there are men in movies doing secret jobs for secret people. the men have guns we are not surprised to see and hammers we are. there are worse people than these men and we will see first their grins that curtain evil and then we will see their brains. we are used to it. in ben wheatley’s ‘kill list’, it is not the surface violence that rattles but instead the violence of the underlying. there is a home life rendered in such detail that its residence is carried by the main male character to far away places not far enough. his female counterpart keeps home in a performance worthy of wife; she is keeping her man a man with kisses, encouragement, and cuts. he must remain real. their child is salve, and they both hover over not to protect but to be momentarily healed. the film is kitchen sink but only. humor and camp are not employed as décor. in its final scene, the lesson is clear that if one wishes to eat something, you kill it first or have it killed for you.
