Seven is a modern masterpiece of the thriller genre. Andrew Kevin Walker's disturbing script lacks neither thrills nor humanity. The performances are solid, and the camerawork is appropriately unsettling and moody.

Most telling of the film's purpose is it's opening, which features the daily routine of its central character, Detective Somerset. Only after this does the film cut to its first grisly murder scene. This is not a story about a nightmare; this is a story about humanity amidst a nightmare.

The credits sequence gives viewers both a glimpse into the practices of the serial killer's practices (long before he is introduced) and warns the audience that this film is not for the queasy with disturbingly shaky text and close-ups of a razor shaving skin from a finger.

And, if the queasy didn't leave during the credits sequence, they will during the investigation of the second homicide, which features a fatally obese man slumped face-down in a plate of spaghetti in his cockroach-infested home.

Seven's characters are well realized, and their histories and mannerisms are introduced early with a minimum of dialogue that flows naturally between them. And by 'flows naturally,' I don't mean that it flows the way most movie dialogue does. Conversations between the main characters, especially between Mills and Somerset, are in constant turmoil. The characters' dispositions each attempt to steer the conversation in different directions while continuing to discuss the topic at hand. The best example of this occurs quite early in the film, when Mills and Somerset are talking on the street. When Somerset asks Mills why he transferred to his city, Mills replies "I guess, the same reasons as you - the same reasons you had before you decided to quit, yeah?" Instead of answering Mill's question, Somerset stops in his tracks and says, "You - you just met me." And here, Mills has a chance to either explain his question or push the discussion forward. Instead, he stops and backs it up, somewhat awkwardly: "Maybe I'm not understanding the question." It's this kind of dialogue that serves the film so well: it is economical and compressed, as movie dialogue must be (unless you're Quentin Tarantino), and yet it has some of the awkwardness and brokenness of real speech.

Another example: when the police captain is sitting at a desk with Mills and Somerset, and Somerset is explaining that they have a serial killer on their hands, the phone next to the police captain rings. He stops Somerset, answers it, says "This isn't even my desk," and hangs up. The purpose? It didn't reveal character, and it didn't move the plot forward. That little moment happened just to break up the dialogue, to make things uneven and broken and messy. And that's exactly what this movie is.

The pictures composed in this film are very gothic. Hard, straight, cold lines are everywhere. Sharp points protrude into space. And it's always raining. This movie has no bones about what it is or what it is trying to do.

The movie is not afraid to shock its viewers with grotesque images, whether onscreen or in your mind. The most disturbing moment of the movie for me came when Somserset remarks about how the killer went to the trouble to 'insert tubes into his genitals.'

The movie is also not afraid to explore corruption of the police force. We hear that the police sell some information to the press if they pay well enough. And, our main characters are also corrupt. Our heroes are not perfect. Somerset and Mills pay an crooked member of the FBI under the counter for priveleged library records. Later, they pay a young woman to lie, saying she saw a suspicious man and called Somerset.

It is the the well-developed characters, smart dialogue, and dense atmosphere that keeps us intrigued until the first action sequence, more than an hour into the film. And when the action hits, it hits hard and fast. The on-foot chase sequence is brutal, messy, and uncertain at every corner. In some ways, it is similar to the excellent showdown in Open Range.

This late action sequence is also the first time we meet our serial killer. How can a film manage to avoid showing the antagonist for a full hour? His presence is felt in every moment of the film through his bizarre killings and clue-dropping. Because we do not actually see the villain's face or hear him speak, the movie actually continues to work this way after he is 'revealed', through the examination of his freakish apartment.

While the action and investigation scenes are solid and thrilling, the quieter moments provide us with touching vignettes of the characters we grow to love, and even tell us about life. When sitting at a bar, Somerset tells Mills that 'people don't want a champion. They want to eat cheeseburgers, play the lotto, and watch television.' John Doe points out that 'we see a deadly sin on every street corner, in every home, and we tolerate it. We tolerate it because it's common, it's trivial."

The film never ceases to surprise, least of all when the killer turns himself in at the precinct, and then offers the detectives a deal: he'll sign a full confession if they escort him to a place of his choosing. This sets up one of the best movie climaxes ever - which, of course, I will not spoil here.

Seven is the best serial killer movie since Silence of the Lambs, and proves that it's still possible to squeeze a fresh, powerful movie out of the tired genre. It is claustrophobic and intense, disturbing and disgusting, touching and important, shocking and unsettling. And brilliant.