True crime has never exactly been niche--we've always been interested in the grimy details of even the most horrific incidents. Netflix and Hulu may be the frontrunners now, but they stem from the heyday of the 24-hour-news cycle, the age of JonBenet and OJ, Dateline and Unsolved Mysteries, where the supposed saturation really kicked into high gear with in depth looks at the stories behind the headlines. But it stretches further back--In Cold Blood set the standard for every crime novel since 1965, and records show of murders recounted in explicit detail as far back as the 1500's.
The numbers would reveal that apparently women are even more interested in the genre than men, as the supposed "women's networks" Lifetime and Oxygen regularly run shows and movies focused on crimes committed by and against women. That's not even touching the wealth of not-so-true crime content that floods every corner of entertainment--from the endless Law & Order/CSI spawns, to every other bestseller revolving around an inciting slaughter. Many people claim to dislike horror but will gobble up mysteries and thrillers, no matter how heinous the fictional crimes within.
So, true crime has been a successful and popular as a genre for decades, a fascination that the media itself created by covering every inch of atrocity over and over on the news, yet every now and then some spoilsport journalist has to come along and say "How can you possibly enjoy that?"
Conversations with a Killer may have just been another Netflix original that would have come and gone from the news cycle by the end of its release weekend. But it just so happened to coincide not only with the 30th anniversary of Bundy's death, but also the release of the trailer for Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil, and Vile, a new Bundy biopic starring America's sweetheart Zac Efron. This created a fervor of conversation on various social media, because of course it did by its very design. And it took maybe the first hour of tweets before the news outlets began to voice their concerns.
Even if you haven't seen series, you've definitely seen these articles floating around documenting the youth of Twitter's sudden Bundy fandom, and all its disturbing implications. Netflix itself put out a tweet begging users to please stop "stanning" Ted Bundy. You can almost hear these journalists wringing their hands and gnashing their teeth in terror. "The kids are out here sexualizing a serial killer!" they cry. "Should you be worried? Because we sure are!"
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| Chilling stuff. |
I've read article after article so shaken by the female response to the Efron-Bundy amalgamation, so troubled by the idea that someone could even notice the charms of an established killer, that they chalk it up to be contributing to the problem that such men exist at all, that to give him any kind of attention only strengthens his legacy and leaves his victims forgotten. This thinking is, at the very least, painting with a broad brush.
First off, the reason Bundy was able to go on as long as he did was precisely because he was good looking, articulate, and charming. He did not appear dangerous, which made him exponentially more dangerous. Even under police custody and at his own trial, Bundy had a charisma that set him apart entirely from every other famous killer seen before, enough to only guard him with minimum security (which allowed him to escape, twice) and grant him permission to act as his own lawyer. He didn't seem unhinged or weird or evil--he was an educated, sophisticated guy that was being accused of crimes he couldn't possibly commit. He was so convincing of this persona that Bundy himself seemed to believe it until mere hours before his execution.
Secondly, Bundy has always had fans. He gained a notable female following during the trial, with young women passing love notes to him in court and proclaiming his innocence on TV. (Let's not forget, he did manage to get married while in police custody as well.) I'm sure the many doomed women he approached back in the day were disarmed by his handsomeness and charm long before they were disarmed otherwise. He was able to use the flimsiest disguise or excuse and still convince women to come with him. The man was able to approach a slender bikini-clad girl in a crowd of thousands and asked her to help him load up his sailboat, and she somehow didn't find it one bit suspicious.
Bundy even drew an inverted kind of fandom, with people even in surrounding states celebrating his execution with beer and hot dogs. The streets outside Florida State Prison were full of excitement as they awaited the countdown, setting up lawn chairs and selling tshirts. One wonders if he got any kind of pleasure out of that, seeing how much he liked the attention--if only he could have heard the cheers when he was finally pronounced dead.
Much more recently but long before the sudden Bundy boom we find ourselves in now, numerous online sellers have made bank on murder memorabilia, from actual artifacts and crime scene pieces, to cheekier merchandise featuring your favorite serial killer--everything from pins to bobbleheads to cross stitch patterns. Way back in 2001, eBay explicitly banned postings of murderabilia for obvious reasons, but it didn't stop the pioneers of internet crafting to make their own homages to America's most notorious. And wouldn't you know it, Bundy is a frequent and high-demand subject. This is because plenty of fans exist for Bundy and the gang--Ramirez, Dahmer, Manson--a number of them surprisingly not just Reddit edgelords, but young women who attempt to appreciate the more "human" side of these monsters of history, for better or worse.
Now let's talk about Zac Efron. We can all agree that he's a national treasure. He rose up out of the wholesome maelstrom of High School Musical and has gone on to prove himself as a solid dramatic actor, a gifted song and dance man, an adept comedian, and all around great guy. He's the stuff of teen bedroom posters and a god among memes. Zac's the best--he's your handsome jock friend that also gets the lead in the school musical every year and although he's super popular and could easily be a jerk, he's really sweet and funny and friends with everyone and it's impossible to hate him. Believe me, I've tried, and it just can't be done.
Coincidentally, in the right wig, he bears a striking resemblance to Ted Bundy. But apparently, to cast him was a very problematic move.
Frankly, it's a bit of a knee-jerk response to call the new film sexualized simply because the lead happens to be played by one of Hollywood's sexiest men. Attractive actors play horrible people all the time, but somehow we attach significant meaning to it when the character was a real person. Ted Bundy was, in fact, traditionally handsome and charming, a guy whose good looks put people at ease--it only makes sense to cast a handsome charming guy who no one would ever suspect of violence. It's what made him dangerous then and what makes him interesting now all these years later.
To brush off Zac Efron as a tool in a grand Hollywood conspiracy to make Bundy a sex symbol is an insult to Efron's abilities as an actor and the young women considered his box office audience. A likeable actor playing a villain is always a treat to watch and an interesting acting exercise, but somehow it's super not okay for a former teen icon to play a serial killer because those silly little girls won't be able to tell the difference.
More than anything, to wonder if it's problematic that we're so obsessed with "glorifying" such awful horrible white men is to entirely miss the point of why we tell these stories over and over again, why there will always be movies and books and binge-worthy documentary series about them. We are trying to learn from our mistakes. We are trying to understand why and how it happens so it can't happen again. Because these men exist, and they wreak havoc on their own victims in their own way every single day, and we still cannot see them coming.
If I have to sum up exactly what point I'm trying to make, let me just use my own experience. Like any other teenage girl, I had my own stable of fictional boyfriends, many of whom possessed certain traits that could be considered "problematic" by today's standards. Your Edward Cullens, your Jack Sparrows, and so forth. But one character has never made the cut (ha) in my collection of bad boys, and it's that one character I will take literally any excuse to talk about: Patrick Bateman.
American Psycho is famously remembered as one of the most misogynistic books of all time and, conversely, one of the great feminist films of all time. Bateman takes a great deal of inspiration from Bundy, being clean cut and articulate and luring in female victims with his appealing demeanor. But watching or reading American Psycho is to get a glimpse under the mask, beyond "an idea of a Patrick Bateman" and deep--often, too deep--inside his twisted mind.
The fact that he's played by Christian Bale is practically incidental, because his chiseled good looks can't hide his true self from the audience. Bateman is not heroic, or sexy, or even remotely charming. He's a murderous monster, but contributing to that, he's shallow, sexist, racist, dishonest, petty, and boring. He's hollow to his core, a bitter spoiled brat and a sniveling coward.
The reason I can be obsessed with American Psycho but hold no love for Patrick Bateman himself is because I want to learn the lesson the character teaches, and practice it every day. That these men exist, and they are often not what they appear to be. It taught me to be wary of a certain kind of charisma, a certain poise and way of speaking, to not trust a nice guy face so easily. It gives me the tools necessary to take away the power of that kind of man--to see him coming.
For the record, I don't think anyone actually has a crush on Ted Bundy. This is the humor of the Twitter and Tumblr crowd, after all--surreal, sometimes problematic, often incomprehensible, but generally coming from a place of irony. We are talking about the same communities that made Venom (the CGI character, not Tom Hardy) a sex symbol.
Anyone who watched Conversations with a Killer can easily see the monstrosity lurking beneath the mask by the finale. The truth we know was that Bundy was not a brilliant law student or psychologist, he was not a charming helpless stranger, and he was certainly not boyfriend material. He was a monster and a master manipulator that used his appearance and ability to hold a conversation as his greatest weapon, the sweet-looking fruit that hides a deadly poison.
Lastly, and a small point but one I feel very strongly about: I deserve to watch the things I'm interested in without some journalist telling me I'm a toxic creep for it. That's the reason these movies and shows exist, the reason horror and thrillers are such profitable genres. We all deserve that comfort, the opportunity to try to understand such incomprehensible evil as a way as feeling in control of it.
And in any case, we are all susceptible to morbid curiosity. Everyone has their way of finding it, whether its blood-soaked thrillers or leering at car accidents or pimple-popping videos on Youtube, no one is above wanting to see the things that can't be unseen. Basically what I'm saying is, we don't need to further scandalize an already scandalizing story just because people are paying attention to it. True crime can be messy and sensational, and sometimes exploitative and disrespectful, but there is a reason people can't get enough of it.
There is a reason we still respond to the story of Ted Bundy so strongly, whether with disgust or fascination or an odd mixture of both. It's because he's still out there, the spirit of that dangerous kind of man, and it's important, I think, to recognize these roots go deeper than the internet age. That our monsters haven't changed much in 30 years. Bundy wasn't the first and he won't be the last, and the best we can do is try to notice him next time before he can do so much damage. As women, we need to look out for each other and tell our friends when something feels off about that boyfriend or Uber driver or stranger at the club, and the men in our lives need to believe us when we feel uneasy about a seemingly charming friend.
It's a lesson that needs to be learned again, because it keeps happening. I would like to think we're all a little smarter than these journalists seem to believe. I would like to think that a girl watching the Ted Bundy Tapes or Extremely Wicked will learn from it, that just because a guy looks like Zac Efron does not make him incapable of horrible things.
