“Everybody’s fascinated with the notion that there is
a cause and effect,” claims notorious serial killer Ted Bundy, quoted in the
Netflix original, Conversations with a Killer: The Ted Bundy Tapes (2019) –
that we can “put our finger on it,” and reassuringly rationalise the genesis of
the uniquely modern phenomenon of the American serial killer. But when there is
“absolutely nothing” in the background of a serial murderer that would lead one
to believe they were “capable of committing murder,” how do we begin to
acclimatise ourselves to this violent defect of contemporary history? More
challengingly, how do we bring depth to our collective portrait of what
constitutes a murderer, so that we may then self-exempt our compulsion to look
more closely at these perversely familiar figures?
Over the last 50 years, a plethora of books,
magazines, film and television adaptations on the subject of true crime has
captured – and held – the public imagination in a vice-like grip, ultimately
achieving cult status in postwar-American society while furthermore granting
the white male serial killer the kind of cultural capital usually awarded only
to celebrities. With the enormous popularity of such series as Making a
Murderer (2015) and Mindhunter (2017), however, it seems like now, more than
ever, the uneasy question of why we continue to glorify killers by inserting
them into mainstream media – and what exactly the appeal of this enduring genre
and its mythologization of ultraviolent masculinities tells us about ‘who we
are’ and the nature of American society itself – has acquired a new level of
urgency, which, in turn, requires new depths of understanding. Likewise, with
the growing Netflixisation of true crime, and the narrativization of true crime
more broadly, now is the time to establish a study that evaluates the politics
of the ever-increasing fine line between actual crime documentaries versus
fictional shows that reference true crime.