Movie Review: I Know Who Killed Me

Bombastically awful, Lindsey Lohan's latest project is by far the up and coming actress' worst career move yet. Not even trashy, porno styled strip teases and the voluptuous Lohan's first sex scene will attract audiences' attention away from this convoluted garbage being hawked as a movie. You know who killed me? Tristar Pictures, by releasing a film that is so terrible it honestly has to be seen to be believed.

After being kidnapped and being subjected to the ever popular "torture porn", this time involving dry ice and amputation, Aubrey (Lohan) is discovered alive by the side of a dark rural road. Missing an arm and a leg, her parents rush to their daughter's hospital bed only to find that Aubrey appears to be having a major case of amnesia. The once intelligent, moral and musically talented Aubrey claims to be Dakota, a sleazy stripper from the city who never seems to have to remove her lingerie. Is it really amnesia, or is Dakota telling the truth and this truly is a case of mistaken identity?

Incompetently directed by Chris Siverston, whose only notable credit includes helming a documentary of Tobee Hooper's straight to video flick The Toolbox Murders, the director seems to not have learned anything by observing the veteran horror filmmaker. Working off a contrived script from first time screenwriter Jeff Hammond, Siverston applies ridiculous style and lame-duck special effects to try and cover up the gaping plot holes, paltry cinematography, expository dialogue and heavy-handed symbolism.

The film is so poorly shot that one has to give editor Lawrence Jordan credit for trying to create some kind of a narrative out of this nonsensical garbage. Sporting bizarre blue hues that clearly give away the film's whodunit mystery early in the game and more fade to black transitions than a student film, I Know Who Killed Me gets more absurd with each passing minute. Siverston doesn't even try to breathe a bit of self awareness or camp into the film, instead it takes it self dead seriously, killing the performance of the usually palatable Lindsey Lohan.

With each passing moment the film becomes more illogical. Claiming not to have been kidnapped, but rather that her limbs magically atrophied and detached, Dakota starts to think that Aubrey could be her twin sister. In between sleeping with Aubrey's student/athlete boyfriend, Brian Geraghty who gawks in bewilderment as a naked Lohan acts out a trashy sex scene with one leg, Dakota starts investigating the phenomena of twins sharing traumatic injuries. Could this be the clue to her missing limbs or is this just a drug induced remake of Lohan's Parent Trap?

Unlike her other films, where Lohan has looked adorably radiant, the dyed black hair, harsh lighting and off screen substance abuse have sadly taken a toll on the actress' once pleasing appearance and the bizarre screenplay murders any chance of her proven acting ability helping the film rise above these inconsistencies. I Know Who Kill Me is surprising only for the fact that the film should arouse sympathy for the actress. It really is that bad. However the film does walk a fine line between being entirely unwatchable and perhaps achieving a cult status for its trashiness, approaching the comedic genius of films like Showgirls. Under the right circumstances I Know Who Killed Me can be the funniest film of 2007, too bad it is also one of the worst.