The real question is why did anyone bother?

Henry Portrait of a Serial Killer, Part 2 has a lot of issues: poor script, shitty pace, wooden acting, dull plotting.   Then again, is it really all that?   Or is it just casting?  The first installment of the series was so good that it’s hard for me to be objective about what’s wrong here.  The plain truth is that no one on screen here is a fraction as  compelling as Michael Rooker’s demented Henry, or Tracy Arnold’s damaged Becky, or Tom Towles’s disturbed Otis.   It’s hard for me to gauge whether part two is really that bad or if it’s just not that good.  Maybe it’s my disappointment talking, right?  One thing’s for sure—despite this movie’s unflinching willingness to stare into the flat, dead eyes of senseless violence, it doesn’t hold a candle to the original.   It lacks the sense of a world drenched in ancient poverty and penetrated by the stench of hopelessness that made the first movie so believable and painful.  Somehow, amid all the grit and grunge, the first movie made you care about what happened to Becky, and maybe even to Otis and Henry, too.  Quite an accomplishment when you think about it—and something part two doesn’t come close to pulling off.  

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