Synopsis:
Anna Paquin bankrolls her husband's attempt at making a movie.
Review:
Fuck this film. Two spree/serial killers take up residence in a house for sale while it's being shown. They kill everyone that shows up for the next few days because it's the quietest and most remote and uneventful suburb in the fucking country. You might remember Cher from the TV show Clueless slumming it as the lead. Paquin's got a cameo.
Anyhow, to put it in terms people around here understand: in the relationship, the psycho chick is the top and the psycho dude is the bottom. He decides to be subversive at the start by kidnapping Cher and keeping her hidden from psycho chick because ... eh, they try to wrap that up by the end but you don't exactly buy into it. She's a witness to his killing someone. That's his end of the plot. Cher's is even more baffling as she constantly falls back on the belief a multiple murderer has sympathy specifically for her and wants to "get out of the life" despite shanking any unexpected visitors that come to his doorstep. Trustworthy dude, that one.
They also have the luckiest and most impeccable taste in victims, because no cops ever show up at all to investigate the half dozen people reported missing in the last week who all seem to have one key geographic location in common, some of whom are blue-collar workers with daily appointments and, presumably, families to support who'd notice them being absent.
Verdict:
Anna needs to convince her husband to stay at home with the kids so he doesn't fuck up any more movies.