Let’s talk about Psychic Killer—a film that promises astral projection, supernatural powers, and vengeance, but delivers something closer to watching a potato slowly rot while you wait for a punchline that never arrives. Directed by Ray Danton and starring Paul Burke and Jim Hutton (in what would be their final theatrical films), Psychic Killer is like the B-movie equivalent of a bad high school drama project that somehow got greenlit, had a budget, and then promptly squandered it on the most lazily constructed supernatural premise of all time.
Plot: A Supernatural Snooze Fest
The story of Psychic Killer is so predictable that even the most easily entertained horror fan will find themselves yawning. Arnold Masters (Jim Hutton) is an innocent man wrongly imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit because a doctor refused to save his dying mother. For some reason, instead of just writing letters to the medical board or—oh, I don’t know—getting revenge with some well-placed legal action, Arnold decides that astral projection is the best way to exact his vengeance. Yes, astral projection, because what says “revenge” better than floating around in spirit form and killing people from the comfort of your own self-imposed coma?
What follows is a cavalcade of overly dramatic “revenge killings” of people who were mildly involved in Arnold’s life or—more likely—the screenwriters’ half-remembered notes about revenge plots from late-night movies. There’s the court-appointed psychiatrist, the nurse who ignored Arnold’s mother’s needs, and even the police officer who dared to arrest Arnold. It’s like the revenge checklist for people with way too much time on their hands, sprinkled with the occasional “who cares?” moment.
The fact that these deaths are made to look like accidents? Hilarious. One might almost think the movie was trying to be a dark comedy instead of an earnest thriller. But no—it’s not. It’s just… bad.
The Acting: Mostly Bored, Occasionally Confused
Let’s be honest. If you’re expecting award-winning performances in Psychic Killer, you’re in for a rude awakening. Jim Hutton, trying his best to give Arnold some depth, looks like a man who would rather be anywhere else. His performance is about as convincing as a cardboard cutout of someone trying to feel emotion. At one point, Hutton’s character is supposed to be in an astral projection trance, but instead, he looks like he’s just fallen asleep on the couch after too much spaghetti. It’s a miracle that the film even bothered to wake him up for the finale.
As for Paul Burke’s performance as the police lieutenant, Jeff Morgan, well, let’s just say he plays the world’s least competent detective. Morgan spends the entire film looking like he’s just been told his coffee has gone cold and has the same level of engagement with the plot as a man reluctantly picking up dry cleaning. When the big reveal happens—Arnold is dying while in his astral form, and his physical body is being cremated—the only thing you’ll be feeling is regret, not because of the plot twist, but because the whole thing feels like a missed opportunity to make a more coherent film. Burke looks about as surprised as you are.
The Horror: Floating Bodies and an Endless Walk of Shame
You’d think that a film about astral projection and psychic powers would have some, I don’t know, thrills—but no. Psychic Killer drags its feet through what feels like an eternity of bad wigs, bland visuals, and lifeless deaths. Arnold kills people by entering their minds like some deranged spirit babysitter, and while you’d think that might be creepy, it’s about as unsettling as watching a man sip tea. The “horror” moments are a mix of half-hearted gore and the sheer, unintentional hilarity of watching a man’s astral body flail about in a montage that looks like an outtake from a Star Trek episode.
When Arnold’s astral form gets trapped in a crematorium oven (because apparently astral projection has no safeguards), it’s as thrilling as watching someone get stuck in a revolving door. The scene is so over-the-top that it feels less like a chilling moment of terror and more like an “oh, here we go” moment of narrative absurdity. I mean, it’s hard to feel any dread when you’re chuckling at the sheer incompetence of the filmmaking.
The Cinematography: A Long, Drawn-Out Nap
The film’s cinematography might as well have been done by a sleeping cat with a camera. There’s nothing dynamic or interesting about the way Psychic Killer looks—it’s as if the film’s budget was spent on making sure the actors had something resembling clothes. The movie is more concerned with showing people in overly lit rooms, staring blankly at each other, than with actually creating tension or atmosphere. The set design could’ve been pulled out of any number of 70s television shows, with the kind of sterile, underwhelming quality that makes the whole experience feel like you’re watching a soap opera on a particularly lazy day.
Conclusion: A Film So Slow, It Could Be a Meditation Exercise
In the end, Psychic Killer is one of those movies that is only memorable for how utterly forgettable it is. It’s a dull, muddled mess of poorly executed supernatural tropes, flat acting, and an unoriginal story. The premise has promise, but the film spends most of its runtime in a coma, slowly dragging its feet through a fog of ineptitude. If you want to watch a film where the only thing that gets killed is your interest, Psychic Killer is the movie for you. The only thing it has going for it is that it ends, and even then, the final moments are more comical than chilling.
