"We're kind of old fashioned. Out here, you say, 'Yes ma'am,' and 'No, ma'am' to anything with a skirt on. Out here, if you catch a man with his pants down, you apologize, even if you have to arrest him afterwards. Out here you're a man and a gentleman, or you aren't anything at all. And God help you if you're not."
It's interesting that the sheriff's example of police activity is catching a man with his pants down. The Killer Inside Me takes the position that innocent times were a product of character crippling repression, which could rupture and contaminate the morality of a man. Affleck is in a process of self-discovery: he's genuinely surprised when transferred to the insane asylum, though he doesn't dispute the matter, and doesn't assert who he really is.
It's difficult to not make some rather severe character judgements. The homicidal sheriff, played by Casey Affleck, is horribly depraved, brutal, and savage. He exploits the innocence and trust of a small Texas county and almost single-handedly shatters the lives of at least a dozen people. He bludgeons a woman to near death with leather-gloved fists. Worse, he's completely unconflicted.
But the problem with judgements is they sometimes limit a total understanding of a character, and deeper shades of truth can be overlooked. There's an evil magnetism to this character. The intricacies of his madness are the focus of the film, and the viewer experiences along with the town a confrontation with incomprehensible violence. The way the local police can capture him is by understanding who he is, the spiritual emptiness of one of their gentlemen.
Winterbottom filled all surrounding roles with great actors who each help intensify and expand the scope of the story, and the performances and material are equally impressive. The film investigates people while it investigates the crime. You feel horrible for most of them, for even knowing the guy, and because they somehow feed the flames of his madness. One unnerving scene involves Affleck smoking a cigar while lying on his bed, chatting with a couple men accusing him of killing five people and motivating the suicide of another.
The extraordinary accuracy in the depiction of Jessica Alba's near death is impossible to enjoy. I wouldn't like to have dinner with a person who doesn't have to close their eyes during the scene. Like the abortion in Enter the Void, the scene overloads me. In The Killer Inside Me, the scene's sickness is that it enhances the theme of trust as sadomasochism (and is an example of this in a viewer-filmmaker way). It's crucial because it exposes aspects of the character a healthy mind might not even imagine, it's a temporary window into the sheriff's dark soul. It's the same perverse genius that makes Jim Thompson's story work.
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