Mr. Brooks

Kevin Costner and Demi Moore were such giants of eighties cinema that, even now, seeing their names in a credit sequence is a little like reading ‘Godzilla and Mecha-Godzilla – Together At Last!’ In keeping with the talent and the era when they roamed the earth, Mr. Brooks looks and sounds high-concept right down to the cheap Dexter-ish thrills. In truth though, writer-director Bruce A. Evans has whipped up something commendably sui generis in tone.
By day, Kevin Costner is the Man Of The Year. By night, he’s a notorious serial killer aided and abetted by his alter ego Marshall (Hurt). Demi Moore is the millionaire cop (no, really) on his trail.
In this delightfully heightened universe everywhere we look there are more serial killers, wannabe serial killers and ne’er-do-wells. Indeed, Mr Brooks’ sickness seems to slowly infect the entire film. The screenplay, like our anti-hero, is compellingly schizoid, dashing between dark psychology, sick family melodrama, comedy and comic-book villainy. A marvellously twisted denouement is the cherry on top.