The Minus Man Movie Review

I’m still trying to figure out how to look at The Minus Man. Either it’s supposed to be a dark, black comedy, or it’s supposed to be a thoughtful, pensive drama/thriller a la Sling Blade.

Either way, it’s a dismal failure.

And it has so much going for it. Owen Wilson, who was so great in films like Bottle Rocket. Janeane Garofalo, who I like pretty much universally. Hampton Fancher, who adapted the screenplay for Blade Runner. What’s not to like?

Turns out: Everything.

The Minus Man takes as its premise that your average, thirtysomething, white male is the most likely serial killer around. Vann (Owen Wilson) fits the profile perfectly, a quiet, blonde, super-polite drifter who poisons people at random. The town of Owensville is no different, as Vann randomly offs people, narrating to himself along the way along with two imaginary cops.

There’s a romance of sorts, with Garofalo as a postal worker smitten with Vann, and her screen time turns out to be the only stuff worth watching. The rest of the film is interminable, boring, and ultimately plotless, meandering from scene to scene with no discernable direction. Frankly, I gave up on The Minus Man after 30 minutes. Turned out there were 90 more to go.

I don’t know what the ultimate point of this film was supposed to be. That there are crazy people all around? That life and film can ultimately lack meaning? That rock stars (Sheryl Crow) can do whatever they want? That once-great actors and writers can produce junk now and again?

Methinks it’s the lattermost.





Minus stars.