One of Britain’s more notorious serial killers, John Christie claimed at least eight victims in the 1940s and ’50s. Thankfully, given its potency, 10 Rillington Place depicts precious few. The film by The Boston Strangler director Richard Fleischer limits itself to events in 1949, when the down-on-their-luck Evans family rents a room in Christie’s flat.

A thumb of a man in unassuming suspenders and spectacles, Christie (Richard Attenborough) redefines manipulative with his new tenants, illiterate workingman Tim (John Hurt, 2014’s Hercules) and brand-new mother Beryl (Judy Geeson, Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush). Christie possesses a roving eye and accompanying urges for Mrs. Evans. When she gets pregnant again — not ideal as they’re barely scraping by — Christie all too eagerly volunteers to perform a scraping of his own.

From there, 10 Rillington Place goes to horrific places. Time has not diluted the film’s ability to shock, not even for watchers desensitized by contemporary true-crime series about Jeffrey Dahmer, Ted Bundy and their sick ilk. While staged with professional excellence by Fleischer, the movie’s primary source of impact is Attenborough. His childlike psychopath will forever change subsequent viewings of his happy-go-lucky Dr. Hammond in Jurassic Park. His Christie is unforgettable. In one scene, Attenborough seamless goes from confident to terrified to calm to sexual over the course of a single action. He’s perfect casting.

Ditto for Hurt, whose beleaguered Tim undergoes a transition from boarish to sympathetic in the face of tragedy. Make no mistake, the real-life events within the Notting Hill address were nothing less. While Fleischer dares to “go there,” so to speak, Rillington never feels tacky or crass. After all, it’s just a movie, standing in front of a viewer, asking them to relive it. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Before we discuss Follow Her, we have to talk about its screenwriter and lead actress, Dani Barker. You’re less likely to have heard of her from her credits (The Scarehouse, anyone?) than you are her YouTube documentary series, Starvival. As a struggling actress in NYC across its two seasons, she answered oddball audition ads, recording the suspicious encounters — from skeevy to phony, like being tickled for an hour — via hidden camera to warn fellow women and, yes, to get her name out there.

Now, in Follow Her, Barker plays Jess, a fictionalized version of herself. Jess does the same undercover work for the cash and the likes, all while Dad implores her to get a “real” job. While I find the Barker of yesteryear’s Starvival cloying, the Barker of Follow Her has gifted her talents quite the showcase. Directed by Sylvia Caminer (the Rick Springfield documentary An Affair of the Heart), the movie stands tall on its own merits, but is even more interesting once you know about its real-life origins.

After responding to an ad seeking an “attractive female writer” to help finish an erotic thriller script, Jess realizes she may have crossed a line in her quest for influencer infamy. After all, the guy (Luke Cook, TV’s Chilling Adventures of Sabrina) wants to meet in an uncrowded park and invites her to his remote barn. Despite all the red flags unfurled, she accepts, and most of Follow Her depicts the evening — perhaps her last — as it unfolds.

Although Barker gives a terrific performance, her script impresses most. To her immense credit, I wasn’t always sure what was on the up and up. The plot is so well-structured, I kept wondering whether the story would end up at Door A or Door B, only to arrive at a third option I hadn’t considered. Cook’s intensity matches Barker’s vulnerability as their characters play games both psychological and physical. With so much of it occurring in a single location among two people, the picture exudes a refreshing degree of intimacy, almost as if presented for the stage. It may sound like overpraise, but I sensed some Deathtrap vibes for the entirety of the second act; for this stretch, Ira Levin might be, if not proud, at least a smidge jealous. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.