Labels are the most powerful force in fashion. Gianni Versace, the innovative Italian designer who was gunned down outside his Miami Beach mansion in 1997, built one of the industry’s most evocative brands, becoming almost as famous as the Hollywood princesses and real-life royals who wore his frocks. His celebrity made him a vast fortune, but also a big target.
Versace’s killer was Andrew Cunanan, a fame-hungry fantasist and predatory gigolo with a drug habit. Cunanan had sex with men — sometimes for money, sometimes for pleasure — but hated being categorised as gay. Convinced of his creative genius, he resented his anonymity. When the world failed to reward his self-proclaimed brilliance with wealth and eminence, he opted to make a name for himself by shooting a star. Labels can also be a powerful force outside fashion.
Closeted homosexuality and dyed-in-the-wool homophobia are the central wardrobe malfunctions explored by The Assassination of Gianni Versace, the second tale from Ryan Murphy’s anthology series American Crime Story.
Like its predecessor, The People v OJ Simpson, the story is presented as a lightning flash over a darkened landscape, illuminating otherwise hidden features of the culture. On this score, however, the Versace show is disappointing. Racial politics, the trademark of the Simpson trial, is suitable for examination from multiple perspectives. The courtroom procedural format also provides inherent structure. But here, storyline and thematic concerns are more splintered. The giddy whirl of the Miami fashion scene is not a rich environment for thought-provoking drama, and many of the scenes are padded out with campy comedic knockabout.
Despite its title, the show is more about the assassin than the assassinated. Cunanan (played with convincing shiftiness by Darren Criss) had already slain four men before he set his gunsights on Versace. He was on the FBI’s most-wanted list — but a spree killer merely bumping off gay people was evidently a low priority for law enforcement.
Having shot the designer, Cunanan evaded capture for eight days, eventually killing himself. The derring-do of his cop evasion is chronicled at length, while his earlier life is recounted through flashbacks. It’s a framing of the story, with Cunanan centre stage, that glorifies the killer, lavishing him with the attention he craved.
Stealing the show: Darren Criss dazzles as the villain in The Assassination of Gianni Versace
Edgar Ramirez brings subtlety to his performance as Versace, but the character is little more than a collection of histrionic fashionista tics. There are moments when Versace is depicted as a rare voice of reason amid the luvvie babble and whinnying clothes horses. He’s aghast at the skeletal skinniness of supermodels, bored by the solipsism of his socialite fans. Mostly, he’s a whimpering diva, in thrall to delusions of grandeur about the artistic and social importance of his overpriced schmutter.
There’s a similarly cartoonish quality about all of the protagonists in the Versace universe. Penelope Cruz hams it up as an operatically heartbroken Donatella, the ball-busting sister who takes over the family business and narrative. Ricky Martin does fine lip-quivering as Antonio, Versace’s long-term boyfriend. Entertaining though these turns are, they seem to belong to a corny daytime soap rather than the gritty sociopolitical drama to which the series aspires.
The Assassination of Gianni Versace is at its best when it steers clear of the fashion set altogether. The stories of the men Cunanan killed before Versace are told in standalone episodes, offering sharp insight into the complexities of gay life in the 1990s — an era when tolerance of “alternative lifestyles” was preached more often than practised.
Cunanan was a product of social repression and a parasite who fed off it. Ashamed of his sexuality, he preyed on the shame of other gay men. His primary targets for blackmail were older guys, preferably with wives, families and lots to lose. Versace’s name is the VIP tag that helped get this series made, but these quieter, less celebrated tragedies are at its heart. Clever use of a designer label.
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