Making a Murderer: Justice & Filmmaking

I am making a habit of being late to the party with true crime documentaries. Making a Murderer caused a splash when it premiered on Netflix in December, but I just finished watching it last week. And boy am I glad I finally got around to it.

Over ten episodes, the documentary gives us the story of Steven Avery, a Wisconsin man who was accused of rape in his twenties and languished in prison for 18 years before being exonerated by new DNA evidence. Two years after his release, he was accused of murder, and the show examines the investigation, trials, and multiple miscarriages of justice that could lead Steven back into prison when he once again protests his innocence. 

The show is not easy to watch and requires your patience. The first two episodes are concerned with Steven's rape conviction and subsequent exoneration - that was enough of a rollercoaster that I thought that was the focus of the show, forgetting the fact that it had to involve murder at some point. However, once we get into the murder, the show really picks up steam, managing to be both meticulous yet fascinating at the same time. You are introduced to Steven's defense attorneys, Dean Strang and Jerome Buting, who are represented as avenging angels taking on the entire State of Wisconsin to defend this man that they wholly believe to be innocent. Strang in particular is a real-life Atticus Finch, given to eloquent monologues about the toll an accusation can take on a man's reputation and the duty of the justice system to grant everyone a fair trial. His high-minded ideals lend a great deal of pathos to the proceedings, getting you even more invested in this bizarre trial that has so many twists and turns that it feels more like a John Grisham novel than real life. 

The documentary also heavily features Steven's parents, who cannot believe what is happening to their son all over again. There is also full coverage of Steven's nephew's trial, as he is implicated in the murder and is subjected to his own heinous set of judicial misfortunes. You get to hear his phone calls from prison to his mother, and no matter what you think about his guilt or innocence, there is no denying that the piteous moment when he tells her, "I'm stupid," is heartbreaking. Considering that the series covers a span of time from 1985 to 2015, it's astonishing to revisit these people as time passes, to watch their pain and worry become permanently etched into their features. 

Filmmakers Moira Demos and Laura Ricciardi deserve a great deal of acclaim for this series. I found it moving and gripping and was thoroughly compelled by the trial proceedings. Unfortunately, the final episodes took a bit of a turn that reminded me that documentaries don't necessarily tell the whole truth. I realized that I was consistently presented with Steven's side of the story, and while the defense were the heroes of the piece, the prosecution were thoroughly demonized. Much of the series' focus is on how the town hated the Avery family, making them a target for police suspicion and persecution. But one can't help feel that this documentary is now turning the tables and persecuting the people who were against the Avery's. Granted, none of those people are in prison, but there is a sense that the filmmakers did all they could to uphold Steven's innocence and glance over any unsavory facts about his reputation, while subsequently digging up all the filth they could about his enemies. 

Ultimately, Making a Murderer is a thought-provoking piece of television that will make you question the justice system and give you a lot more respect for the men and women who fight for the rights of the accused. However, it can only raise questions, not answer them, and it leaves you with a profound sense of uncertainty. This series makes it clear that neither justice nor filmmaking deal in black or white absolutes. Instead, there's a lot of gray area that allows for subjectivity and human error, and the results can be messy and unsettling. 

You, Me, and the Apocalypse: Ending the World with a Laugh

I am a big fan of movies and TV shows that joke about the end of the world. It's easy to be dramatic about Armageddon, but turning the situation into a comedy requires real talent. Thankfully, creator Iain Hollands has delivered with You, Me, and the Apocalypse, a ten-episode series that looks at a disparate group of people across the world who get up to all kinds of adventures once they find out the Earth will be destroyed in thirty days by a comet. The show opens with everyone holed up in a bunker in Slough, watching the comet about to strike. Then the series unravels the tale of how they all got there.

The show is a collaboration between Sky 1 and NBC, so it features a brilliant cast of well-known British and American actors. The star is Mathew Baynton as Jamie Winton, an unassuming bank teller who lives in Slough. His wife disappeared a few years ago and he is still trying to find her, though he is mostly resigned to his boring life with his friend, Dave (Joel Fry) and doting mother, Paula (Pauline Quirke). On the other side of the world, we have Rhonda (Jenna Fischer), an unassuming librarian who has been sentenced to life imprisonment for treason against the United States after she hacked into the NSA. Of course, Rhonda has no idea how to work a computer, but she is taking the fall for her teenage son, and is now in prison, befriended by a white supremacist named Leanne (Megan Mullally). When word of the apocalypse strikes, they are able to break out of prison in the ensuing chaos and try to get to their families before it's too late.

Then we have Father Jude (Rob Lowe) and Sister Celine (Gaia Scodellaro) in Vatican City. They are tasked with finding the Messiah, as the Bible has promised the Second Coming of Christ before the apocalypse. Jude is a cynical, foul-mouthed priest, which is precisely why he has this job, as the Vatican needs someone with a low tolerance for BS. Celine is extremely intelligent but has been cloistered in a convent all her life, so while she is surprised by Jude's antics, she's just glad to finally travel and see the world before everything is destroyed. And back in Washington, we have an entire conspiracy involving the American President and Operation Savior that is designed to dupe the entire world.

That is only a sampling of the story lines involved. The joy of the show lies in getting introduced to the expansive supporting cast and finding out how they are all connected. Even though you know they all end up in one bunker, it is still amazing to get to the final episode and find this beautiful tapestry of weird relationships that have woven together to give you the answer to "how did we all get here?" You, Me, and the Apocalypse is extremely funny, brilliantly written, full of twists, turns, action, drama, and dark surprises, and will leave you gasping at the end of every episode. I have no idea if it will be returning for a second season (frankly, I don't see how it possibly could). But I urge you to watch this season, as it is an audacious and completely bonkers ten hours of must-see TV.  

Angie Tribeca: Splendidly Silly

Back in January, I recorded every episode of the Angie Tribeca marathon on TBS. I then proceeded to mainline the series in a few days, days that were filled with me groaning and giggling over the silliest show I have seen on television in ages. Created by Steve Carell and Nancy Walls Carell, Angie Tribeca is exactly what the world needs after drowning in self-serious prestige television.

Rashida Jones stars as Angie Tribeca, a tough LA cop who likes to think of herself as a lone wolf and has begrudgingly been assigned to a brand new partner, Jay Geils (Hayes MacArthur). Her last partner was her fiance, and there's a tragic backstory there (well, comically tragic), which eventually comes to light and allows for plenty of silly flashbacks and consternation over the course of ten episodes. The show is a police procedural, so every episode begins with a crime that needs solving and you have a solution by the end. It's generally obvious who the criminal is (if you read the title of some of the episodes, you would have the answer before you even hit Play), because that is not remotely the point of the show. The point is the utterly inane twenty minutes of joke-packed hilarity that guarantees at least one loud guffaw and a series of helpless giggles.

The supporting cast includes Jere Burns as Angie's boss, Lieutenant Atkins, Andree Vermeulen as the medical examiner, Dr. Scholls (get it?) and Deon Cole as fellow detective, DJ Tanner (get it?!), whose partner is a dog named Officer David Hoffman. And when I say "partner," I mean partner. This is not some drug-sniffing canine he uses to help on raids. This is a dog that everyone treats like a human, oblivious to the fact that he walks on four legs. Did I mention this show is goofy? Also, the list of guest stars is a who's who of comedy royalty, including Bill Murray, Lisa Kudrow, Adam Scott, Amy Smart, Gary Cole, and many more, who serve to liven up the already lively proceedings.

Everything is a joke on Angie Tribeca. The dialogue is rapid fire and each scene feels like an absurd Monty Python sketch designed to test the limits of human ingenuity when it comes to creating comedy. I could happily re-watch this show a dozen times, confident that I will hit upon a new sight gag or joke I missed the first (or eleventh) time around. This show is a masterpiece of silliness and wit, and while the cast is truly remarkable, I give full credit to the writers who have dreamed up every bonkers script. TBS has already picked up the show for a second season, but till then, I'll be re-watching the first ten episodes on a loop. 

Jessica Jones: Anti-Heroic Antics

I got too caught up in all the movie watching to post about Jessica Jones earlier. If you're one of the few people who have yet to binge watch this series on Netflix, I suggest you go about it posthaste. While you may be sick of Marvel, there's a reason they are dominating movies and television right now: they know exactly how to make quality television that draws you in and leaves you wanting more.

Jessica Jones (Krysten Ritter) follows in the recent grand tradition of anti-heroes. She is a a sarcastic private investigator with a drinking problem, who takes any case she can to pay the bills and doesn't seem particularly concerned with helping anyone or doing anything good unless she can make some money out of it. Her super power is strength - she can jump really high, toss cars aside, and punch people's lights out - but what she relies on most is her intelligence and a deeply dark sense of humor. It's slow going at first, but once you start to unravel the components of Jessica's past that led her to where she is today, things get horrifyingly interesting. This is not a feel-good superhero show; instead it has a dark film noir style and doesn't shy away from traumatic topics that give you a true insight into Jessica and her past.

Her best friend, Patsy (Rachael Taylor), is a celebrity radio show host and a former child star. Blonde, friendly, and competent, it takes a long while to figure out how on earth these two ever became friends. They have a remarkable back story and their partnership as they finally suss out each other's secrets and decide to trust each other is an example of the kind of kick-ass female friendship we could always stand to see more of on television. And of course, where there's a hero (no matter how reluctant), there must be a villain, and that's where we get to Kilgrave, played by the gloriously creepy David Tennant. With the ability to control people's minds, Kilgrave is a deadly opponent, able to turn your friends against you or simply turn yourself against you. He held Jessica in thrall before she finally broke free, and now he is executing a relentless vendetta to get her back into his life. Because of course, the man fancies himself in love, and we all knows what happens when a villain can't have the thing that he wants.

Marvel's Jessica Jones is a slick and stylish piece of television, thirteen episodes of constantly escalating tension and action with brilliant starring performances from Ritter and Tennant. The supporting cast are all equally wonderful (including Mike Colter as Luke Cage, who is due to get his own spin-off series) and before long, you will completely buy into the mythology of the show. It's deliberately murky at the beginning and requires some patience, but you will be rooting for Jessica all the way and watching in horror as Kilgrave thwarts her every move. Mind control makes for a nail-biting game of cat-and-mouse and while this show will definitely get under your skin, you won't be able to stop watching till you get to the pulse-pounding finale. I would say that I can't wait for season 2, but I think I need some time to recover first.

Fuller House: Wallow in Nostalgia

Now that the Oscars are over, I'm back to binge watching decidedly less prestigious fare. And the thing I was most excited to see was Fuller House, Netflix's reboot of family sitcom, Full House. As someone who loved the original show, this reboot was tailor-made for me, an unabashed distillation of all the corny one-liners, parent-child drama, and hugs that made the original such a saccharine delight.

The show picks up 20 years from where we left off, and now, instead of Danny Tanner (Bob Saget) starring as the widower who has to raise three daughters on his own, his eldest daughter, DJ (Candace Cameron Bure), is back in the family home as a widow who has to take care of her three sons. While Uncle Jesse (John Stamos), Uncle Joey (Dave Coulier), and Aunt Becky (Lori Loughlin) all put in an appearance in the pilot episode, the ones who are going to stay to help DJ in her time of need (or at least for the next thirteen episodes) are her sister, Stephanie (Jodie Sweetin), and best friend, Kimmy Gibbler (Andrea Barber), who incidentally has a daughter, Ramona (Soni Nicole Bringas), and an estranged Argentinian husband, Fernando (Juan Pablo Di Pace). It is a neat way to flip the series around, while essentially keeping the premise exactly the same as it was twenty years ago.

The pilot episode is as corny as can be, featuring cameos from all the regulars, some singing, and a lot of heartfelt hugging. However, once the show's done paying lip service to its origins, it sets off to carve out a new path, and the result is rather joyful. The jokes are allowed to be a tad more risque (by which I mean they are more PG than G) and the writers don't shy away from a lot of meta commentary and self-referential humor. The only people who would watch this show are the ones who watched the original, so the more jokes you can make about the absence of the Olsen twins the better.

The updated theme tune by Carly Rae Jepsen is a nice touch, and the title cards are a wonderful homage to the original show while serving as a shocking reminder of how grown-up every one has gotten (except John Stamos who hasn't aged a day). The writing is not great and some episodes do make you cringe, but I genuinely did enjoy some episodes that featured mix-ups and misunderstandings galore. DJ's love triangle is a fun addition, and it's charming to see her and Steve (Scott Weinger) still sharing their romantic chemistry years after they went to prom. Most importantly, the house hasn't changed one bit, and it is amazing to return to the familiar rooms and backyard where we watched the Tanners live out their lives for eight years.

Fuller House is not haute cuisine. But it is a warm dollop of comfort food, a serving of nostalgia that sates the little corner of your heart that missed your childhood TV family. To me, Full House was one of a series of shows that introduced me to America and gave me some idea of what to expect when I moved here. Of course, the Americans I encountered in real life were nothing like the Tanners, but it was still nice to turn on the TV every Friday and watch the adventures of this bizarre family who got into all kinds of scrapes but ended every episode with a hug. If Full House meant something to you in your childhood, Fuller House will continue to mean something to you in your adulthood. The show's theme song begins, "What ever happened to predictability?" Therefore, it is little wonder that if you're a fan of the show, you are happy to embrace the return of its predictability and see your "old familiar friends, waiting just around the bend."