BY MARGARET A. McGURK
The Cincinnati Enquirer

Dread washes over the opening scenes of Sling Blade.

A man drags a chair slowly across a room to sit beside a second man, who stares silently out a window. The first man begins talking, describing a murder. The silent listener only grunts.

Meanwhile, two painfully young women, little more than school girls, walk down a hall toward what we learn is an interview with a murderer, a murderer about to be released.

It's a moment redolent of horror, of mayhem to come, and it launches a film as riveting as a ghost story told around a campfire.

The center of the story is Karl Childers, a damaged human being who has spent decades in a mental institution because of a gruesome double murder. Because he has nowhere else to go, Karl returns to his hometown to make a life of his own. The movie is about what happens there; to say more would be unfair.

Billy Bob Thornton wrote and directed the movie. He also plays Karl in a haunting and original performance. It's rare to see a character in whom the actor never peeks through for an instant, but Karl is a pure creation.

As writer, Mr. Thornton tells a story of equal purity, densely woven with memory, senses, emotion and -- most unusual -- a destination in mind. Yet as director, his style is stripped almost bare, without a flashback or a dream sequence in sight.

Every element of the movie feels carefully chosen. John Ritter and Dwight Yoakam both play unexpected roles and deliver unexpected performances. Natalie Canerday as a single mother and Lucas Black as her son are revelations. Robert Duvall, in a part that is barely more than a cameo, raises gooseflesh.

Even Daniel Lanois' restrained, evocative score serves the story, enhancing its moods without intruding.

The movie was made for a relative pittance, and that may account for occasional technical flaws that arise from cramming everyone in front of a single camera.

Still, Sling Blade is an amazing achievement, a tragic story spun in measured tones that achieve the resonance folklore