Some time ago, I placed a personal moratorium on the use of the word “brutal” in my reviews. It’s a lazy adjective, so often overused, and used to such a generally hyperbolic effect that its real power has been diffused. But I’m bringing it out of the attic today. The Killer Inside Me, Michael Winterbottom’s adaptation of Jim Thompson’s classic crime novel, is a brutal piece of cinema, and it earns that descriptor more…