The raves are piling up for The Informers, Gregor Jordan’s ponderous sledgehammer of a moral metaphor, depressively edited from the wild, satirical Bret Easton Ellis novel. A “lurid trash compacter,” raves J. Hoberman. Rex Reed charitably dubs the film a “rancid load of swill” and a “rehash of every catatonic cliché.” CHUD’s Devin Faraci champions the film in “the race for the title Worst Film Ever Made.”
In such spirit of compassion and generosity, we’ll back off from that statement to nominate the final shot alone: After too many flouncing topless shots to count, Amber Heard is artfully framed on a cloudy beach: nude, covered with lesions, and dying of AIDS — a thuddingly exploitative metaphor for the rotting decadence of eighties L.A. VultureWatchers, have you ever seen a worse ending? It’s quite possible that Bret Easton Ellis himself does not believe he has.
In several recent interviews, Ellis has backed as far away from the film as he possibly can without violating contracts. “It’s hard to tell now, but it was supposed to be like criminals and vampires and girls and young people,” Ellis told Bookforum, hinting at Jordan’s utterly humorless approach. “I guess I’m the person who has to promote the movie. I would love it if Gregor was the one,” he delicately explained to the A.V. Club. The strongest assurance he could offer? “I’m on the same page with Gregor … in terms of … Well, in terms of being friendly and social with each other.”