British Consulate investigator Det. Stephen Wilson, a.k.a. the Eye, comes across a disturbed lady serial-killer while on an otherwise mundane assignment. Already a bit psychologically fragile from his wife's abrupt removal of herself and their daughter from his life (with the lingering memory of his daughter haunting him like a manifest ghost), his psychosis as a displaced dad dovetails with the femme fatale's psychosis as an abandoned daughter (crying "Merry Christmas, Daddy" over her expired victims). A bond forms, or, rather, an obsession, as the Eye abandons his job to secretively stalk this mysterious woman full-time as she visits many major U.S. cities under various names, leaving numerous victims.Written by
When the camera swings behind Stephen as he watches Joanna leave the hospital, there's a cigarette dangling form his lips, but when the camera changes immediately to a front shot, there is no cigarette. See more »
[Knocking on door]
No milk today, Thanks.
Thank you. Now piss off and mind your own FUCKING BUSINESS!
See more »
As the end credits roll, we see a statue of an angel with the sun setting in the sky in the background. See more »
The UK DVD has a longer ending:
Before the motorcycle and the car collide, they ride side by side in slow motion. McGregor holds out his hand to Judd as if he's her guardian angel. Just as they touch fingers the car lurches off into the snowbank. (US versions just have the vehicles colliding).
Movies like this should come with a warning label: "Caution! Do not operate heavy machinery after watching"
Unfortunately, I violated one of my own rules of movie-going: never---I repeat, NEVER---go to a movie that the "critics are raving about." The only reason ANYBODY would "rave" about this movie is they couldn't figure it out, so they figure it MUST have some deeper meaning. Anybody that doesn't like it must be one of the shallow, non-creative types that only likes predictable movies. There's ALWAYS a deeper meaning.
Trust me. There's no deeper meaning. There's only two hours of non-stop rambling trash that you'll no-doubt find in the cut-out bin of your nearest video store in the next three months. No plot. No character development. Nada. Nil. Fin.
Anything the so-called "critics" love is bound to be a worthless piece of #@!$.
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