an intimate look at my lifelong obsession with true crime

Lily Collins as Elizabeth Kendall, Ted Bundy’s ex-fiancée, in Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile. Photo: Netflix

It started when I was ten.  More specifically, it started on a random summer day at Sunday school when I was ten.  

Technically, I think it was after Sunday school, during that period of time that either seems endless or incredibly brief—that period of time between the end of the service and before you leave for home.

My childhood best friend—a homeschooled girl a few years older than me—and I were playing in this big grassy field next to the church, when she told me about this show she watched a marathon of that weekend.

It was Criminal Minds, and she declared that it was her new favourite show.  It quickly became mine too.

I can still vividly recall the first episode she told me about, beat by beat. In the episode, titled ‘Bloodlines,’ a Romani family kidnaps potential brides for their pre-teen son, and murder the ones that do not meet their standards.

Even though I know this episode is unlikely—and racist—I still can’t get it out of my head, almost a decade later.  

Within the past week or so, I have been thinking about my fascination with true crime cases, and the fact that so many other people share the same interest.  

Originally, I was planning on simply writing a quick blog post about some of my favourite true crime podcasts (more on those later), but with all the hype surrounding Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon A Time In Hollywood, I decided to dig a little deeper.  

Honestly, I am not sure what the point of this post is.  I don’t want to write a weepy, pretentious think piece, and I certainly don’t want to lecture, but I also want to do more than spit out a few recommendations that will get your adrenaline pumping.  

This is probably going to be nothing more than a mediation on some media I’ve consumed over the years.  (God, you can tell that I’m majoring in journalism and film just by reading that sentence; I’m sorry.)

A letter and code sent from The Zodiac Killer to The San Francisco Chronicle. Photo: Associated Press

Thanks to a Criminal Minds binge watching session that stretched over months, I had discovered my passion in life.  I was going to be a profiler for the FBI’s Behavioural Analysis Unit, in addition to serving as the team’s media liaison.  

This new aspiration led me to planning out my entire life, and obviously, getting a head start in the field.  I compiled a binder full of clippings about famous serial killers and the FBI’s Most Wanted (it was oddly similar to another journal of mine at the time, which was dedicated to the prettiest models and latest fashion trends).  I was so dedicated to this self-appointed position that I hand copied the crime section of my local newspaper each week.

Looking back, it probably seemed as if I was a serial killer—not an FBI agent—in the making.

However, my interest in true crime waned over the years, as I find most hobbies do.  

Throughout the years though, I would occasionally find myself watching an episode or two on Investigation Discovery, a channel dedicated to typical trashy true crime procedurals.  

The same thing would always happen: I’d grow tired of the shows.  Not because the violence was too much for me to bare, but because it seemed like the same plot was always being recycled.  Everyone from your mother to Amy Dunne in Gone Girl has said it: the husband is always the murderer.  

Obviously, that isn’t true, but it sure feels like it.  The cases that Investigation Discovery, as well as the media at large, decides to cover are all variations of the same case.  Most of the time, the victim is a well-off white woman.

With hindsight—and the book Dead Girls: Essays on Surviving the American Obsession in mind—I have realised that these stories claim to revolve around the victims, but instead dedicate 55 minutes of runtime to the perpetrator's lives and various conspiracy theories.  

To all my Philly friends, check out the show Homicide City.  It’s entirely dedicated to murders that occur in Philadelphia and its suburbs.  My mother introduced me to it, when she called me up one night to inform me that there was a serial killer that frequented the McDonald’s a block away from my campus.  

My junior year of high school, true crime had caught my attention again.  

The 1960s and 70s are my favourite time period.  If I could, I would be transported back to those days and listen to the great music as it’s played on the radio for the first time, watch the end of the French New Wave in cinemas, and proudly wear the fashion trends.  Also, it would be amazing to experience the emergence of second-wave feminism firsthand.

This led to me writing a paper on The Beatles’ influence on the Manson Family and how Charles Manson manipulated young girls who were hoping to experience the sexual revolution and hippie culture.

For that paper, I had to consume so much media about the Manson Family.  My two primary sources were Helter Skelter, which is written by the lead prosecutor of the Tate and LaBianca trials, and Manson’s autobiography.  In anticipation for Tarantino’s upcoming film about the cases, I am currently rereading Helter Skelter.

Ashley Flowers, the creator and host of Crime Junkie. Photo: Crime Junkie Podcast

Recently, I have found myself drawn to tales of death and decay again.  

I blame Spotify.

During the school year, I work in the library.  This past semester, we have been preparing to move to the brand new library building, which means I spent a lot of time barcoding books and DVDs.  Because of this, I was looking for a podcast to listen to.

Spotify just wouldn’t stop recommending me true crime podcasts.  

Eventually, I gave in and started listening to Monster: The Zodiac Killer.  Partly because of my former interest in the case.  Partly because of my love for David Fincher’s Zodiac and a small part of me hoped that Jake Gyllenhaal would make an appearance on the podcast.  

After dedicating almost nine hours of my life to the 15 podcast episodes, I was hooked.  I immediately needed to find another true crime podcast. I was ashamed about that.

Monster: The Zodiac Killer has an entire episode revolving around the shameless Zodiac fanatics.  These people are so obsessed with the case that they travel across the United States to visit the murder sites on the anniversaries of the victims deaths.  One couple even got engaged during one of their trips to the Bay Area. In the podcast episode, family members of the victims commented on these groupies of sorts.  They were rightfully disgusted by these people, as I am too.

While there’s a difference between almost idolising a serial killer and simply listening to a podcast, I felt grimy even engaging in this subculture.  

So why did I still want to listen to another true crime podcast?  

I got nothing out of the previous podcast I listened to.  I still don’t know who the Zodiac Killer is. I just feel stupid for letting Zodiac’s low exposure and tobacco yellow hue convince me that Arthur Leigh Allen is the Zodiac Killer (damn you, David Fincher).  

Scouring through Spotify’s true crime podcast collection, I reluctantly settled for one called Crime Junkie. Despite the name, it seemed like the least trashy selection out of the bunch.  

To my surprise, Crime Junkie was a wonderful podcast.  It’s hosted my two best friends, Ashley Flowers and Brit Prawat, whose goal is to spread awareness on little known cases and honour the victims.  

I’ve even gotten my best friend Amanda addicted to the podcast.  Maybe that wasn’t the best idea, since she is one of the most paranoid people out there, but she listens to at least two episodes a day.  We now spend late nights after work debating whether Scott Peterson is guilty and learning about new true crime cases via YouTube.  

However, nothing is perfect.  While doing research for this article, I looked at what Crime Junkie’s Patreon offered.  One of the benefits is extra episodes. Now, just some background knowledge, each Crime Junkie episode is labelled something along the lines of ‘MURDERED,’ ‘MISSING,’ or ‘WANTED’.  To my dismay, I noticed a new Patreon-exclusive category titled CRIME HUNKIES. Now, I am not going to judge something I haven’t listened to, but from the looks of the titles—one of which is ‘CRIME HUNKIES: The Weepy Voice Killer’—I don’t think I’m a fan.  

Margot Robbie as Sharon Tate in Once Upon A Time In Hollywood. Photo: Andrew Cooper for Sony Pictures

I know that filmbros might somehow find this obscure blog post and sacrifice me to—I don’t know—Stanley Kubrick or Christopher Nolan, for criticising their god Quentin Jerome Tarantino.   I’m going to take that risk.

As of right now, I’m not going to delve deep into my thoughts on Tarantino’s Once Upon A Time In Hollywood.  For the most part, I am going to reserve my judgement on the film until I torrent it or sneak into the theatre to watch it.  

However, let’s just talk about a few things pertaining to the movie.

First and foremost, Sharon Tate.  The incredibly talented Margot Robbie portrays Tate in the film, who at the time of the murders, was eight months pregnant.  Despite Tarantino referring to her as the ‘heartbeat of the story,’ Robbie only has a few lines in the film.  One tweet I saw stated that Robbie was silent for the first hour of the currently 2 hour and 45 minute long film (it should be stated that I am unable to find that tweet now and cannot attest to the truthfulness of that statement).  When asked about Robbie’s limited screen time, Tarantino rudely responded ‘I reject your hypothesis.’

Interestingly, Vincent Bugliosi mentions in Helter Skelter that in all of Tate’s films (except for Valley of the Dolls), she had less than 13 lines, despite receiving top billing on some.

Additionally, I cannot imagine a universe where Tarantino respectfully makes a film about the Tate and LaBianca’s deaths.  This is the man known for his adoration of ultraviolence and misogynistic tendencies.

Debra Tate, Sharon’s sister, rightfully had reservations when the film was first announced.  She shamed Tarantino, and actors Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt, for disregarding the Tate Family’s wishes and exploiting the Manson murders.  Regarding the media’s portrayal of the case, Debra stated: ‘It’s been the case since the media went crazy and has perpetuated mistruths making things even more salacious. It’s now morphed into something that is more fictionalized than truth at this point. To celebrate the killers and the darkest portion of society as being sexy or acceptable in any way, shape or form is just perpetuating the worst of our society. I am vehemently opposed to anything that does that.’

I have also seen a few other spoilers about the film from Cannes attendees (which, once again, I cannot confirm as true) that make my head spin.  One spoiler about the revisionist ending was so horrendous that I just pray it is fake. On a lighter note, people have said that this is the most feet heavy Tarantino flick.  

Above all, I don’t care if he makes good movies, Quentin Tarantino has said and done things that I cannot look past.  He wouldn’t have a career if it wasn’t for Harvey Weinstein, and while that alone isn’t worthy of being ostracised, it’s the fact that Tarantino ignored the sexual assault rumours surrounding the producer for years, knowingly putting his actresses in danger.  While filming Kill Bill, he forced Uma Thurman to perform a stunt, resulting in a car crash and Thurman permanently having a damaged neck and legs.  Also on set, Tarantino insisted on strangling and spitting on Thurman.  About half a decade later, he choked Diane Kruger while filming Inglourious Basterds.  Additionally, Tarantino supported director Roman Polanski (who is Sharon Tate’s former husband and a character in Once Upon A Time In Hollywood), claiming that the 13 year old Polanski drugged and raped ‘wanted to have it’.

When I look how we all ignore Tarantino’s mistreatment of Thurman and Kruger, I cannot help but see a pattern emerging.  

Kubrick causing Shelley Duvall’s hair to fall out from stress of the set of The Shining.

Bernardo Bertolucci and Marlon Brando surprising Maria Schneider with an unscripted rape scene, in which butter is used as lubricant, while filming Last Tango in Paris.

Alfred Hitchcock throwing live birds at Tippi Hedren’s face on the set of The Birds, in addition to stalking and sexually harassing her.

Lars Von Trier sexually harassing Björk while filming Dancer in the Dark and later blacklisting her.

Clarisse Loughrey’s phrases her thoughts on the pattern more eloquently than I can:

‘Whether as a director using actresses like a puppet to their whims, or abusing the implicit trust of the creative relationship to harass women, these actions inevitably come down to desires to possess and to control. It’s a conversation about power and one that needs to encompass how we’ve helped build up the image of the unimpeachable, godlike male auteur.’

Yes, Tarantino has apologised for some of his misdeeds, but I am not sure that I’m ready to forgive and forget.  

That’s it for now on that subject.  I’ll let my Letterboxd review from when Sony announced the film summarise my thoughts:

Last week, I visited my former high school.  While there, I was talking to my favourite teacher, and naturally, she asked me if I had read anything good recently.  I’d been waiting for her to ask me that.

Excitedly, I told her about Dead Girls, which at that point I was about three-quarters of the way through. Upon reading the lines ‘Bolin illuminates our widespread obsession with women who are abused, killed, and disenfranchised, and whose bodies (dead and alive) are used as props to bolster a man’s story,’ my former teacher stated that she doesn’t think she could bare reading it, considering what’s going on in Alabama.

Moments earlier, she recommended that all of us read The Handmaid’s Tale.  

She, like many others, noted its resemblance to the current state of American politics.  

Protesters dressed up as handmaids from The Handmaid’s Tale. Photo: Associated Press

Normally, I’m not a fan of when people compare real life to fiction.  I mean, it’s mostly Harry Potter analogies. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that Trump is Voldemort, Bernie is Dumbledore, and Hillary is Umbridge?  Please read another book, it’s been over a decade since the last one came out.

However, this analogy rang true.  

Women from New York, to Virginia, to Ohio, and to Georgia have faced legal trouble for miscarrying.  

Alabama’s new legislation is challenging Roe v Wade.

Louisiana’s imminent extreme anti-choice bill puts women’s, especially poor women’s, lives at risk.

Soon, we may turn into a society where women are stripped of autonomy and our worth is judged according to our ability to reproduce.

Until then, Amanda and I will remain watching videos of YouTubers retell stories of women being mutilated and murdered, and then walk home in the pitch black, fervently discussing the possibility of those crimes being inflicted on us.

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—Milly xx