This peculiar horror-thriller, a French/English co-production by the way, opens promising and rather intriguing with the unmasking of a demonic serial killer who calmly admits to the police inspector at his kitchen table that he's digging a hole in his garden to bury a murder victim and that he approximately has committed another twenty-four vile and sardonic murders. The maniac, Mr. Frost, is then institutionalized and doesn't speak another word anymore, until he's transferred to a new psychiatric clinic where he sees the opportunity to manipulate the lovely female Dr. Sarah Day. From here onwards, "Mr. Frost" quickly turns into a dull, formulaic and excessively talkative bunch of nonsense. Mr. Frost attempts to convince Sarah that he is the devil himself, and although she doesn't want to believe him, she can't explain why other patients in the clinic suddenly turn into a murderous beasts or why fellow staff members narrowly throw themselves from the roof. Sarah also gets into contact with the cop who arrested Mr. Frost and this leads the stupidest and most implausible romantic sub plot in the history of cinema. Many of my fellow reviewers state that the film is worth watching if only for Jeff Goldblum's amazing performance, but I don't agree. Goldblum is good, obviously, but he can't carry an entire movie that is extremely boring and derivative. The photography and settings are uninspired, the action sequences are sleep-inducing and all other lead performances (from Kathy Baker and particularly Alan Bates) are abominable. In fact, the only part of "Mr. Frost" that I really enjoyed was the – too – brief cameo appearance by Vincent Schiavelli.
Review of Mister Frost
