There are some sequels the world cries out for. The Godfather Part II. Aliens. Terminator 2. And then there’s Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, Part II, a film nobody wanted, nobody needed, and nobody remembers unless they accidentally rented it in 1996 because Blockbuster was out of Scream.
The original Henry (1986) was a gritty, nihilistic masterpiece that stared straight into the abyss and invited audiences to look at human evil without the Hollywood gloss. Part II, on the other hand, stares straight into a port-o-john and asks you to spend 90 minutes with the guy who cleans it. Literally. Henry’s new career path in this sequel is working for a portable toilet company. Nothing screams “serial killer gravitas” like watching Neil Giuntoli trudge through scenes that smell like urinal cakes and bad choices.
The Plot: Now with 40% More Toilets
The first Henry was disturbing because it felt real—ugly, uncompromising, and terrifyingly plausible. Part II feels disturbing because you can’t believe this script made it out of someone’s typewriter. Henry shacks up with Kai, a guy who moonlights as an arsonist for insurance scams. Because if you’re going to expand your business portfolio, why not diversify into both murder and arson?
Henry and Kai start working together, torching buildings and killing squatters along the way. Kai, who initially just wanted easy insurance money, suddenly decides he’s ready to go full Ted Bundy because Henry shows him the ropes. It’s like a buddy comedy, except instead of Rush Hour or Lethal Weapon, it’s Murdering People for Fun and Profit.
Meanwhile, Kai’s niece Louisa develops a crush on Henry. If you’ve ever fantasized about Neil Giuntoli brooding silently while a disturbed teenage girl tries to seduce him, congratulations: this movie was made just for you. For the other 7.9 billion of us, it’s about as romantic as watching your uncle make out with a fish.
The Characters: Diet Nihilism, Now With Less Flavor
Henry is back, but instead of Michael Rooker’s chilling emptiness, we get Neil Giuntoli, who plays him like a man permanently annoyed by a slow cashier at Walgreens. He’s not menacing—he’s tired. He looks less like a killer and more like a guy trying to return a defective blender at Sears.
Kai, played by Rich Komenich, is Henry’s new sidekick. He goes from arson hobbyist to full-blown murder apprentice faster than you can say “insurance fraud.” His wife Cricket, played by Kate Walsh (yes, future Grey’s Anatomy Kate Walsh, proving everyone has skeletons in their career closet), is the oblivious spouse who finally discovers her husband’s extracurricular homicide. And then there’s Louisa, who exists solely to throw herself at Henry in scenes that are equal parts uncomfortable and pointless, before finally killing herself so the plot can limp toward an ending.
The Murders: Sponsored by Low Lighting and Lower Ambition
The original Henry shocked because of its cold detachment. Murders happened casually, offhandedly, filmed in unflinching static shots that mirrored the banality of evil. Part II tries to replicate that but ends up looking like a student film that ran out of stage blood and decided ketchup packets would do in a pinch.
Every kill is either poorly lit, poorly acted, or both. Henry kills Rooter (the hilariously named local crime boss) after being roofied, because nothing screams “serial killer consistency” like revenge-murdering a drug dealer who slipped him a Mickey. Later, Louisa offs herself, and Henry immediately shoots Kai and Cricket in the most anticlimactic betrayal since The Godfather Part III ended with Sofia Coppola’s acting.
By the finale, Henry sets fire to the house and drives away, leaving the audience with the same thought he probably had: “Well, that was a waste of time.”
The Tone: Gritty, But Also Weirdly Boring
The first film was nihilistic, yes, but it was gripping. Part II manages the rare feat of being both grim and dull. It’s like watching someone read depressing news headlines out loud while stirring a bowl of oatmeal. The movie is bleak, but not in a way that makes you think—it’s bleak in the sense of, “Oh God, how many minutes are left?”
The cinematography looks like it was filmed through a sock. The soundtrack is so generic it feels like it was lifted from a “Suspenseful Music” cassette at RadioShack. And the pacing drags, with long stretches of people staring into space, talking about scams, or brooding in silence. It’s meant to feel atmospheric, but it mostly feels like punishment for not fast-forwarding.
The Code of Henry: Which Doesn’t Matter Anyway
One of the film’s big dramatic beats is Henry breaking his “code.” Supposedly, Henry doesn’t kill people he knows. Which is rich, because Henry doesn’t really seem like the kind of guy to have a code outside of “murder is fun.” But in Part II, after getting drugged at Rooter’s house, Henry kills Rooter and a buddy—violating his own rules. This should feel like a seismic moral event. Instead, it feels like the movie just wanted to pad its body count and couldn’t think of any more random strangers for Henry to kill.
Why This Exists: The Dollar Menu of Horror Sequels
You can almost hear the pitch meeting:
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“Remember Henry?”
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“Yeah, it was disturbing, raw, unforgettable.”
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“What if we made a sequel, but with none of that? Instead of Michael Rooker, we’ll get… whoever’s free. And instead of exploring the psychology of violence, we’ll have him work at a porta-potty company.”
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“Sold.”
It’s a cash-in sequel, but nobody brought the cash. Or the inspiration. Or the cinematographer.
The Verdict: A Portrait Better Left Unfinished
Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, Part II isn’t just bad—it’s insulting. It takes one of the most harrowing, unforgettable indie horrors of the ’80s and slaps together a lifeless follow-up that feels like a made-for-TV spinoff nobody asked for. It’s grimy without being scary, violent without being shocking, and exploitative without being interesting.
By the time Henry drives off into the night, leaving behind another pile of corpses, you’ll feel the same way Kai must have felt before his final barbecue: I want out.
