Elizabeth Olsen’s Love & Death misses the point of ‘true crime’ murder

“I’m gonna kill you,” Betty Gore (Lily Rabe) sputters as she fights her former friend Candy Montgomery (Elizabeth Olsen) for control of the ax that will soon end her own life. This declaration leaves little room for interpretation. Candy, at least, does not believe this. Candy is the last person alive who will tell this story. After all, Betty, a 30-year-old schoolteacher and mother, will die from the 41 ax injuries she received.

What a tale! In terms of true-crime fare, the tale of Betty Gore’s death at the hands of Candace Montgomery has it all: infidelity, housewives behaving badly, feathered bangs, and, most importantly, bloody, bloody murder. Why do people get so upset? Love & Death, Max’s seven-episode limited series about the events and characters surrounding the case, feel like such a true-crime bust?

The show is a series of heavily-coded, sugary small-town dramas (sometimes spiced with foreshadowing violence) that teaches us how appearances are everything. Whether it’s the beloved pastor announcing the shameful end of her marriage, Betty catching side-eyes for openly criticizing the pastor’s replacement, or Candy arranging her alibi for Betty’s death around a laundry list of church events, each character in Love & Death They feel the eyes of their communities on them, as they try to cover up the cracks of their suburban bliss. While a deeper dive into emotional repression, and the myths of nuclear families is definitely worthy of TV, Love & Death It takes it a little further. That’s where my opinion as a true-crime fan sours; there’s just something a bit yuck-o about adding “murder” to the list of deliciously sordid repercussions of mid-century malaise. It’s a move seemingly made to elevate a true-crime story out of the grime of the true-crime genre. This only confuses the issue.

Certain details are known about this crime. Love & Death candidly reports to its viewers: Betty Gore and Candy Montgomery were two housewives raising young children in suburban Texas when Candy initiated an affair with Betty’s husband, Allan (Jesse Plemons). By all accounts, the affair was long over when Candy entered Betty’s home on June 13, 1980. However, despite that fact, and despite testimony from Allan swearing that he had no idea how or if Betty could’ve known about his extramarital dalliance, Candy’s account claims that Betty chose that day to confront her about the affair. After confirming the accusation, Candy’s version of events describes Betty proclaiming her intention to kill Candy, then coming at her with a 3-foot ax from her garage.

Jake Giles Netter/HBO Max

If you were a member of the jury in 1980 tasked with determining whether Betty’s death was murder or justifiable self-defense, it would’ve been your monumentally important job to weigh accused killer Candy’s description of the events of that day together with what little forensic evidence was available and decide whether or not Candy’s plea was valid enough to preserve her freedom. If you were a member of the jury in 1980, tasked with determining whether Betty’s death was murder or justifiable self-defense, it would have been your monumentally important job to weigh accused killer Candy’s description of events that day together with what little forensic evidence was available and decide if Candy’s plea is valid enough to preserve her freedom. Love & Death, Candy’s trial and ultimate acquittal are depicted with sometimes painstaking ripped-from-the-transcripts accuracy. However, the real question is: Did Candy really do it? deserves to be found guilty is made on behalf of the viewer the moment Betty utters those words in episode 4: “I’m gonna kill you.”

We literally see the climactic moment (which has been foreshadowed in all seven episodes). It is a must-see We see, through the camera’s omniscient eye, Betty accuse, threaten, and attack Candy (we even actually see the gnarly ax attack itself, up close and visceral). If those elements, which are so important to the show’s success and authenticity, cannot be confirmed by any other party than that of the creators themselves? Love & Death Why include them so simply and without nuance?

It is very simple. The narrative of Candy Montgomery is told by Candy Montgomery. Love & Death This isn’t the tale of a killer who tries to fool a Texas town into believing he was a good guy. Instead, it’s the story of a well-intended housewife whose chipper foray into adultery takes a deadly turn, ultimately (and ironically) threatening to shatter her life and the very stasis she had originally longed to escape. It’s a great story, with just one problem: Betty Gore and, more specifically, her death.

Betty Gore’s story is told by a second-class character. Love & Death needs us to move on from her annihilation as quickly and cleanly as Candy washes Betty’s blood off her body in the dead woman’s shower. Candy’s story is about growth and clarity — her renewed investment in her marriage, her resentment of having to care about appearance, her all-too-late appreciation for her reputation and community — and an exploration of what it means to have taken a human life is simply not on the menu. Dwelling too much on the gravity of Candy’s violent act would distract from her journey as a protagonist, and therefore the story she weaves of sympathetic self-defense cannot be simply one possible version of events, it must be immutable.

Jake Giles Netter/HBO Max

Jake Giles Netter/HBO Max

Jake Giles Netter/HBO Max

But it’s that exact determination — the dogged mission to give true-crime fans not just a story that is true, But one is good, complete with a righteous conclusion and a sympathetic lead — that ends up being Love & Death’s downfall as a true-crime series. Its central concept is that of an obvious error (they made the mistake in the first episode). murderer You can also find out more about the following: You can also find out more about the following:??), it’s fair to wonder what business Love & Death Has joined the canon fictionalized true crime shows. But, to that point, audiences’ hunger for true-crime content is obvious: In the past decade, countless podcasts, documentaries, films, and TV series have cashed in on the seemingly ever-increasing fervor for entertainment derived from real-life crime and tragedy. For every dark and gritty new true-crime sensation there are critics who question the people watching it. Since when has true crime been a cultural curiosity? A preoccupation with the subject of murder can now be a funny fact that you put in your dating profile. No longer is it a concern for guidance counselors to monitor your access to school libraries.

At this point, these anxieties may be as ubiquitous as the media they’re criticizing, but they’re apparently of little concern to networks and streaming services who see fans of true crime for what they really are in the eyes of our capitalist overlords: walking, talking dollar signs. And as the mines of true-crime stories become increasingly picked over by storytellers and investigators alike, it’s no wonder that morally fraught stories like Love & DeathThose who are more ethically minded than their predecessors have begun to take center stage. The past couple of years, only shows such as Pam and the Thing, StaircaseThe Girl from Plainville The following are some examples of how to get started: Des have all (with varying degrees of sensitivity) presented us with fictionalized versions of real-life deadly tragedies, centering the person responsible for the loss of life as the audience’s focal point. In that regard, Love & Death isn’t even the first retelling of the Betty Gore and Candy Montgomery saga, having been announced only days before the premiere of Candy, Hulu’s take on the same sordid affair. With this new trend of creating a true crime story by sacrificing real victims, the shows not only have alienated true crime fans, but also those who find it disgusting.

It might give the hand-wringers some comfort to know that the urge to dissect the psychological root of true crime has always been a hot topic of discussion even — and especially — within fan circles. But don’t take my word for it: Books like Rachel Monroe’s Savage Appetites and Hilary Fitzgerald Campbell’s Murder Book The authors explore the reasons for this desire to remain near heinous crimes, and show how people can turn that fascination into exploitative or ameliorating behavior. The fascination for bloodshed seems to be a universal phenomenon. No one can explain it. But the sheer volume of the discussion is proof that true-crime fans aren’t universally ignorant of the real-world implications of their interests. It’s important to note that not all true-crime enthusiasts are lusty for violence.

Photo: Tina Rowden/Hulu

Jake Giles Netter/HBO Max

The notion that true-crime fans can use their dark interests for good isn’t a flash in the pan, either — the hosts of the monumentally popular My Favorite Murder podcast (often flagged for its comedic tone as a prime example of true crime’s desensitizing nature) have in recent years made a habit of donating profits to charities such as RAINN, The Trevor Project, the National Network of Abortion Funds, and more. MrBallen is the brainchild of MrBallen YouTube channel and podcast is also the founder of the MrBallen Foundation, whose website states that its mission is “to honor victims and support families of heinous crimes through education, training and financial support.” The team behind Murdaugh Murders podcastAfter finding great success with their investigation into the pattern of violence and corruption in South Carolina they pledged to make use of their newfound platforms to shed light on cases that are underrepresented and improve standards for investigative journalism.

But if the true-crime community at large is signaling that entertainment shouldn’t come at the expense of real victims, the message doesn’t seem to be getting through to Hollywood. Love & DeathIn episode 3, Betty Gore is revealed to have been plagued with worry that she was pregnant on her last day. And during the fatal confrontation with Candy, Betty’s dialogue clumsily cites this as a potential motivation behind the attack. (“I’m gonna have another baby,” she intones, almost just to herself. “You can’t have him.”) Yet as an uplifting church song plays over the final moments of episode 7, a parade of photos of the real characters in this tragedy appear along with biographical information about what became of them after the events of the show. Under the smiling photo of the real Betty Gore, text reads: “[Betty’s] autopsy concluded that she was not pregnant at the time of her death.”

So what did this detail add to the fictionalized version of Betty’s life that we are treated to in Love & Death? It’s a cold note of irony, isn’t it? To remind us that killing someone without any reason or thought to the outcome can be a senseless crime. In this scene, as in others, the insignificance of Betty is unwittingly highlighted. Love & Death’s account of her life. After all, following her murder at the midpoint of the series, Allan, Betty’s husband and ostensibly the reason behind the whole bloody affair, disappears almost entirely in favor of following Candy and her courtroom drama (he returns to explain Betty’s death to their young daughter, who seems utterly unmoved by the news).

Altogether, though Betty’s existence serves as a perfect engine to drive protagonist Candy’s journey, her validity as a life that was cherished in its presence and mourned in its absence is neatly compartmentalized by the show and deemed as, essentially, unimportant. For anyone seeking out true crime content in order to understand the suffering of violent victims, it is not possible for slick production or skilled performances to compensate. Unfortunately, Love & DeathThe true-crime audience is getting more and more sophisticated. An abundance of affection (for flawed characters, redemption or those feathered bangs), will not satisfy them. You’re going to need the death, too. In all its ugliness and meaninglessness, you can’t forget about the death.