Like so many college students with a Netflix subscription and a tendency to procrastinate, I devoured all 10 episodes of “Making a Murderer” within the course of four days. The hype surrounding the series was unavoidable, and after a fervent recommendation from a close friend, I happily shirked all responsibilities and dove in. As a courtesy spoiler alert, anyone who has exhibited the self-control to avoid the show and doesn’t want to know how it ends, avert your eyes.
Following the massive success of the true-crime podcast “Serial,” “Making a Murderer” similarly follows the 2007 conviction of Steven Avery involving the murder of 25-year-old photographer Teresa Halbach. The series is largely driven by Avery’s troubled relationship with the Manitowoc County Sheriff’s Department, depicting his wrongful 1985 conviction for a separate crime, subsequent exoneration by DNA evidence, $36 million lawsuit against the sheriff’s department and 2005 arrest. All of this sets the scene for the Halbach murder trial and Avery’s defense that the sheriff’s department planted evidence to implicate him. Throw in a seemingly coerced confession of rape and murder from Steven Avery’s learning-disabled nephew Brendan Dassey, and you’ve got a whirlwind of a case. The series ends with both defendants found guilty, sentenced to life in prison and out of appeals.
Despite the series totaling a mere 10 hours, the overwhelming amount of evidence, testimonies and trial procedures makes it feel as though you’ve spent months analyzing the case from every possible angle. But you haven’t, and it seems as though many viewers have forgotten that. The widespread outcry against Avery and Dassey’s convictions has taken the form of social media posts, news articles and most notably a petition with nearly 500,000 signatures asking for a presidential pardon. A healthy amount of skepticism toward the judicial system is crucial, yet it’s apparent that the series’ filmmakers neglected any real consideration that its protagonists may be guilty.
The New Yorker raised the issue of relying on an independent investigation “bound by no rules of procedure, answerable to nothing but ratings, shaped only by the ethics and aptitude of its makers.” Prosecutors from the case have pointed to a multitude of facts neglected by the filmmakers in order to stack their case for the defendants’ innocence. Whether this was in the name of streamlining an already convoluted storyline or perhaps for something more unethical, it’s vividly apparent that their portrayal of the case contains some gaping holes. The timeline of the events surrounding the murder is never clarified, relevant evidence is presented but never investigated and Teresa Halbach’s life is quickly glossed over.
Yet the most disquieting element of the show is its voyeuristic tendencies. The thrill of the case overshadows the personal tragedies of those involved, turning them into entertainment to be consumed in ten hours and soon forgotten. Images of the Avery family, surrounded by junk cars and mobile homes, are simultaneously pitiful and chilling. The victim’s brother is presented solely through press interviews, characterized by an unnerving smile and unwavering faith in the police. Needless to say, the portrayal of key players in the case takes on a spin more appropriate for a reality show than a docu-series.
In the end, “Making a Murderer” toes the line separating vigilante justice from voyeuristic exploitation. Despite its filmmakers’ claim in a Vulture interview that they had no opinion regarding Steven Avery’s guilt when they began filming, they were certainly convinced of his innocence by the end of it. Independent crime investigations can undoubtedly shed light on the faults of the judicial system, but it’s crucial that they give ample consideration to all possibilities instead of working in absolutes. Only then can any real changes be made.
Marisa Papenfuss is a UF English junior. Her column appears on Tuesdays.
