The Shallow Tale of a Writer Who Decided to Write About a Serial Killer

From the casting of Mystery Train alum Steve Buscemi to the obligatory Tom Waits song to the deadpan deliveries and the minimalist stream-of-consciousness slice-of-life narrative, it's a fairly familiar formula. And it works for the most part.

Of course, it develops slowly and unfolds at its own unpredictable leisure but the cast is so honestly up for the ride. Suzie can be a little too much at first. But I enjoyed her arc most of all. And the number of clever little things like Ada session, the llama, burn ointment and the chloroform bit, definitely make this fun. Keane's nebbish neuroses and Kollmick's earnest but ineffectual mentoring are delightfully authentic.

Some of the misunderstandings didn't quite click in the comedic way they should have. But a good deal of the film is quirky and interesting enough to keep one entertained.

And every time, she talked to her friend Zoe, my dog with the same name perked her ears up, making the movie quite interactive.

I liked it.

A three-character story centered on a creatively blocked, soon-to-be-divorced writer who encounters a "retired" serial killer sounds like a killer concept, on paper. Unfortunately, this film squanders that premise with lackluster execution and a frustrating tonal imbalance.

Steve Buscemi and Britt Lower are the film's saving grace, doing their best to carry an off-kilter black comedy that never commits to being either dark enough or funny enough. The premise begs for something wild and twisted, but what we get feels muted and safe. The score stands out for its uniqueness.

The character of Kollmick (Buscemi) is woefully underdeveloped. We learn almost nothing about his past, and his interactions with the writer make no sense. Meanwhile, John Magaro's portrayal of Keane, the meek, indecisive writer, is not convincing.

The movie stumbles toward an anticlimactic ending that fails to resolve the story and ends on an unearned cliffhanger-clearly intentional, but entirely pointless.

This film unavoidably draws comparisons to Seven Psychopaths, watch it instead.

In odd & disappointing New York dark comedy "Psycho Therapy" struggling writer John Magaro (meh) is about to be divorced by fed up wife Britt Lower (excellent - the film's only bright aspect) when 'retired serial-killer' Steve Buscemi convinces him to collaborate on a serial-killer book. Cue a silly descent into farcical events involving Buscemi acting as the couple's unconventional marriage counsellor, Lower thinking Magaro's gonna kill her, a coupla kidnappings, and an ending so infuriating that it renders the whole messy sham pointless. If Turkish writer / director Tolga Karaçelik's first English-language film ends up as his last there'll probably be few complaints. It's a turd. Flush it.

I know that this is a wacky comedy and not a documentary. I get it. Events spin out of control. Things become absurd.

But following the opening dinner-party scene, I didn't believe anything that anyone did in this movie. Not for a minute. And all the actors in it are very capable and give excellent performances.

But nobody's reaction to anything in this arbitrary and unmotivated series of events is remotely like something an actual person might do. Every scene prompts the question, "Why would he/she do that?"

The screenplay is bereft of anything resembling human behavior--homo sapiens or Neanderthals.

What's the best way for a writer to find inspiration and save his marriage at the same time? Writer and Director Tolga Karaçelik answers that question in a dark comedy set in New York City, where the answer might just involve dodging traffic and serial killers.

Keane (John Magaro) is having a full-on midlife crisis: his book's stuck, his marriage's falling apart, and his wife, Suzie (Britt Lower) is barely hanging on after years of tolerating his endless whining. While Keane is driving home from a dinner party, Suzie yells at him that a light has turned green, knowing full well that it was still red nearly causing a fatal accident. This, apparently, is her idea of a midlife crisis cure-either that or she's just hoping for a one-way ticket out of this relationship. Keane ends up at a diner where he meets Kollmick (Steve Buscemi), a retired serial killer who's somehow offering both writing inspiration and marriage counseling-because, sure, why not? Only in New York. Magaro portrays a deeply introspective character, whose crippling neurosis and insecurity have him playing the part of a struggling writer with comedic swiftness.

Britt Lower hot off Apple's Severance absolutely owns her role as the bored wife, mixing devilish charm with exasperated sincerity. Her performance has the same chilling yet hilarious ironic energy as Dr. Lilith Sternin from Cheers-you know, the kind of woman who needs a reason to fall in love with her husband again... and maybe a drink.

And then there's Steve Buscemi. Who else could pull off the role of a retired serial killer with a pencil-thin John Waters mustache and still make you want to invite him over for a drink? Buscemi gives Kollmick a whimsical creepiness that makes you both laugh and cringe. Seriously, he's a national treasure at this point. As an actor, he has made his mark on indie cinema with an impressive list of films, including Reservoir Dogs (1992), In the Soup (1992), The Search for One-Eye Jimmy (1994), Living in Oblivion (1995), Fargo (1996), The Big Lebowski (1998), The Imposters (1998), Ghost World (2001), and Delirious (2006). He also set the bar high with his directorial debut, the deeply personal Trees Lounge (1996), and went on to produce and direct countless episodes of peak TV, including The Sopranos, Oz, Nurse Jackie, 30 Rock, Portlandia, and Miracle Workers.

Natalie Kingston's cinematography brings the story to life, painting a vivid, almost haunting version of New York. From Brooklyn to Tribeca to Chinatown, the film is a love letter to the city, complete with the kind of atmospheric tension you'd expect from a Coen Brothers flick. In fact, the claustrophobic hotel with sweating wallpaper where Kollmick stays feels like something out of Barton Fink-just with a writer who actually listens to their creepy serial killer mentor.

Karaçelik has crafted a visually striking film that feels smart and fresh, and though there are plenty of Coen Brothers homages (hello, Blood Simple vibes), he'll keep you guessing until the very end. Psycho Therapy: The Shallow Tale of a Writer Who Decided to Write About a Serial Killer-yes, the title's a mouthful and will definitely wreak havoc with metadata, but it's worth the ride And hey, if you catch a screening in NYC, who knows? Kollmick might just be sitting next to you, ready to pitch his next big idea for your novel.