Ariel Vromen's The Iceman, a fictionalized account of the real-life hit-man Richard Kuklinski who was believed to have murdered between 100-250 people over his career, is a slow-burning thriller which ebbs away into wispy smoke instead of catching fire. Vromen reduces one of the most fascinating mass murderers in American history into the most basic stereotypes: an sociopathic killer who nevertheless passionately loves his family. Whether or not Kuklinski was an authentic family man is besides the point. Vromen goes diving into the depths of Kuklinski's mind only to come back up empty-handed. Expository scenes describing childhood abuse seem too perfunctory and his single-minded devotion to his wife and daughters is treated as an explanation of his character instead of a curiosity which could have propelled more fascinating explorations into his psyche. The methods that made Kuklinski so feared in real-life, such as his use of industrial freezers to chill murder victims for months so that the cops would be unable to properly determine the time of death, are either barely glanced over or ignored. Perhaps the most intriguing period of Kuklinski's life, his prolonged use of Manhattan as a training ground for the art of murder, is entirely ignored. Kuklinski is treated from the very beginning of the film as a totally competent, coolly unflinching master of his trade. By ignoring so many key things that made Kuklinski Kuklinksi instead of just another hired gun with a family, Vromen dilutes his central character to the cusp of tedium. The film's saving grace is Michael Shannon's performance as Kuklinski. If he had been afforded a better script or a better director, then I would not have been surprised if he had received an Oscar nomination.
6/10
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