TV review: The Assassination Of Gianni Versace is all about gay shame

THE ASSASSINATION OF GIANNI VERSACE: AMERICAN CRIME STORY, premieres January 17 and airs weekly on FX on Wednesdays at 10 pm. Rating: NNN (Entertaining)

Ryan Murphy’s latest series is gruesomely intimate.

In recounting serial killer Andrew Cunanan’s cross-country murder spree in the lead-up to the fashion designer’s brutal shooting death, The Assassination Of Gianni Versace doesn’t shy away from showing exactly how his five victims met their violent ends.

In July 1997, Cunanan shot Versace twice in the head at point-blank range in broad daylight on the steps of his palatial Miami home. Murphy’s camera lingers over the bullet holes in his cheeks as he lies dead on a gurney, and later shows embalmers covering them with makeup. Another man-made orifice, a bullet hole in an eye socket, is the subject of a sweeping camera shot.

When another victim is brutally beaten in the head with a claw hammer, the show manipulatively cuts to his mother leaving messages on his answering machine at the exact moment of his death.

The nine-episode series – the second edition of Murphy’s American Crime Story anthology – uses the Versace murder to probe internalized homophobia, and it’s an opportune moment to revisit the shame-wracked Cunanan. Last year, U.S. president Donald Trump introduced a tax bill cutting services for LGBTQ people. Meanwhile toxic masculinity, gay misogyny and closeted Hollywood stars are simmering topics online and in the news.

Similar to how season one of American Crime Story, The People V. O.J. Simpson, used the football player’s murder trial to echo current conversations about race, this second instalment treats the Cunanan manhunt as an extension of conversations around law enforcement failing LGBTQ people.

But this is a Ryan Murphy series, so the social commentary comes with a heavy helping of sadistic horror gore, 90s gay club anthems, gratuitous nudity, luxury real estate (producers filmed in Versace’s actual South Beach home), era-specific wigs, wardrobe and props, and a supporting turn by pop star Ricky Martin.

The Assassination Of Gianni Versace is sensational enough to be addictive episodic TV, but the intimacy of its violence is rarely matched emotionally. Instead, its fascinating story falls victim to an over-reliance on cheesy genre trappings, an under-directed performance by lead Darren Criss and lazy violations of its story-in-reverse framework.

Based on the 1999 book Vulgar Favors by Vanity Fair journalist Maureen Orth, the series opens with Versace’s murder and then reverses the story, Memento-style, retracing Cunanan’s spree to his formative years as a boarding-school-educated golden child in La Jolla, California.

This case is well documented, so the drama for Murphy, his team of directors and writer Tom Rob Smith (London Spy, Child 44) comes from trying to figure out why Cunanan did what he did, what made his victims vulnerable to his sociopathic charms and the wider social context of the mid-90s.

The Murphy-directed season opener immediately sets up Versace (Edgar Ramirez) and Cunanan (Criss) as opposites. The murder is depicted in a grand, near-wordless eight-minute overture soundtracked by opera music. We follow Versace as he casually strolls to a newsstand while an agitated Cunanan cradles a pistol on a nearby beach.

Versace, it is later shown, is a hard worker whose brush with ear cancer emboldened him to come out of the closet and design clothes for women he imagines to be proud and strong. Cunanan is a highly intelligent, status-obsessed compulsive liar who uses sex to gain wealth and kills gay men, seemingly to out them.

After the first two episodes, the show reduces the Versaces – including Donatella (Penélope Cruz) and Versace’s lover, Antonio D’Amico (Ricky Martin) – to supporting players who sporadically return to provide contrast in episodes that focus on the other victims.

Since Cunanan took his own life without explaining his motives, Smith and Murphy must take dramatic liberties, but the view always feels outside-in. Though Criss looks the part of a crypto-conservative 80s preppy killer, he gets stuck in an American Psycho caricature mode.

This is partly due to edits, camera framing and B-movie music designed to deliver easy shocks. Other sequences are weightier, eschewing dialogue and taking time to unfold. There’s nothing wrong with pulpy horror and drama, but the producers can’t seem to settle on a tone. And by withholding Cunanan’s motivations until the final episodes, we’re left desperately searching Criss’s timid performance, which never evolves, for some sense of inner life.

The most tragic parts of the story come in the middle episodes devoted to Jeffrey Trail (Finn Wittrock) and David Madson (Cody Fern), two friends who fatally fall into Cunanan’s orbit. The show leans heavily on reductive flashbacks that not only slow down the main story, but take the onus off the actors to convey the complexities of shame and self-hatred.

What the show does more successfully is capture the class-blind nature of institutional homophobia. In one scene, police discover a body and immediately resort to stereotypical theories. These sex-obsessed conversations continually sideline investigators, creating a sense of high stakes that’s far more impactful than a creepy music cue.

Another highlight is Judith Light, who effectively steals the series in episode three. From the moment she drums her manicure on a countertop, we can tell this performance is about more than a high-camp wig. She plays Home Shopping Network (yes, the Toronto-based TV channel) beauty expert Marilyn Miglin, whose real estate tycoon husband, Lee (Mike Farrell), was Cunanan’s third victim.

She returns home to find something amiss, and soon her facade of hard-fought dignity starts to suggest a tragic mix of denial, love, compassion and anger. Light’s subtle performance is helped by the deliberate, almost real-time pacing of the sequence. (Perhaps David Lynch’s extended floor-sweeping in Twin Peaks: The Return is starting to have an influence?)

But in a show about parallels, the similarities between Marilyn and Donatella are largely left unexplored. Like Marilyn, Donatella must put grief aside to deal with business, police and media. And like Light, Cruz gets an extended intro – albeit more glamourous – that follows her chauffeured journey to Versace’s home, past the bloody steps. Sadly, as the story reverses, we don’t come to learn how the workaholic Donatella is able compartmentalize emotions (at least in the first eight episodes made available for review).

Interestingly, her character comes to represent the ways capitalism contributes to repression and shame. Late in the series, Donatella warns her brother to take the fashion house’s retail expansion and potential public offering into consideration before coming out.

“The rock stars, the actors, the royalty whose endorsements we cherish – they might not want to be associated with us,” she says, adding that designer Perry Ellis faced a backlash after going public with his AIDS diagnosis a decade earlier. “After that, people stopped buying his clothes.”

“Some people,” her brother shoots back.

(Incidentally, in advance of the show’s premiere, the Versace family issued a statement denouncing producers for entertaining Orth’s claim the designer was HIV-positive when he died. Rumour or not, two decades on, some people still think it shameful to be HIV-positive.)

It’s a worthy scene. But, too often, The Assassination Of Gianni Versace just can’t resist hitting its audience over the head.

Costumes help tell the story in “The Assassination of Gianni Versace”

In the pantheon of 1990s fashion, the name Versace rises above all others when it comes to a kind of baroque sexiness and celebrity flash that ran counter to the grunge and minimalism trends of the decade. There was a joy in the bold patterns, gold Medusa emblems and barely there dresses Gianni Versace dressed celebrities like Madonna and Gwyneth Paltrow in and featured on supermodels including Naomi Campbell and Cindy Crawford. That joy was snuffed out tragically on the steps of Versace’s Miami villa on July 17, 1997, when hustler-turned-spree-killer Andrew Cunanan fatally shot the designer.

“American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace” (debuting Wednesday, Jan. 17 on FX) tells the story of Cunanan’s deadly rampage that eventually brought him to Versace’s doorstep. Chronicle television critic David Wiegand had much praise for the series’ storytelling. Style viewed the first eight episodes of the limited series with an eye toward whether show-runner Ryan Murphy and his longtime costume designer, Lou Eyrich, got the era’s fashion story correct.

Early in the series, we see a re-creation of one of Versace’s runway shows and peek behind the scenes at Gianni (Édgar Ramírez ) putting the finishing touches on a collection with his sister Donatella (Penelope Cruz). Instantly, the liquid-gold excess of the Versace heyday is illustrated, with Gianni telling his sister that he wants to create “happy” clothes, not the moody collections coming into vogue via rising fashion stars Alexander McQueen and John Galliano. Knowing what’s coming, the exuberance of his collections is that much more haunting.

In a later episode, we get an even more intimate look at the creative partnership between the siblings as they collaborate on a dress to be worn by Donatella to a party celebrating the 100th anniversary of Vogue in 1993. The result is a re-creation of the actual black leather-strapped, luxe-bondage gown that caused a red carpet sensation in the press, akin to what Gianni’s gold safety-pinned, side-slit gown for model Elizabeth Hurley did a year later at the “Four Weddings and a Funeral” premiere. It was Donatella’s black leather debutante gown of a sort, symbolic of a kind of creative coming out. This Versace-land rings period-true, from the clinging, chain-printed Speedos worn by Gianni’s live-boyfriend, Antonio, to the crisp uniforms worn by the villa manservants. The bright Miami and Milanese sun that infuses these scenes makes the Versace floral prints and shining hardware pop even more, especially compared to the (metaphorical) darkness in Andrew Cunanan’s (Darren Criss) world.

Criss’ transformation from affable “Glee” singer to sadistic con artist in “The Assassination of Gianni Versace” is helped considerably by Eyrich’s costuming, which sees him transform from prep school uniform and mall basics to “American Gigolo” boxy suiting, as well as the ever-present wire-rim glasses that were seen on a thousand wanted posters. In re-establishing the worlds each season in Murphy’s three anthology series, Eyrich’s work has been essential, whether it’s the ever-evolving gothic motifs of Murphy’s “American Horror Story” or the fading Hollywood glamour of 2018’s “Feud: Bette and Joan.”

She doesn’t just get the big picture right; she uses clothes to further the story. Eyrich’s attention to Cunanan’s status-seeking menswear, whether it’s a pair of Ferragamo loafers or a Rolex watch he uses to entice a potential romantic partner/victim, drives the narrative. Cunanan’s pretending and social climbing would not have the same believability if it weren’t for the way he used his charm, good looks and ability to dress the part to ease his way into his victims’ worlds. Eyrich’s wardrobe concepts are frequently more than re-creation, they’re world-specific interpretations that use both exaggeration and restraint to drive the narrative. The soft decorator earth tones worn by the older, affluent gay men that Cunanan sees as potential prey perfectly capture that subset in the same way the fleeting glance at ’90s club fashion encapsulates Miami’s gay scene.

Eyrich and Murphy’s work together over the years has become so well-regarded that in 2017 the Paley Center in Beverly Hills celebrated their collaborations on “American Horror Story” with a special exhibition, “The Style of Scare.” Although the scares are more of the suspense variety and less supernatural in “The Assassination of Gianni Versace,” Eyrich’s costumes are essential in keeping the tension in the series as taut as one of Versace’s signature little dresses.

Costumes help tell the story in “The Assassination of Gianni Versace”

A trick of fashion: The bait and switch of “The Assassination of Gianni Versace”

Gianni Versace’s legacy, his brand, evokes the art of commanding attention. Subtlety is not in the label’s DNA, and even at its most understated, hints of opulence sneak in to signal the glorification of luxury. Gaudiness is a virtue in the house of Versace, and FX’s “The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story,” premiering at 10pm on Wednesday, extravagance leaps off the walls and inflames every inch of the hallways, tiles and stained-glass windows.

Aesthetics drive Ryan Murphy’s latest anthology installment as much as the story itself. More, actually, in some instances. One might argue said focus thematically aligns with the titular subject, but in making that assertion a person would betray an ignorance of the series’ true aims.

Fact is, Versace himself has less of a presence in the nine-episode limited series named for him than the man who murdered him, Andrew Cunanan. Accept this bait-and-switch and the squeamish implications of it, and you may find much to appreciate in this far-from-perfect examination of a crime remembered foremost for its brazen nature as opposed to any lasting resonance on its culture.

“The Assassination of Gianni Versace” is based on journalist Maureen Orth’s 1999 book, “Vulgar Favors: Andrew Cunanan, Gianni Versace, and the Largest Failed Manhunt in U.S. History.” Her reporting on Cunanan and Versace originally was published in Vanity Fair, and it is a meticulously rendered profile of Cunanan’s boundless hunger for wealth and status as well as his unmatchable skill as a fabulist.

Tom Rob Smith, who created the excellent series “London Spy,” channels Orth’s style and knack for detail into the script, particularly taking to heart Orth’s summation of Cunanan’s story as “a singular study in promise crushed.”

“The Assassination of Gianni Versace” seems to pore over every inch of that study in tandem, somewhat, with the designer’s biography and how those who loved him fell into conflict and struggled to take the reins of what he built in the aftermath of his death. But the tale can be more accurately thought of as a crime story told in reverse, working its way backward to the beginning of two lives, one destined for great renown and the other careening toward infamy.

Cunanan gunned down Versace in broad daylight on the front steps of his South Beach villa in 1997. Murphy, who directed the first episode, captures the designer’s savage murder before the title card appears.

Like the series itself, the homicide is presented as an unexpected interruption of calm; the camera tracks Versace (Oscar Ramirez) in his final moments engaging in ordinary acts — awakening, eating breakfast served to him by impeccably clad servants — in an extraordinary fashion.

Through Ramirez’s embodiment of the designer’s quiet sensitivity, Versace becomes a living work of assured serenity. Cunanan (Darren Criss) is his opposite, a dazed young man in a t-shirt and shorts at the beach, contemplating the pistol he’s holding. Soon he’s screaming at the rolling waves.

Versace was the final victim in a string of murders Cunanan committed in a cross-country spree, taking the lives of former friends and strangers alike. But the fashion icon’s place in history was assured long before his death and far less defined by it than, say, O.J. Simpson’s association with his crime.

Besides, “The People v. O.J. Simpson” is a tough act to follow. The series opening installment benefitted from the lasting cultural relevance of the case and subsequent trial.

Though it took place only a few years prior to Versace’s murder, the narrative surrounding the O.J. saga holds cogent parallels to modern conversations about race, gender, and fame in America, and the way each is filtered and failed by an asymmetrical justice system. Simpson was one of America’s favorite celebrities, too — a star first and a black man second, some believed, until his arrest and darkened mugshot on the cover of Time magazine told us differently.

Murphy would have us view the circumstances leading up to and resulting in Versace’s murder as another parable of systemic injustice, positing that law enforcement’s thorough botching of the hunt for Cunanan, who was on the FBI’s 10 most wanted list by the time he made it to Miami, can be blamed on the rampant homophobia of the era.

Just because the creator of a piece declares that it stands for something does not mean that it does. While episodes show Versace and Cunanan facing bigotry in their separate lives, the police drama thread barely touches upon that idea. A subplot involving a team of Miami detectives portrayed by Dascha Polanco, Will Chase and Jay Ferguson is auxiliary at best, presented as if to let the audience know that yes, law enforcement was aware of the situation.

Every other aspect of the series favors its central players with such extremity as to obscure the procedural elements almost completely. But that’s the nature of this work; perhaps in a nod to its subject, every visual detail of “The Assassination of Gianni Versace” is immaculately curated, from Judy Becker’s attention-grabbing set design to its exemplary performances.

Not a hint of John Travolta weirdness is present in this cast. Penelope Cruz is a flawless stand in for Versace’s sister Donatella, and Ricky Martin, playing Versace’s longtime partner Antonio D’Amico, is absolutely stellar. Even the cameos are outstanding, particularly Max Greenfield, utterly transformed into a rangy flophouse dweller befriended by Cunanan in the killer’s final days.

And while Ramirez turns in a robust performance that captures the quiet sensitivity of the designer, “The Assassination of Gianni Versace” places Darren Criss front and center.

Don’t get me wrong, the confident mélange of outrageous embellishment, quivering insecurity and frigid creepiness Criss exerts to create Cunanan is mesmerizing. His portrayal is such a coup that the viewer may soon overlook that they tuned in to this series expecting one man’s story and instead spending much more time with the man who killed him. Cunanan’s various relationships with his other victims Lee Miglin, Jeffrey Trail and David Madson receive a similar level of consideration as his stalking of Versace, and a late-season episode devoted to Cunanan’s relationship with his manipulative father (Jon Jon Briones) is as insightful as it is chilling.

Memorable fashion is often a triumph of artifice if not an unmitigated success. In that respect, “The Assassination of Gianni Versace” hangs together imperfectly, and its lines don’t quite flow with the level of unified elegance as its predecessor. Calling to mind the designer’s signature medallion, it is its own Medusa, beauty and horror in one long complicated gaze. It doesn’t match its predecessor’s power to transfix the audience, but it is definitely worth seeing.

A trick of fashion: The bait and switch of “The Assassination of Gianni Versace”

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Review: A Very Different ‘Story’ Yields Uneven Rewards

Virtually everything about the lengthy title “” is misleading. For one, it’s less of a crime story — in the “Law & Order,” cops and courtrooms sense — than a biography of Andrew Cunanan, the man who murdered at least five people over a three-month span in 1997. One of those people was iconic fashion designer Gianni Versace, but his relevance to Cunanan’s life, and thus the series overall, is largely symbolic — he’s the American dream, and he’s still damaged.

To the show’s credit, these shifts aren’t problematic or even the most jarring twist on Season 1’s “The People vs. O.J. Simpson.” “Versace” is told in flashforward; it starts with Versace’s death and then works its way back in time through Cunanan’s other homicides and even into his childhood. This structural choice never delivers the emotional impact one would hope and does lead to some unnecessary repetition, but it’s a bold choice that should keep viewers on their toes.

Sometimes the new season feels as deceptive as its title: a sequel in name-only that doesn’t live up to its predecessor’s accomplishments despite similarly lofty ambitions. Written predominantly by Tom Rob Smith, the “London Spy” creator who was not part of “The People vs. O.J. Simpson,” the follow-up season is a very different tale. But just when you start to drift away, “Versace” tightens the tether; be it a few moving performances or subtle scenes that carefully convey greater meaning, there’s enough here to warrant attention — be it for a Versace story or not.

If “The People vs. O.J. Simpson” was told from the lawyers’ perspective in order to expose prejudices in the judicial system, then “Versace” is predominantly seen from Cunanan’s point of view so viewers can better understand the difficulties faced by gay men in ’90s America. Whether you were a poor, powerless man on the run, or a rich, worshiped company chair, the oppression, risk, and fear remains the same. “Versace” admirably (and more effectively) explores how Cunanan’s victims formed connections with him and why Cunanan may have finally snapped, even if it’s a less cohesive and richly detailed season than “The People vs. O.J.”

Given the set-up, Versace’s death is the climax of Cunanan’s life, so the series has to work a bit to bring Versace’s narrative back into the mix as it starts working back through the killer’s past. Though the first two episodes are largely dedicated to Cunanan’s time in South Beach and his not-so-chance first encounter with Versace, each episode is dedicated to a new victim.

Episode 3, “A Random Killing,” travels to Chicago to get to know closeted real estate tycoon Lee Miglin. Episode 4, “House by the Lake,” moves to Minneapolis to meet architect David Madson. Episode 5, “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell,” is the best of the lot, as it delves into a naval story focused on Jeffrey Trail.

Within these hours, the story often strays from Cunanan’s viewpoint as it digs further and further into each new character. That gives “Versace” a looser, more haphazard feeling than “O.J.,” but it’s far from a mistake with performances like the ones Cody Fern (as David) and Finn Wittrock (as Jeffrey) provide. They, along with a briefly seen Max Greenfield, are the highlights, though they don’t exactly top the cast list.

Edgar Ramirez makes for a commanding Versace, exuding confidence in a largely quiet depiction, and yet his understated turn doesn’t undermine later scenes where Gianni is scared. Cruz’s presentation of his sister, Donatella, is less consistent, less lived-in, but still gripping. That being said, the most perplexing aspect of Donatella and Gianni has nothing to do with their actors’ respective choices; it’s that producer Ryan Murphy chose to cast two Italian characters steeped in Italian heritage and surrounded by Italian decor with two Hispanic actors.

Onscreen, the most cumbersome entry is Darren Criss’ take on Cunanan. Wide-eyed and speaking with the high-pitched voice of a liar, Criss is asked to carry the series, but he only has so many weapons in his arsenal. His stare dulls and his voice grates. Rather than develop over time, it’s as if Criss figured out who Cunanan was from the get-go and stuck with it. There’s little difference between the high school outcast in Episode 7 and the gun-toting murderer from the premiere.

Such regularity plays into the deadened serial killer stereotype “Versace” should be trying to avoid. (It also doesn’t help alleviate any concerns over another stereotype: associating homosexuality with insanity.) And it’s not even that Criss is bad; he has moments of raw power, he just doesn’t elevate the material the way Sarah Paulson, Sterling K. Brown, and David Schwimmer did for “The People vs. O.J. Simpson.” Such comparisons only hurt “Versace,” but if you can avoid them and take it in as not only a new chapter, but a new book, then this new “Crime Story” should satisfy.

Grade: B-

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Review: A Very Different ‘Story’ Yields Uneven Rewards

Max Greenfield talks new ‘American Crime Story’

If there’s anything Ryan Murphy knows how to do, it is how to capture a specific time. In “The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story,” he focuses on the Italian designer’s murder in 1997 and the years leading up to it. Murphy takes the sensational ripped-from-the-headlines crime, like he did with “The People v. O.J. Simpson,” and broadens it to explore the prejudices surrounding the LGBTQ community and the emotional underpinnings of the AIDS crisis.

“New Girl” actor Max Greenfield plays Ronnie, a man who represents the fear many in the community lived with during the period, if not because of the virus, then of the lives they had to hide in plain sight. Ronnie is unknowingly tangled into the series of events when he meets killer Andrew Cunanan (Darren Criss) and forms a brief kinship.

amNewYork spoke with Greenfield about slipping into Ryan Murphy’s world for season two of “American Crime Story.”

You previously worked with Ryan Murphy on “American Horror Story.” What was it like to be directed by him again?

Ryan knows what he wants and is specific in the sense that he’ll give you a lot of room to explore and play with it. He’s very honest if you’re doing something he doesn’t like and you sort of have to be OK with that. You’re constantly making adjustments off notes, so I don’t think I’ve enjoyed working with someone as much as I’ve enjoyed working with Ryan, ever.

So you were given freedom to create texture for Ronnie, even though he’s not a fictional character?

Yeah, totally. In the period of time it was two years after they figured out the correct medication to treat HIV, so you have all these people who were affected by this disease, many of whom had accepted their own fate, and had for quite some time and were waiting to die. And then there was this treatment, and you saw patients that were extraordinarily sick better within 30 days.

Ronnie was one of those characters who had sort of given up on life and was then given a new lease. It was a complicated time for a lot of people. I know, specifically, that’s what I tried to focus on. So when he meets Andrew there’s a friendship. For somebody who is so completely on their own in Miami, living minute by minute, still confused and bewildered by everything that has happened over the past 15 years, to find any sort of friendship, was so important for him. He didn’t want to believe Andrew could’ve done something very harmful.

For the generation that’s coming up now, that period seems unfathomable. How did you tackle playing that specific window of time?

I did a lot of research. I do have some recollection, but certainly not to the degree that was necessary to understand it. I’m not sure I do now. You talk to people who were around during that time, specifically those in the LGBT community. The documentary “How to Survive a Plague” really tackles it well. Imagining these very human feelings is so overwhelming.

Gianni Versace is a brand to a lot of people. This story humanizes the designer. With that in mind, were you surprised by how this story unfolds?

Yeah, I didn’t know much about it. I was 17 years old at the time, so it was a headline for me. “Oh my Gosh, Gianni Versace was murdered? I can’t believe that!” And then you go to school the next day. I didn’t know Andrew’s back story and that this was one of five murders [he committed] or how deep it went.

What was the most gratifying thing about playing this character?

It was being a part of this story and the creation of Ryan’s world. Some of the things that this series talks about are really important issues. It’s hard for people to digest but I think it’s an important series. He’s not afraid to speak up and create content that addresses issues that people find uncomfortable.

Max Greenfield talks new ‘American Crime Story’

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace’ preview: Ryan Murphy sidelines big names for rising stars

Premiering January 17 on FX, “The Assassination of Gianni Versace” is showrunner Ryan Murphy’s follow-up in the “American Crime Story” true crime anthology series to “The People v. O.J. Simpson.” That debut season two years ago won 10 Emmys, including three for acting, but not for big names Cuba Gooding Jr., David Schwimmer and John Travolta. It was instead career-redefining work by rising stars Sterling K. Brown, Sarah Paulson and Courtney B. Vance that lit up the awards circuit. “The Assassination of Gianni Versace” pulls that same bait-and-switch.

Oscar winner Penelope Cruz features heavily in marketing materials as Gianni Versace’s sister, but appears in just half of the eight episodes made available for the press to preview (out of nine total for the season). Between the second and seventh episodes, she has only one scene. Grammy winner Ricky Martin is similarly absent as Gianni’s boyfriend. Emmy nominee Edgar Ramirez has top billing in the eponymous role, but spends most of the first episode on a gurney and tallies only one more episode than Cruz and Martin — by cameoing in a dream sequence.

“The Assassination of Gianni Versace” is really the story of serial killer Andrew Cunanan, played by Darren Criss. Cunanan is the only character to appear in every episode, with the show working backward from 1997 through his life and murders. The first two episodes explore Cunanan’s connection to Versace, with subsequent episodes expanding on previous victims — with only random and sporadic asides to the Versace clan — and the eighth episode delving into Cunanan himself, going back to 1980 to depict his childhood.

This procedural approach provides excellent standalone acting showcases for guest stars Jon Jon Briones (episode 8), Mike Farrell (episode 3), Cody Fern(episode 4), Judith Light (episode 3) and Finn Wittrock (episode 5). Fern and Wittrock are in just as many episodes as main cast members Cruz and Martin, but their appearances fit more organically into the narrative. Wittrock has already been Emmy-nominated for a standout supporting performance in a Ryan Murphy anthology series — “American Horror Story: Freak Show” three years ago.

Criss also got his big break acting in television under Murphy, on “Glee,” later writing a song for its series finale, earning the musical its sole Emmy nomination for Best Original Music and Lyrics. A compulsive liar, charming manipulator and homicidal psychopath, Cunanan is the role of a lifetime and Criss is perfect casting, down to his half-Filipino background.

Emmy nominees for “M*A*S*H” and “Transparent” respectively, Mike Farrell and Judith Light play a married couple, but neither will be eligible for Emmy consideration because they do not appear in five percent of the total runtime of the season, a prerequisite for the Best Movie/Limited Supporting Acting categories after Ellen Burstyn was nominated for a 15-second cameo in the 2006 movie “Mrs. Harris.” Also worthy of recognition, yet ineligible is Max Greenfield, unrecognizable in the opening two Miami-set episodes as Cunanan’s short-term boyfriend. Greenfield is an Emmy nominee for the sitcom “New Girl” and was previously directed by Murphy on “American Horror Story: Hotel.”

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace’ preview: Ryan Murphy sidelines big names for rising stars

The Assassination of Gianni Versace is a disturbing and constantly shifting true-crime thriller

“It was a political murder. It absolutely was. This was a person who targeted people specifically to shame them and to out them and to have a form of payback for a life that he felt he could not live.”

That’s Ryan Murphy, executive producer of The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story (starts Wednesday, FX Canada, 10 p.m.). The nine-part series, which follows on Murphy’s extraordinary and award-winning The People v. O.J. Simpson, is a true-crime thriller of outstanding suppleness in storytelling.

In his remark about “political murder,” Murphy was responding to a quibble about the title. See, the series is really about Andrew Cunanan (Darren Criss), who killed Versace and four other men. Much of it is about Cunanan scheming and lying his way into people’s lives and then murdering them. Gianni Versace (Edgar Ramirez) was just the famous one. It’s also about the hunt to find Cunanan, tracking his movements and the inept attempts to connect him to multiple crimes.

As such, the drama, which has some stunning visual opulence, has multiple themes and threads. It can be an agonizing, thrilling and disturbing thriller to watch. It opens with Versace beginning his day in his lavish Miami Beach mansion and switches to Cunanan loitering on the beach nearby, presented to us as a shady character with some unknowable but obviously dark intent on his mind. Then he shoots Versace on the steps of that mansion and flees.

From there, the drama shifts and turns constantly, but is never unintelligible in its twisting approach to the entire story. And entirety is what Murphy is aiming for. He also has two central themes – first, the assassination of Versace made Cunanan’s murders a celebrity story that left the other victims forgotten and, second, he nourishes the idea that lies and the putting on of masks are human actions that cover up a core duplicity at the heart of awful human frailty.

The series is essentially Cunanan’s story but we learn a great deal about Versace and his family. He is portrayed as an earnest craftsman who is mostly shy but, aware of his celebrity, given to an extrovert sexual ostentation that he kept hidden inside the closed world of his friends and lovers. There is also a mordant, underlying suggestion in the treatment of Versace’s private life – in 1997, it was still common for a gay man to keep much of his life hidden.

The structure of the storytelling means that the viewer first meets Cunanan’s victims when they are dead, and then goes back into his relationship with them and reveals exactly who they were. This isn’t conventional TV drama in the sense that empathy for a character is created and then the shock of their death at the hands of a madman is a tragic climax.

Instead, as in The People v. O.J. Simpson, Murphy is prodding and probing at the viewer’s casual assumptions about what they are seeing. It’s an unsettling but admirable approach. As Murphy has done before, he draws great performances from actors who might be considered lightweights. Actor and singer Criss, best known as the dreamboat Blaine Anderson on Glee, is remarkable as Cunanan, the preppie who has a deeply exaggerated self-importance and hides a murderer’s heart under his smiling, happy-to-meet-you surface. There is also a fabulous, deeply poignant performance by Mike Farrell, forever associated with his role on the series M*A*S*H, as the rich and closeted gay Chicago real estate developer Lee Miglin.

Miglin was actually Cunanan’s ideal lover – a rich older man who would finance the young man’s extravagant tastes. But Miglin became yet another victim of the killer’s rage and loathing of those more successful than him. Singer Ricky Martin, whose acting has so far been limited to a two-season sitcom and a soap opera, pulls off a powerful performance as Antonio D’Amico, Versace’s long-time companion. Penelope Cruz plays Versace’s sister, Donatella, as a steely protector of all things Versace after the assassination.

And one of the most important roles is given to Judith Light, who plays Lee Miglin’s wife, Marilyn, a woman whose stony denial of her husband’s sexuality, no matter what evidence is presented, is emblematic of an entire society’s denial that a gay culture exists.

Murphy brought in Tom Rob Smith (who wrote London Spy) to adapt Maureen Orth’s book, Vulgar Favors, about the Cunanan murders, for the series. The Versace family and company has complained, without seeing the series, that it distorts Gianni Versace’s life. They say Orth’s book is “full of gossip and speculation.” Orth was at the TV critics tour to endorse the series and defended the accuracy of the book. “I would say my sourcing in the book is 95 per cent or more on the record, and I talked to over 400 people, and so, so many things that you might think were made up are definitely not made up. They happened.”

Like The People v. O.J. Simpson and Feud: Bette and Joan, this new work from Murphy sets out not to revise history but to bring a fresh perspective to the recent past. In the case of the O.J. Simpson trial, Murphy’s point was to lay bare the impact of tabloid-TV journalism on the American justice system and to put O.J. Simpson’s status in the context of rampant racism in the Los Angeles police department. In Feud, he emphasized that great women actors are considered disposable and irrelevant at a certain age, both then – the 1960s – and now. Here, he’s laying bare the agonies of the closeted, hidden life that so many gay men endured as recently as the 1990s.

“The first American Crime Story was very much a courtroom potboiler,” Murphy says. “And we looked at sexism and racism. This second season is a manhunt thriller. We’re not glamorizing the Cunanan story, and we never want to do that. We deal with everybody who was affected, not just the people who were killed, but also the relatives, the siblings. What he did was very, very destructive, and the reason why he did it, I think, was the homophobia of the day. It still persists and that is something really topical.”

There are many striking scenes in The Assassination of Gianni Versace, some of them gorgeous and some troublingly sinister. But there is one scene that really lingers.

When Gianni Versace tells Donatella that he is going to admit publicly that he is gay, she is afraid the admission will kill the business, the brand. It didn’t. This fierce, richly layered drama series is about the one malignant, vengeful force that did, in the end, kill Versace, the man.

The Assassination of Gianni Versace is a disturbing and constantly shifting true-crime thriller

Into the Life of a Madman with “American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace” | Demanders | Roger Ebert

2016’s “American Crime Story: The People vs. OJ Simpson” was a television event, one of the most accomplished series of that entire year. With an incredible ensemble, creator Ryan Murphy proved he had yet another act in him after the popularity of his “American Horror Story” started to wane. Of course, people started asking about a follow-up before “People” was even over, and Murphy revealed that he was working on a version of “ACS” that would chronicle the disaster around Hurricane Katrina. On paper, it sounded like one of the most ambitious mini-series in TV history, and it may still be as it will now reportedly be the third season of Murphy’s creation. After having some trouble getting that one into production, Murphy rallied his collaborators and went to Florida, producing this week’s “American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace.” The result is a less sprawling, ambitious piece than we may have gotten in New Orleans (also when compared to season one) but it’s still an impressive drama, one that plays with themes that have fascinated Murphy throughout his career. Featuring less star power than “OJ” but a few stellar performances of its own, “Gianni Versace” will be a tougher sell to casual viewers, but those who go along for this journey into the world of a sociopath will be dramatically rewarded.

On July 15, 1997, Andrew Cunanan shot fashion legend Gianni Versace outside of his home in Miami, Florida. He was already on the FBI’s Most Wanted list at the time, having committed four other murders around the country on his way to Florida. After extensive investigations, a clear motive was never completely found, allowing Murphy and his writers to dive deep into Cunanan’s past with a bit of creative license.

We do know that Cunanan was a chameleon and a con artist. He would regularly change his appearance and tell people elaborate stories about his background and professions. Murphy captures him as someone obsessed with image but hollow on the inside, and he contrasts him with a designer who created imagery from his soul. “Assassination” is at its most ambitious when drawing these parallels about the power of reputation and image. Andrew says in episode six, “For me being told no is like being told I don’t exist.” She may be speaking about the success of the family fashion line but Donatella Versace practically echoes Andrew the next episode when she states, “We must be talked about or we are nothing.”

“The Assassination of Gianni Versace” is structured in a very daring way, even if I’m not yet 100% sure that structure adds anything thematically. It essentially travels backwards, episode by episode. So, we open with the murder of Gianni Versace (Edgar Ramirez) and the events that followed thereafter as the cops searched South Florida for Andrew, played by Darren Criss. As the season progresses, we see how Andrew and Gianni got here, like reading the chapters of a book in reverse. For example, episode three gets us to the murder of Lee Miglin, a Chicago power player who Andrew killed just before leaving for Florida. Episode four, the best of the eight sent for review, features Andrew and his unrequited love David Madson (the nearly show-stealing Cody Fern, a very-likely future star) on a nightmarish trip that would end in David’s death, just before Andrew went to Chicago to find Lee. And so on. By the time we get to episode eight, directed by Matt Bomer, we’re in Andrew’s childhood, learning about how his father’s behavior may have influenced his own. And this reverse journey finds time to intercut episodes of Gianni’s life, such as coming out to The Advocate with his partner Antonio D’Amico (Ricky Martin), or clashing with his sister Donatella (Penelope Cruz) about a business decision.

Narratively, a lot of “Gianni Versace” rests on the shoulders of Criss, and he doesn’t always carry the weight. Playing a rage-filled, morally hollow character like Andrew Cunanan would be difficult for any actor, but there’s an inconsistency to this performance, especially in the early episodes. Again, I’m not sure the reverse chronology helps the entire production other than by the time we see Andrew in episode four speaking to Jeff Trail and David Madson, we know he’s insane. However, it creates a disjointed timeline overall, which makes the character harder to understand or for Criss to play. And it leads to the feeling that the overall thematic cohesion of the piece is just out of reach. So while there are plenty of great moments, scenes, even episodes to recommend, I’m not sure it all ties together.

Ultimately, watching “American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace” is a series of very Murphy-esque gives and takes. It is a show that feels both bloated and gorgeous. Yes, there’s a part of your brain that will say, “This might have worked better as a movie of two hours instead of a series of nine,” but another, bigger part will be enjoying the performances and production values enough not to care. In that sense, it’s similar to the fashion world it attempts to capture—so pretty you don’t care how much it costs.

Into the Life of a Madman with “American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace” | Demanders | Roger Ebert

Homophobia Examined in ‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace’ Where Darren Criss Shines

“The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story,” which airs Jan. 17 on FX, is not what you think it is.

It’s the second installment in the true crime anthology series, co-created by out producer Ryan Murphy, following the massive hit “The People v. O.J. Simpson,” which debuted in 2015. That season centered on “The Trial of the Century” – the O. J. Simpson murder case – while examining police brutality, classism and racism in America. Not only was “The People v. O.J.” a well-made, well-acted and entertaining show, it’s social context, relating the past to the present on a number of issues still relevant today, skyrocketed the drama into a league of its own.

Murphy and Co. don’t have an easy task following up “The People v. O.J.” This time around they tackle the murder of out Italian fashion designer Gianni Versace, who was shot dead on the front steps of his Miami mansion in 1997 by Andrew Cunanan. Like first season of “ACS,” “Versace” has an incredible star-studded cast, including brilliant performances from its main crew: Edgar Ramirez as the titular designer, Penelope Cruz as his sister Donatella, Ricky Martin as his partner Antonio D’Amico and Darren Criss as Cunanan.

But unlike the epic “The People v. O.J.,” “Versace” is a dramatically different story – one told in a non-linearly manner and one that also fails to link the hot button issues of today with those prevalent 30 years ago. “The People v. O.J.” was compelling partly because it was able to point to a significant moment in time and highlight how the country is still facing similar complex problems.

“Versace” is also a bit misleading. Ads and promotion for show will have you to believe Ramirez, Cruz and Martin are all major players this season. Though they do appear in almost every episode – mostly a few scenes here and there – the second “ACS” installment is “The Darren Criss Show.” But that’s not a bad thing! Criss, who is on screen about 70% of the time, is terrifyingly electrifying, totally allowing himself to be consumed by his character.

“Versace” isn’t a zippy and campy courtroom drama that re-litigates the past but a meditative mood piece of sorts. It’s less an investigation of how Gianni was murdered but why he was murdered. The season is a compelling portrait of a serial killer and it’s success rests mostly on Criss’s shoulders, who proves himself here with a marvelous breakout performance as the deranged albeit very charming Cunanan.

Based on Maureen Orth’s book “Vulgar Favors: Andrew Cunanan, Gianni Versace, and the Largest Failed Manhunt in U. S. History” (with out “London Spy” writer Tom Rob Smith penning a number of the episodes) the show is also gloriously gay. From its opening moments (there’s an ode to “Moonlight” in the first 5 minutes of the first episode), the show’s biggest theme is what it was like to be gay in the 90s; an exploration of the dangers of the closet.

Many of Cunanan’s experiences in the gay community are depicted, including his struggle with being accepted by other gay men and his troubles with finding true love and meaningful connections. In one daring scene in the latter part of the season, Cunanan is bluntly told that he’s not desirable by men because he’s Asian. (Like Criss, Cunanan was half Filipino).

For Gianni, he’s often bumping up against Donatella, who struggles with accepting his sexuality and his relationship with his partner. We also see Gianni’s deteriorating health and his battle with HIV/AIDS. Well aware of his condition, he’s preparing for his sister to take over the fashion company, helping her become a confidant businesswoman and designer. “Versace” even manages to show how the now-defunct Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy (instituted by the Clinton administration in 1944 but ended with Obama in 2011), which prevented gay military members from openly serving, impacted the gay community.

Above all else, “Versace” is about fitting in and finding acceptance among friends, family and society. For Cunanan, doing so was difficult even amongst his own community. As Murphy recently explained, his interactions in the gay community played a role in his killings.

“[He was a] person who targeted people specifically to shame them and to out them, and to have a form of payback for a life that he felt he could not live,” the producer said.

“The underlying subject is homophobia and how homophobia killed him,” Ramirez said of Gianni. “That’s something that comes up over and over when we look into the investigation. … Cunanan was on the news every night, on the most-wanted list, and for some reason all the law-enforcement authorities couldn’t get him.”

“Versace” unspools like a series of short stories. It begins with the Gianni’s murder and then moves backwards from there, mostly following Cunanan on his killing spree. Unlike “The People v. O.J.” (and many true crime shows), which did not show Nicole Brown Simpson or Ron Goldman, “Versace” takes the time to spotlight each of Cunanan’s victims, fleshing them out and making them into complex characters. Among Cunanan’s victims was wealthy real estate tycoon Lee Miglin (Mike Farrell), who Cunanan killed before Gianni. The third episode is solely devoted to him and his death, featuring an outstanding guest performance from Judith Light, who plays his wife Marilyn Miglin.

The bulk of the season follows Cunanan and his relationship with his first two victims, former U.S. navel officer Jeffrey Trail (played by the wonderful Finn Wittrock) and one-time-lover David Madson (Cody Fern). This is where “Versace” flounders a bit. The chronology of the men’s murders is told out of order and things can quickly get confusing, especially for those unfamiliar with the case.

Despite some its shortcomings, “Versace” is still a thoroughly entertaining and exciting season of TV that gives Criss an opportunity prove he’s come a long way since his “Glee” days. It’s hard to tell how the second season of “ACS” will resonate with viewers; the fact that it’s so unashamedly gay may turn off some people (but who really cares about that). “Versace” will unlikely capture the same kind of spark “The People v. O.J. Simpson” did two years ago, but the new installment in Murphy’s anthology series has his thumbprint on it. With stunning production value and fabulous performances from everyone involved, “Versace” has something to say and it is essential television.

Homophobia Examined in ‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace’ Where Darren Criss Shines

American Crime Story’s Versace Doesn’t Actually Have Much Versace — and That’s Great

In the first scene of FX’s American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace, the title character (Edgar Ramirez) wakes up, glides through his gilded mansion, accepts a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice that he sips by the courtyard pool, and heads out to buy a stack of magazines from a nearby newsstand. This is the ’90s Miami of The Birdcage, a haven for gay men, awash in creams and peachy-pinks. The second installment of the true-crime anthology series that Ryan Murphy began with The People vs. O.J. Simpson, Versace tells another blood-soaked story about the crazy-making quest for wealth and fame — or at least the appearance of it.

At the outset, The Assassination of Gianni Versace, which premieres Jan. 17, feels like a straightforward continuation of The People vs. O.J. Simpson, which also takes place in the mid-to-late 1990s. Both examine the then-novel concept of death as a 24-hour-news-cycle spectacle: When Versace is gunned down in front of his home, a crowd forms outside, and a tourist who earlier sought the man’s autograph now sneaks under police tape to dip a Versace ad torn from a magazine in the designer’s blood. But it’s fitting that the show opens on the last morning of Gianni Versace’s life, on July 15, 1997. By the second episode, Versace himself fades from focus, replaced by 27-year-old serial killer Andrew Cunanan (Darren Criss) — a nothing, a nobody, until he made a name for himself by murdering his idol.

Criss’ portrayal of Cunanan, a gay man whose outward confidence and taste for the finer things belies a deep well of insecurity, is the highlight of the show. This is a guy who can make eating a bowl of Fruit Loops look menacing. The gripping performance is enhanced by the show’s narrative structure, a risky gambit that pays off: The season moves backward in time, each episode taking place just before the events of the previous week’s. Versace is a puzzle the viewer puts together as it goes on, and with this approach the story seems to ripen with every episode as we move deeper and more intimately into Cunanan’s past.

We also learn about his other, less glamorous victims, almost all of them gay men who entered into relationships with Cunanan. (The series is based on the 1999 book Vulgar Favors: Andrew Cunanan, Gianni Versace, and the Largest Failed Manhunt in U. S. History by Vanity Fair’s Maureen Orth.) Writer Tom Rob Smith, himself openly gay, draws out the way Cunanan exploits the stigma of being gay in the 1990s both to lure his prey and to cover up his crimes. He is devious in his manipulations. Against his victims, Cunanan wields a possessive logic: the world doesn’t want or accept you, but I do. Against law enforcement, he cannily exploits the systemic straightness of police, leaving behind evidence of the victims’ sexual proclivities that makes it easier for the cops to, if not dismiss the crimes, treat them with a smirk and a sideways glance: Oh, it’s a gay thing. “They hate us, David. They’ve always hated us,” Cunanan tells an ex-boyfriend. “You’re a fag.”

Versace is not camp; it’s a respectful and often deeply moving depiction of the struggle for acceptance, both from the wider world and from oneself. Despite the boldfaced names touted in FX’s ads, the story of Gianni Versace, his sister, Donatella (Penelope Cruz), and his lover of 15 years, Antonio D’Amico (Ricky Martin), merely frames Cunanan’s escapades. Thematically, the parallel story lines of Versace and his killer work in tandem: In one episode, we witness Cunanan construct a sellable version of himself as Gianni helps Donatella design her first dress; in another, Gianni contemplates a public coming-out while the alternate story follows a gay character in the Navy during the era of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.”

The Versace family has already released a statement declaring the show’s depiction of the late designer’s professional and domestic struggles a fantasy. But the Versaces are the embroidery here, not the tapestry. Like Orange Is the New Black’s Piper Chapman (Taylor Schilling) — the nice white lady who’s sent to the big, bad prison — the Versace angle is a Trojan horse, a mass-marketable hook for a series that’s actually most interested in stories about less flashy, more marginal characters. This is far less a show about a fabulous atelier than it is about a handful of gay men you’ve probably never heard of.

Sure, it’s a bait-and-switch. But maybe that’s what we need at a moment when a powerful speech at an awards ceremony is all it takes for the media to breathlessly anticipate Oprah 2020. As much as I loved O.J., which rightfully won the Emmy for Outstanding Limited Series last year, I have serious reservations about the prospect of our popular culture being clogged with stories about celebrities from 20 years ago (next up on the Murphy/FX docket is Feud: Charles and Diana).

The casting of the long-closeted Martin as Versace’s partner is a nod to the fact that we have finally reached a point when an openly gay man can create a show for a major cable channel that’s this, well, gay. With so few straight characters, Versace can move beyond the anxiety of representation — no one gay man stands in for the whole. There’s no hint of a character or story line that feels wedged in for the sake of the platonic straight male viewer. Cruz is wonderful as the fledgling version of the Donatella we know and love — and also, it has to be said, almost distractingly beautiful — but she remains fully clothed throughout.

Again, it’s Criss who is the main draw. Despite a bit of midseason sag in the plot, he holds the viewer tight in his grip. Cunanan exerts control over his victims calmly, which is so much scarier than bluster, like your mom going really quiet when you know you’re in trouble. He’s got a Trumpian swag, an unearned confidence in his ability to sell himself to anyone. Yet Criss never lets us forget his desperation and shame, the self-loathing just beneath the surface of the collegiate bravado. You can just make out the panic behind his eyes. “You can’t go to America and start from nothing,” Cunanan’s father, an immigrant from the Philippines, tells him in a flashback episode. “That’s the lie.”

The character calls to mind two creepy-brother portrayals in films of the past year: Caleb Landry Jones in Get Out and Billy Magnussen in Ingrid Goes West. Like this pair of privileged yet sinister bros, Cunanan as depicted in Versace is a country-club psycho — an embodiment of the moral rot at the core of the pristine image of the American dream.

American Crime Story’s Versace Doesn’t Actually Have Much Versace — and That’s Great