I've never much liked the movie Se7en, mainly for storytelling reasons -- the first two-thirds of the movie are very engrossing, and the last scene is absolutely chilling. What gets me is that I always feel a huge disconnect between the first two acts and the third act, as if the writers, having gone from point A to point B, couldn't figure out how to logically get to point C, so they just copped out by having "the Killer" simply walk into the police station. When I first saw the film in the theater, I just felt the air going right out of the movie when that happened, and instead of watching the final scene in growing horror, I was basically sitting back and saying, "OK, so how does he kill Gwyneth Paltrow?" (Because frankly, if you couldn't see the Gwyneth Paltrow character's horrible demise coming a mile away -- the fact of it, if not the precise manner -- then you simply don't have a pulse. It's what Roger Ebert calls "the Law of Economy of Characters" at work.)
But that last scene is certainly a good scene, and had it existed in a context that made more sense, I'd be among the chorus of voices deeming the film utterly brilliant.
So where's the weirdness, you ask? Well, it's in seeing that final scene enacted using stuffed animals. Now that's just wrong.