⚠️ WARNING: DISTURBING CONTENT ⚠️
HENRY: PORTRAIT OF A SERIAL KILLER (1986)
“He’s not Freddy. He’s not Jason. He’s real.”
This isn’t just horror. This is dread incarnate. A sickly road trip into the banality of evil where every motel feels like it’s been soaked in regret and cigarette ash since 1972.
Michael Rooker becomes the void. Flat voice. Blank stare. He doesn’t perform Henry. He leaks him.
This film is America without makeup. It doesn’t ask to be understood. It *dares* you to watch.
The ending? A suitcase. A goodbye. A void.
5/5 💀💀💀💀💀