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Watching Untraceable Doesn’t Make You A Sick Individual

From beheadings to horses getting head, your main critic with a did-dick Ayo! Scott has seen it all online. I’m not proud of my voyeurism (especially after I wipe up my skeet with a dirty sock), but Curiosity isn’t just a limber ladyboy I found in the back pages of The Village Voice. Does the overwhelming desire to watch disturbing shit really make me a bad person?

This is the question you’ll be asking yourself while peeping the Diane Lane thriller Untraceable, which comes out on DVD today. Lane, my 43-year-old wet dream girl, plays an FBI agent on the hunt for a serial killer who broadcasts his murders live online. The catch is that he’s not technically the one killing people; torture devices are hooked up to his Killwithme.com site’s hit counter, so increased traffic accelerates a victim’s death and anyone who logs on becomes an accomplice to murder. (Thankfully nobody has set this up in real life because we already have enough Internet thugs pretending they’re killers. Come see Ayo! Scott, you cock goblins!)

A lot of serial killer flicks thrust a dull message into your gut, but Untraceable was sharp enough to get me thinking. Maybe the movie is hypocritical for depicting torture to entertain me, then suggesting I’m an asshole for digging it, but I can enjoy a torture scene without analyzing it to death. Personally, I like to just watch Lane from afar with a cold one in one hand and a hot one in the other. It does the trick for me until there’s online video of her husband, that motherfucking lucky asshole James Brolin, involved in equestrian bukkake. See the trailer for Untraceable after the break.