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As with asteroids, volcanoes and Truman Capote, the world now has two movies about Beatle-banger Mark David Chapman. The slightly superior twin, The Killing of John Lennon, barely redeems its lurid voyeurism with a certain stylistic integrity and a smoldering lead performance. Jarrett Schaefer’s excrement is the runt, with a bilious Leto eschewing subtle immersion for bombastic Travis Bickle caricature. Chapman’s villainy isn’t tragic or misunderstood; it’s simple insanity. To dwell on it is to wallow in pain. Elevate yourself, and stay away.