlap with McNaughton's commentary track, fans will appreciate the
perspective of the other cast and crew members.
The Serial Killers: Henry Lee Lucas (SD, 26:19)
As the inspiration for the film, Henry Lee Lucas—known as "The Confession Killer"—murdered
somewhere between 50 and 75 people during his cross-country killing spree with fellow killer
Ottis Toole. Several investigators and police officials tell Henry's story here, along with archival
clips from an interview with Henry himself. Grisly stuff, this.
Deleted Scenes and Outtakes (SD, 21:25)
Since the original sound elements are missing, director John McNaughton provides commentary
for these twenty-odd minutes of deleted scenes, most notably including an awkward and
rightfully excised physical exchange between Henry and Otis.
Interview with John McNaughton, 1998 (SD, 30:44)
Most of the material covered here is dealt with more completely and dynamically in the "making
of" documentary and McNaughton's own commentary track. There's some interesting stuff here
for trivia-heads, but as a whole the interview is fairly dull.
Still Gallery (1080p)
Contains 34 stills, promo pieces, and one-sheets.
Original Storyboards (1080p)
Includes about 80 drawings. Like the Still Gallery, this is user-controlled.
At first glance, there's nothing fun about Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer. Dark, realistic,
and unflinching, it's definitely not a film you'd put on for your annual Halloween party. Still, there's
a vein of coal black comedy running throughout the film if you're willing to mentally mine for it.
Henry might not be one of those films that you return to repeatedly, but it looks better
than ever on Blu-ray—even if that's not saying much. Hardcore horror-hounds will definitely want
to pick this one up, but casual fright fans will probably want to venture a rental. Recommended.
Fangoria magazine has the scoop that Dark Sky Films is set to release John McNaughton's cult film 'Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer' on Blu-ray on September 29. No specifications are available, but you can expect 1.33:1 1080p video and a stereo lossless audio ...
Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer Blu-ray, Forum Discussions
