To Catch a Killer

The ghost of the 1990s procedural hasn't left us; it’s just been priced out of the local multiplex. While I was watching To Catch a Killer, my neighbor was out front power-washing his driveway for three straight hours. The rhythmic, industrial drone of the water hitting concrete actually synced up weirdly well with Carter Burwell’s cold, mechanical score. It felt appropriate for a film that tries so hard to strip the glamour away from the "genius serial killer" trope and replace it with the cold, wet reality of police work in a city that’s seen better days.

Directed by Damián Szifron—the Argentinian filmmaker who gave us the darkly hilarious Wild Tales (2014)—this was supposed to be his big Hollywood arrival. Instead, it arrived in 2023 with the footprint of a mouse and vanished from theaters before most people even knew how to spell the director's name. It’s a "forgotten" film that’s barely a year old, a victim of a streaming-first landscape where if you aren't wearing a cape or holding a lightsaber, you're basically invisible at the box office.

A 90s Soul in a 2020s Body

The setup feels like a classic "throwback" to the era of Se7en or The Silence of the Lambs. During a New Year’s Eve celebration in Baltimore, a sniper begins picking off revelers from a high-rise. It’s a terrifying, clinical sequence that avoids the usual action-movie bombast. It feels like a genuine tragedy rather than a set piece. Enter Shailene Woodley as Eleanor Falco, a beat cop with "a history" (the classic cinematic shorthand for "she’s depressed and has scars"). She’s spotted by Ben Mendelsohn’s Geoffrey Lammark, an FBI lead who sees her potential and recruits her to the task force.

What I appreciate about this movie is how it engages with the now. It doesn’t pretend we aren't living in a polarized, social-media-obsessed era. The investigation is constantly hampered by departmental politics, the 24-hour news cycle, and the crushing pressure to "produce a body" to satisfy the public. The movie treats Baltimore like a rainy grey tomb where joy goes to die, and while the film was actually shot in Montreal (a classic budget-saving move), the cinematography by Javier Julia captures that oppressive, bone-chilling winter dampness that makes you want to wrap yourself in a wool blanket immediately.

The Mendelsohn Masterstroke

If you’ve seen Ben Mendelsohn in Ready Player One or as a Skrull in the MCU, you know he’s a pro. But here, he’s doing something much more subtle and weary. He plays Lammark not as a super-detective, but as a guy who is profoundly tired of being the smartest person in a room full of bureaucrats. His chemistry with Shailene Woodley is the heart of the film. Woodley, who also produced this, leans into the internalised trauma of her character without overacting. She’s playing someone who understands the killer because she’s also standing on the edge of the same abyss, which is a bit of a cliché, but they sell it with quiet, hushed conversations rather than big screaming matches.

Then there’s Ralph Ineson. You might recognize his gravelly, deep-timbered voice from The Witch or The Green Knight. He doesn't show up until late in the game, but his presence shifts the movie's energy entirely. It moves from a standard police procedural into something more philosophical and, frankly, much darker. The film’s original title was Misanthrope, which is a far better, if less "marketable," description of what this movie is actually about. It’s an exploration of people who have simply reached their limit with modern society.

The Vanishing Act of the Mid-Budget Thriller

Why did this movie fail to make a dent? It grossed just over $3 million globally. In the 90s, this would have been a solid October hit with a three-week run at number one. In 2023, it was dumped into a handful of theaters with a marketing campaign that made it look like a generic VOD action flick. It also suffered from a "wait for streaming" attitude that has plagued adult dramas since the pandemic.

The irony is that To Catch a Killer is exactly the kind of movie people claim they want more of: an original story (not based on a comic book), featuring great actors giving grounded performances, and a director with a distinct visual style. Apparently, actually going to the theater for a movie that doesn't feature a post-credits scene is too much to ask of the modern audience. It’s a shame, because the third act of this film contains a confrontation that is genuinely tense and avoids the "big shootout" ending we’ve seen a thousand times.

It isn't a perfect film—the pacing in the middle drags a bit, and some of the "struggling cop" tropes feel like they were lifted from a 1980s screenplay—but it has a weight to it. It’s a movie about the cost of violence, not the thrill of it. It’s the kind of film you find on a Tuesday night on a streaming platform and wonder, How did I miss this?

I’m glad I found this one, even if I’m a year late to the party. It’s a cold, calculated, and ultimately very human thriller that deserves a second life on the small screen. If you’re in the mood for something that respects your intelligence and doesn't feel the need to explode every fifteen minutes, track this one down. Just make sure you have a warm drink nearby; the Baltimore winter on screen is enough to give you a phantom chill.