Movie Review: I Know Who Killed Me
Jul 27, 2007 - Roger Moore
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Any lingering doubts that Lindsay Lohan's judgment isn't all it should be are answered with "I Know Who Killed Me," forever hereafter known as the movie that came out the week her personal life may have hit bottom. It's an unintentionally hilarious disaster, a movie seemingly built on wickedly ironic prescience.
What else would you call a film about a woman who loses a leg and is fitted with a rechargeable one that beeps, a movie starring an actress infamous for wearing (and ignoring) an alcohol detecting anklet?
Lohan isn't at her best playing a mutilated girl who claims she isn't who her friends and family and the cops say she is in this torture-porn fiasco. Its filmed as a lurid dream in 943 shades of blue - although "All Cheerleaders Die" director Chris Sivertson had a lot bigger problems than deciding which blue filter to use in this scene or that one. The script is shockingly tin-eared and inept.
The actress has been hearing this a lot this week, but here it is one more time. Lohan should have known better.
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Aubrey, her character, is a talented pianist and writer who fancies herself a novelist, scribbling out the sort of self-obsessed navel-gazing that 18-year-olds have been churning out since English was taught in high school.






