Matt Dillon stars as Jack, a mild-mannered serial killer who recounts five incidents that happened to him in a span of twelve years. First, he picks up an annoying stranded motorist (Uma Thurman) who gets on his nerves so much that he has to bash her face in with a jack. The second has him posing as a police officer to gain entrance into a widower’s home so he can kill her. The next incident finds Jack hunting a family in the woods. The fourth involves him trying to have a “normal” relationship with a woman (Riley Keough). The final story is about Jack’s method to cause the maximum amount of death with the smallest amount of effort.
Lars Von Trier made a powerful film here. It’s structured almost like an anthology. Each segment has its own distinct style. The first feels like a recreation on a true crime TV show. The second is almost like a macabre black comedy with Dillon’s OCD forcing him to perpetually revisit the scene of the crime and keep cleaning up. The third plays out like a variation on The Most Dangerous Game. The next one is reminiscent of an edgy ‘90s indie drama. The final incident could’ve come out of a Human Centipede spin-off. This isn’t a movie for the faint of heart as Von Trier offers many stomach-churning moments along the way (like the baby duck scene). There’s also a scene involving a woman’s boob that I am not likely to forget any time soon.
Dillon is terrific, alternately playing cold, comedic, rugged, intense, and manic. There are humorous sequences where he looks like he stepped out a Farrelly brothers movie and others in which he is downright coldhearted and bloodthirsty. This is definitely one of his best performances in a long career of great performances.
What’s interesting is that among the five “incidents” there are many more murders detailed that Jack throws in there almost as a bonus. Like your typical serial killer, he can’t help bragging, and slips these extra anecdotes in there almost to show you how clever he is. He also goes on about such mundane things as architecture, winemaking, and fighter planes with the same level of detail as his killings, which shows just what a wacko he is as he can’t distinguish the intricacies of murder with so-called “normal” conversation.
The House That Jack Built is near-perfect for about two hours or so until Von Trier arrives at the totally unnecessary epilogue. Some may enjoy the hellish nature of the finale, but I personally feel it was overblown and heavy-handed. If the movie ended with Jack’s “house” being built, it would’ve been a masterpiece. Then again, I may feel different about it if I see it again somewhere down the line. I don’t know when that will be because it’s a rather hard pill to swallow. It is truly one of the most unsettling movies of the past twenty years.
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