I decided to call on the great detective Hercule Poirot to help me solve the mystery of who murdered I Know Who Killed Me, Lindsay Lohan’s first thriller. Although realizing this film died right before my eyes, I couldn’t figure out who was responsible for killing it. I asked Poirot if he thought it could be Lohan herself.

“Well, my dear, let’s examine the evidence,” Poirot  answered in that serious tone he uses whenever he’s dealing with someone less perceptive than himself -- which includes practically everyone. “Did Miss Lohan seem believable to you?”

I told Poirot I thought this troubled but talented actress nailed her dual role. She portrays Aubrey Fleming, a young community college student who’s a skilled pianist and budding writer, as well as Dakota Moss, a pole dancer in a sleazy strip joint. And I mentioned how much I admired the way she made me wonder if both were the same person or if Dakota was simply Aubrey’s alter ego. These two were definitely extremely different personalities, and Lohan projected each one very well in terms of their demeanor, language and attitude.

“Obviously, we can cross Miss Lohan off our list of suspects,” Poirot said. “Let’s take a look at the others.”

I then mentioned the people who should be considered -- and in their order of importance: screenwriter, director, supporting cast members, cinematographer, editor. “The screenwriter probably struck the first blow,” I offered. 

“That’s usually the case,” Poirot agreed. “What weapon could he have used?”

“An incoherent script,” I replied. “And I hated being able to pick out who kidnapped and tortured Aubrey very early in the movie. I feel extremely disappointed when I know ‘who done it’ before the main suspense kicks in.”

Poirot frowned as he declared, “So we can’t rule out the screenwriter here. What about the director?”

I shook my head in dismay. “The director also deserves close scrutiny. His uneven pacing prevented the film from breathing normally, and he included torture sequences that were too gory and grotesque for me. Still, certain scenes -- such as when Lohan’s character searches through a basement filled with hanging artificial legs -- did evoke suspense and show promise of better things to come from this filmmaker.”

“Hmm. We don’t seem to be shortening our list,” Poirot complained. “Can we at least skip over the supporting cast?”

“I wish we could, Mr. Poirot, but Julia Ormond and Neal McDonough -- two competent actors in their previous movies -- can’t be let off the hook,” I insisted. “Playing Aubrey’s worried parents, they fail to display any chemistry together, and their concern seems superficial. However, Brian Geraghty, as Aubrey’s boyfriend, comes across like a real person, so he should be eliminated as a suspect, in my opinion.”

 “Very well,” the master detective agreed. “Supporting cast members -- minus Mr. Geraghty -- remain on our list. That brings us to the cinematographer and editor. Why do you suspect them?”

“Because the movie appears drenched in artsy shots with blue accents, probably to make up for the ridiculous plot, and it moves frequently from one scene to another without much rhyme or reason,” I explained.

Poirot raised a well-waxed eyebrow, looked puzzled for a brief moment, then smiled slyly. “Have you heard of Murder on the Orient Express?” he asked.

“Isn’t that the Agatha Christie story in which all the suspects kill the victim?” I replied.

“I believe your mystery is similar,” Poirot concluded. “I'm convinced almost every one of the suspects here had a hand in the demise of I Know Who Killed Me.”

Who am I to argue with the great Hercule Poirot? This case is now closed.

(Released by Sony Pictures and rated “R” for graphic violence, including torture and disturbing gory images and for sexuality, nudity and language.)