Not really a horrorfilm, not really a crime thriller, but still standard in every way. The Alphabet Killer is on paper quite a different, reality-based serial killer thriller sporting emphasis on character and complexities of perception, but in the end it’s basically just two average halves forming an average whole that gradually falls apart.

Loosely based on the actual rape and murders of three young girls in Rochester, New York, it’s a basic run of the mill serial killer thriller, but with the odd addition of ghosts. The film reunites Wrong Turn helmer Rob Schmidt with Eliza Dushku who takes a sorta-believable turn as police detective slash mental case Megan Paige, who sets out to uncover the mysterious killings that to this day remain unsolved.

The murders are updated from the 1970s to present day Rochester and the names have been changed, but the triple initials that run through the victims first and last name as well as the suburb in which they are found, are still the same. Writer/producer/actor Tom Malloy takes his offset in existing theories about who the killer could have been and then lets go of objective realism completely. The complexities of the case is used as a catalyst, but are then sidelined to make way for the far more psychologically motivated ghost-story that plays out in the head of our confused protagonist. You see, Miss Dushku is haunted by the ghosts of the slain girls, and even if that is an interesting variation on the traditions of the serial killer flick, it’s not enough to carry half the film as a full fledged horrorstory. Ghosts simply aren’t scary when you know who they are and you’re pretty certain they’ll never ever harm your protagonist.

The film shifts back and forth between the unstable reality of our heroine and the unfolding of the criminal case. Some things work, some things don’t, but the real problem is the blending of the two, which gives the film as a whole a lack of direction. Acting’s a problem as well, with Dushku not quite delivering the spectre the complex character demands, and Cary Elwes once again proving that he has no place in anything but stupid comedies. Supporting cast is given weight and credibility, though, by Timothy Hutton, Michael Ironside and a clean cut Bill Moseley who easily dominate every shot they appear in. Still, given the massive lumps of ridiculous dialogue that sometimes show up like turds on a sidewalk here, even seasoned veterans occasionally find themselves on unstable grounds.

Malloy’s script does this from time to time throughout. Every once in a while the otherwise completely acceptable script is disrupted by either stupid dialogue, unmotivated actions or scary scenes that aren’t scary. These lumps clog up the flow of the film and undermines credibility to a degree that sometimes renders the film unwillingly laughable. The same thing happened in Wrong Turn, but it seemed more as if on purpose there. Here it’s a problem for the film as a serious work, but it does make for good laughs. In the end I was laughing more than anything, as the plot took familiar twists and the ghost-part of the story became more and more ridiculous. Still the story holds so much potential that I would have rather not.

Missed potential, bad scripting and a general sense of standard fare are the keywords here, so if you’re looking for cheap laughs, bordering believable entertainment and something to throw away 90 minutes on, go for it. If you want substance and mood from your serial killer films, go rewatch a David Fincher film.