The worst abominations are the deathly dull ones. Open, class, to “Chapter 27”: a plodding, unpleasant, dreary, ineptly shot and all-round offensive attempt to get into the “mind” of the murderer of John Lennon, played by Jared Leto under pounds and pounds of add-on avoirdupois. A little Tyler Durden in the morning’s all Leto’s character needs: one good punch to the self-importance and all the wind in J. P. Schaefer’s ill-advised exercise in assassin hagiography would expire. Putting on seventy pounds or shouldering on the mantle of an irredeemable cockroach doesn’t in and of itself make for savvy, insight or entertainment: this is the kind of storytelling that would make a committed student of sociopathology like Dostoevsky giggle, hiss and toss his popcorn at the screen. Lesser luminaries who happen into this terrible movie may do the same. And if J. D. Salinger paid any mind to the phonies who’ve co-opted Holden Caulfield’s disdain of “phonies,” he’d likely be aggravated for five, ten minutes or so. Some newspapers have chosen in their news coverage not to publish the names of murderers who’ve committed their crimes for posthumous self-glorification; a similar choice was made here. If you care, you already know the name of the character played by Leto. “Zodiac” rises on angel’s wings compared to this hellish trash. With Lindsay Lohan as an apocryphal Beatles fan named “Jude” and Judah Friedlander as a paparazzo. 85m. (Down from its 100m Sundance premiere.) (Ray Pride)
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