The TCA’s latest Awards winners confirm we all have extremely good taste

Face it: You’re not going to get a bunch of TV critics in one place and not have them eventually vote to hand out awards to some people. And so it was for another year at the Television Critics Association’s annual awards ceremony, honoring the critics’ choices in about as literal a fashion as possible, by recognizing the best TV of the year in a variety of categories as voted on by the assembled TCA critics.

Happily, the results of the awards confirmed that we (and you) all have excellent taste, highlighting a number of A.V. Club favorites as their honorees. (Phew! That could have been awkward.) The big winner was the dearly departed The Americans, which pulled down both Outstanding Achievement In Drama and Program Of The Year, plus an Individual Achievement In Drama award for star Keri Russell. Meanwhile, new favorite Killing Eve snagged Best New Program, The Good Place was named Outstanding Comedy, and living legend (and Random Roles all-star) Rita Moreno received a lifetime achievement award for her decades of amazing work on the small screen.

Other winners today included a bunch of other people and shows that we like, including Sesame Street, Last Week Tonight, Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown, Queer Eye, American Crime Story, and The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’s Rachel Brosnahan. All told, an extremely respectable crop, even if a “Heritage Award” for Friends seems more like an acknowledgement of its unkillable nature, rather than anything else.

This is The Bad Place: Twin Peaks, Jodie Comer, and other Emmy snubs and surprises from 2018

Snub: The Terror

What is with Outstanding Limited Series this year? At least The Assassination Of Gianni Versace won’t have much difficulty making it two-for-two for the American Crime Story franchise. And it won’t have to go through the frozen-over Northwest Passage of The Terror, David Kajganich and Soo Hugh’s ends-of-the-earth horror series, to do so. The period setting, distinguished cast, and AMC pedigree had all the makings of a shoo-in—the fact that it’s one of 2018’s best shows didn’t hurt, either. And this is a category where American Horror Story was once a mainstay, so you can’t really blame it on genre bias. Whatever happened, the men of The Terror wound up stranded all over again.

This is The Bad Place: Twin Peaks, Jodie Comer, and other Emmy snubs and surprises from 2018

The best TV of 2018 so far

The Assassination Of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story (FX)

The Assassination Of Gianni Versace didn’t seize the zeitgeist the way its predecessor did, but it still made for a focused tragedy told in novel fashion a visual flair fit for the late fashion icon of its title. Played with tremendous warmth by Édgar Ramírez, Versace is ultimately a supporting character here, the spotlight falling on Darren Criss, doing the best work of his career as Versace’s murderer, Andrew Cunanan. At turns magnetic and terrifying, Criss plays Andrew as a creature of pathological confidence and need, forged from the pressures of the American dream and an internalized homophobia whose external manifestations allowed his crimes to go overlooked and under-investigated for months. In the mixed-up chronology of Tom Rob Smith’s scripts, The Assassination Of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story shows not how the monster was once a man, but how the man always had some bit of monstrousness impressed upon him, an ugliness that festered in Cunanan and claimed the lives of others, until it snuffed out one of the world’s true champions of beauty. [Erik Adams]

The best TV of 2018 so far

American Crime Story ends an uneven season with one final death

“Alone” B-

If nothing else, the finale for The Assassination Of Gianni Versace was always going to be interesting. The series started with ambitious goals to provide a true crime series, a character portrait of a killer, a time capsule of the ‘90s, and an overlapping examination of a number of issues ranging from classism to internalized homophobia to the AIDS crisis. Not all of it was successful (in fact, most were not) and it resulted in a fairly uneven season of television where, from episode to episode, it would somehow switch from too packed with information to too shallow. Inability to drum to a steady beat was Assassination’s biggest frustration: the first couple of episodes were almost maniacally paced and brimming with plot; the last few made me wonder why we needed a nine-episode order to tell a possible six-episode story. But seeing how all of this—and the constantly-jumping timeline—would come together, and wondering what’s left in the tank, was part of the intrigue for the back half. After all, all Assassination has left is Andrew’s final kill: himself.

“Alone,” almost bookending the premiere episode, returns to July 1997 and again shows us Versace’s murder. But then it shows us the days between the murder and Andrew’s death, speculating on what Andrew was doing, saying, and feeling. Of course, there’s no way for writer Tom Rob Smith (and journalist Maureen Orth) to know the truth. What the episode guesses is that Andrew was celebratory, poppin’ champagne and obsessing over the news coverage, watching the failed manhunt on the deck while looking oddly at peace. He squats on a houseboat (this much is true) and seems thrilled by his face plastered on the screen—until it becomes too much. He watches Lizzie read a letter begging him to give himself up, even bringing up Andrew’s godchildren (this tape is real; we have no way of knowing whether or not Andrew ever saw it), and an interview with David Madson’s father, wondering if the two were lovers.

Then Andrew breaks down and calls his father in the Philippines, sobbing on the phone. Modesto is Modesto to the end, basically scolding Andrew because “men don’t cry” but he says he’s going to come to Miami to help. Of course, Modesto isn’t to be trusted. Andrew later watches an interview where Modesto denies Andrew’s homosexuality and, we learn, just wants to make a movie about him. (Here’s a fun fact check: Modesto did indeed want a movie with the non-negotiable title A Name To Be Remembered. He thought John F. Kennedy Jr. could play Andrew, and that it would gross $115 million.) Andrew and Modesto never reunite; shortly after, the houseboat is surrounded and Andrew puts a gun in his own mouth.

Maybe that’s part of why “Alone” feels so incomplete (and why I’m hesitant to put the blame entirely on the writing for my lukewarm feelings), because it doesn’t have anywhere to go except back to that fantasy sequence, of Andrew and Versace, all talk of inspiration and lust but not much else. I’ve mostly avoided (I think!) comparing the two seasons but, sorry: American Crime Story had an easier time with The People v. O.J. Simpson in part because it’s an easier story—easier to tell, easier to digest, easier to format into a season-long narrative arc based around a trial. It had an ending where Simpson went free (spoiler alert!) and had a life (and eventually a prison stint) afterward, which writers could use to go back and inform the character(s) and actions (I would be surprised if they didn’t dip into If I Did It as well for some insight). But here, Andrew gave himself a final ending, meaning we’ll never get his side of things, or his reasoning, or closure outside of knowing he can’t kill again. It was an abrupt ending to the “largest failed manhunt in U.S. history,” and that in itself felt incomplete, which is mirrored in the finale.

But “Alone” isn’t just following Andrew, which means we see a struggling Donatella and Antonio mourning Versace, even while still at odds (they have continued to have a vaguely-contemptuous relationship long afterward). There’s another wonderful appearance from Judith Light who, as Mrs. Miglin, takes the police to task for having Andrew’s name and photo for months without catching him. “What has he been doing for two months? What have you been doing?” (And that perfume bit was an easy highlight, too.) The police also go to Mary Anne Cunanan who can only ask, “Did you kill my son?”

They interrogate Ronnie (oh, hey, Ronnie!) who basically shrugs his way through the police interview—but does confirm Detective Lori’s instincts that they should’ve been looking at particular gay bars, so we can get some bonus anger at the botched investigation. “Alone” reiterates one of Assassination’s most prevalent points: that Andrew, and other gay people, “all imagined what it would be like to be so rich and so powerful that it doesn’t matter that you’re gay” and “the truth is you were disgusted by him long before he became disgusting.” It should feel more powerful than it is but instead it’s a reminder of the show’s insistence on beating us over the head with the same points when it could instead cover new ground.

One thing that stuck with me in Orth’s book was the press/celebrity around the matter: Modesto’s Larry King interview, Mary Anne’s general presence on the press circuit, the way that various friends and former lovers of Andrew were paraded around to give their stories, the disgusting hunger of the press who found themselves in bidding wars for sensationalized pictures or interviews, the people who basically had lucrative mini-careers profiting on the many deaths. For much of Assassination, I’d assumed (or hoped) this would get touched on (especially thinking back to the pilot, with the woman’s magazine and Versace’s blood, or the Polaroid photo of his body) but we didn’t get that which certainly seems like a missed opportunity—particularly because the show was heavy on classism, and a general obsession with money and fame.

The ending of the series is a mixed bag: Mrs. Miglin finds out Lee was a nice guy who paid bills and helped a man’s career (is the show implying that these were also his lovers? I don’t know! I kind of don’t care!); Donatella is wracked with guilt because she was annoyed with her brother and didn’t answer his call, the last call he’d make to her before he died; Antonio is all alone without Versace and swallows a handful of pills in a suicide attempt; the series ends on a sweeping shot of a mausoleum where Andrew’s body is kept. And … that’s it. Which is how I felt after that: “Is this it?” But at the same time, I’m not sure what else there could be.

Stray observations

Like always, I’m worried that this review makes it seem like I like it way less than I did, but it’s just easier to focus on the parts that left me cold or wanting. Overall, it was a solid season of television with a few bumps in the road, and the ambitiousness of it all helped to sell it. It’s just not a show that I will ever rewatch; I’d be surprised if I’m still thinking about it next week whereas the first season routinely enters my mind. But please, change my mind!

Was that end disclaimer in all the aired episodes (I’ve been watching screeners) or just this one?

The acting remained superb throughout and I would love it if Judith Light popped up in some future installments— though I must admit I don’t have high hopes for the Katrina season, and wish ACS would just skip ahead to Monica Lewinsky.

Speaking of: What’s your dream American Crime Story season? In my opinion, Ryan Murphy’s most missed opportunity was not acquiring Jeffrey Toobin’s Patty Hearst book because that story is basically built for this.

American Crime Story ends an uneven season with one final death

American Crime Story wants to know what makes a person into a killer

“Creator/Destroyer” B-

After the inertness of last week’s mostly-meandering “Ascent,” this week’s “Creator/Destroyer” is comparatively more interesting and has a clearer focus. And though Assassination is still into shoehorning in parallels between various characters, it works better here (and confined to the cold open) than it did with Donatella. A young Versace, in 1957 Italy, shows an interest in fashion design but is deemed a “pervert” by a teacher and a “pansy” by a classmate. At home, however, he finds encouragement from his mother to pursue his dreams which eventually led to, as we know, him becoming a success. A young Andrew, in 1980 California, is given special treatment (and a master bedroom!) by his father, and he’s explicitly told to always remember he is special because “when you feel special, success will follow.”

These similarities between younger Andrew and Versace—knowing they stand out, having interests that outside the norm of “typical” boyhoods (and being made fun of for it), the parental emphasis on encouragement and success, etc.—are displayed so we can take note of how the two diverged into entirely different paths (and ask why; Assassination has a lot to say about parents!): of how one became a murderer and the other his unfortunate victim. So, yes, some of this is certainly retreading well-worn territory (the season’s biggest problem) but it generally works this time, as “Creator/Destroyer” almost functions as a origin story, pulling us into the depths of Andrew’s adolescence. It’s the episode that paints the most sympathetic portrait of Andrew, but the reverse timeline engineering of the series has—fortunately—ensured that we can’t commit to the sympathy.

What’s also pretty compelling about “Creator/Destroyer” is its depiction of an immigrant’s story—parts of which may feel a little familiar to other children of immigrants, as it did to me—through Andrew’s father, Modesto “Pete” Cunanan. Modesto has that specific patriotism of someone who was born elsewhere (Philippines) and came here with the explicit purpose to make money, make a better life, support his family without stress, and provide his children (or, really, just Andrew) with the sort of life he never had for himself growing up. He served in the Navy, dealing with paltry paychecks just so he could be in the United States. He’s obsessed with success and with looking the part—an obsession that that is partly born from needing to assimilate with the privileged white men he’s surrounded by. There’s a neat juxtaposition of him and Andrew, first side-by-side putting on their suits in a giant mirror and then interviewing: Modesto for a fancy job at Merrill Lynch, Andrew for a spot at the prestigious Bishop school. Both are men who are aiming for much higher than what they have, and both are men who are willing to take the easier, cheating route to get there—which is why it’s no surprise when we learn that Modesto is wanted for embezzlement.

The Assassination Of Gianni Versace hasn’t been shy about its assertion that Andrew wasn’t simply born a murderer—he wasn’t some childhood animal killer who just snapped one day, which is the narrative that is often told around serial/spree killers (though a few experts have said he likely suffered from an antisocial personality disorder)—but that he was sort of created, molded, and shaped into one due to a combination of his upbringing, his family, homophobia (both internalized and otherwise), class, lack of opportunities, desperation, and so on. “Creator/Destroyer” hones in on this view as it relates to his adolescence and family, largely through the lens of Modesto. Modesto pulls the old pretending-I-didn’t-get-the-job sitcom routine but becomes actually pissed off when his wife, Mary Anne, believes it—even basically threatening her with going back to the mental hospital.

Modesto sets up the family as adversaries: Modesto and Andrew vs. Mary Anne (and Andrew’s siblings, who rarely appear); the soon-to-be-successful dreamers vs. the stale realists; the “special” Cunanans vs. the ordinary ones. (And, as we’ve learned through Andrew, there’s not much worse than being ordinary.) Modesto not only uses Mary Anne’s mental illness (depression, and maybe specifically postpartum after Andrew was born) against her by bringing it up as a means to shut her up or scare her into complying, but he also uses it as a way to bring Andrew closer to his side, effectively widening the gap between Andrew and his mother. After Modesto buys a car for Andrew (before he can even drive, and ignoring his older siblings), he basically warns Andrew about his own mother, saying she has “weak mind,” and that Modesto is tasked with making sure Andrew doesn’t end up the same way. He speaks about Mary Anne’s time in the hospital as a time when Modesto was both Andrew’s mother and father, as if wanting to make sure Andrew knows which one to take sides with. Modesto is also, unsurprisingly, abusive to his wife on more than one occasion, and in front of Andrew, which puts Andrew’s later sudden abuse to his mother in a different context: It’s what he saw growing up.

Turns out, Modesto does desperately need someone on his side because it isn’t long after the FBI show up on his front door, forcing Modesto to flee all the way back to the Philippines, leaving his family with nothing—no money, no security, not even the house. “Don’t believe a word they say,” he tells Andrew who takes it to heart enough to also leave the country and track him down. The scene in Manila is the most tense as the two essentially confront each other. It turns out the two were stuck in a cycle that Andrew didn’t know about: Modesto lied and cheated to get money for the family, Andrew bragged about Modesto’s success and needed the money to keep up appearances, Modesto fulfilled Andrew’s demand for money and appearances by lying and cheating, and Andrew would brag and, well, you get it. Andrew’s concerns seem to mostly be about how he’s going to keep on being Andrew—“If you’re a lie, then I’m a lie, and I can’t be a lie. I can’t”—which Modesto quickly seizes, retorting “You’re not upset that I stole. You’re upset because I stopped.”

The conversation quickly grows more contentious, with Modesto calling Andrew a “sissy kid with a sissy mind,” literally spitting on him, and smacking his son. It’s this violence—and Modesto explicitly saying “I’m ashamed of you”—that seems to flick a switch in Andrew, who grabs a knife (almost instinctively) but ends up only cutting into his own palm. It’s interesting to note the difference in how Andrew deals with these insults throughout the episode, depending on where they’re coming from: when a classmate calls him a “fag,” Andrew runs with it (“If being a fag means being different, then sign me up!”) and turns it into an opportunity to demand attention; when his father calls him a “sissy,” Andrew turns cold, quiet, and eyes violence.

The end of “Creator/Destroyer,” which is tasked with setting us up for the final episode, finds Andrew with his tail between his legs and applying for a job at the pharmacy. When he’s asked about his father by a fellow Filipino, Andrew lies to make Modesto seem better than he is—and we know that he hasn’t stopped lying since—which is a little neat. But “Creator/Destroyer” also leaves us in a weird spot: Where does the show go for the season finale? I’m assuming/hoping it’ll jump forward again, bringing us to Andrew’s end, but it seems like one hell of a leap.

Stray observations

Hey, it’s Magic Mike’s Matt Bomer’s directorial debut! Pretty solid job, if nothing too special, but he’ll likely expand his on-screen relationship with Ryan Murphy’s shows to behind-the-scenes as well.

Variety has an interview with Bomer about the experience that’s a neat read. I didn’t check it out until way after I finished writing this but this point has stuck with me since: “I wanted that to give you the sense that if Andrew could’ve just killed his dad, he wouldn’t have killed anybody else. That was a big part of the dynamic I was trying to create in the story.”

Also in this episode: Andrew meeting Lizzie for the first time, learning the name DiSilvia which he’ll later adopt for his own, and that admittedly-fantastic red jumpsuit.

That was a pretty drastic jump from

Some key songs: “Hazy Shade Of Winter” by The Bangles, “Touch Me (I Want Your Body” by Samantha Fox, and, of course, “Whip It” by Devo.

American Crime Story wants to know what makes a person into a killer

American Crime Story is starting to go in circles

“Ascent” C+

As The Assassination Of Gianni Versace winds down toward the end of its season, there is a lesser sense of urgency present throughout. “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” was the clear highlight of season two and these last two episodes—ugh, titled “Descent” and “Ascent”—haven’t quite succeeded in keeping up the momentum. Neither are bad episodes but both feel somewhat meandering and a little confused about what the ultimate thesis is (and especially so in comparison to the first half of this season, which was always interesting).

Last week’s “Descent” saw Andrew rapidly spiraling out of control leading up to his murder spree and this week’s “Ascent” goes just a bit further back to show us his home life, and to sprinkle in some more background information. Simultaneously, “Ascent” also showcases Donatella (and some of Gianni) as she tries to figure out where she fits in within Versace™, which has become more pressing now that her brother is having health problems. While it’s nice to see Donatella (Penelope Cruz forever!), the episode doesn’t work as well as it could.

Donatella is a fascinating person, though perhaps more in real life than in Assassination (which is to be expected in a show trying to tackle this much in just nine episodes) which is the main frustration with some of these scenes. She remains in the background, as an afterthought. In “Ascent,” the cold open revolves around Versace pushing her to be more of a designer and less of an assistant. “You have the opportunity to be great and you choose to assist,” he tells her, though I wonder how much of that truly is her choice and how much of it is her falling into that role because the company and family dynamic demanded it. He wants them to design a dress together, reminding her that he’s sick and that she’s tasked with taking over the company when he dies. It’s a cold open layered with what they don’t know: that his death will be sooner and more sudden.

Later, we see the dress the two designed together (a dress I have seen a ripped-off version of many times during my Hot Topic years) as Donatella steps out into the spotlight of countless flashbulbs. Versace steps aside. But it’s not as successful as it seems at first; an employee later informs the Versace siblings that customers are “turning away from grandeur and showmanship” and instead looking toward “simplicity and practicality,” prompting a disagreement between Donatella and Versace. The argument is cut short when Versace suddenly loses his hearing and, later, we’re told he’s suffering from ear cancer. He’s going to take care of himself in Miami while Donatella deals with the day-to-day operations of the company.

When it comes to Andrew, there are two standout scenes in “Ascent,” albeit with different results. First, there is David and Andrew in the hotel together after they’ve had sex and are now sitting on the floor in comfortable robes, opening up to each other (or at least David’s opening up to Andrew). David tells the story of coming out to his childhood friend—a girl who confused his earlier actions with something more romantic—and how she felt betrayed and never spoke to him again. It’s a vulnerable moment for David, and for the whole show, and it speaks to recurring themes: how so many of Andrew’s victims were men full of trauma, loneliness, and isolation—all related to their sexuality. They weren’t able to live openly and, for some, when they finally began to explore a more accessible world, their lives were cut short. Assassination is best in these small moments of examining the trauma and weight of being closeted, or the climate of homophobia.

The second scene occurs after Lincoln brings home a self-proclaimed straight man from the gay bar. It’s already a tense mood as the man takes a step back when Lincoln takes a step forward. But when Lincoln decides to call him a cab and reaches out to take the drink back, their fingers touch for a brief second and everything shifts to something more sinister. “Ascent” goes into horror movie mode, complete with a sound cue, as the man beats Lincoln to death in a pretty gruesome scene reminiscent of Andrew bludgeoning Jeff Trail. As it turns out, Andrew is also in the house; the man tries to justify his actions (“He tried to kiss me,” which is certainly not true) and Andrew tells him to run.

It’s a rough scene to watch but it’s also one that feels false and forced the more I sit with it. What exactly are we supposed to take from it? That Andrew is copying what he saw? That being closeted and/or internalized homophobia is dangerous? That police don’t give a shit about marginalized people (the later conversation with Norman—”You can kill us and get away with it” also feels too neat)? Because the other episodes have already made all of this pretty clear! And it’s true that Lincoln was murdered in real life (a drifter confessed to the police, though you’d never guess that from clickbait headlines implicating Andrew) but was this a necessary inclusion? It left me with a similar feeling to the scene in “Manhunt” when the businessman hangs up on 911, but it mostly left me wondering if the show just doesn’t have enough left in it.

See, much of “Ascent” is rehashing what we already know. We see Andrew cruise Norman, and then detour to Lincoln only to end up back with Norman. We see him repurpose David’s story for his own in order to win over Norman. We see him clash with his mentally ill mother while trying to leave. We see his charisma, yes, and we also see his selfishness and his violent streak. We see him lie and manipulate, over and over, but what sets any of this apart from the last few episodes? When Andrew meets David, it’s to show why David was drawn to him—but we basically already saw why during Andrew and Jeff’s first meeting. When Andrew smashes store-brand ice cream to the floor and exclaims “I want the best,” there’s nothing new about that note; it’s just hitting the same beat.

It’s strange that “Ascent,” which depicts everything from a fucked-up mother/son relationship to a brutal murder, feels like a filler episode but it does. Maybe it just feels that way because Assassination was so top heavy and this is a change of pace. Maybe the show is just simply running out of steam toward the end. But hopefully it was just a bump in the road, and it’ll regain its footing for the final two hours.

Stray observations

If we’re being completely honest, the more I sat with last week’s “Descent,” the less I liked it! I don’t think either of these are bad episodes of television but just lacking in comparison to the first five. Or maybe all this murder and homophobia is making your reviewer just a lil cynical!

I would like to see more of the dynamic between Andrew and his mother (and his father, too, if they go back that far) because she’s such a strangely compelling person in Orth’s book, and I’ve mostly liked what I’ve seen of her so far.

Another good scene: Andrew at the escort interview, desperately trying to sell himself (he’s “clever,” “really fun to be around,” “well-endowed”) and basically getting inspected like he’s a pup at a dog show. She even checks his teeth! I do wish Assassination would touch upon the race factor a bit more—he’s denied because clients “rarely ask for Asians”—because being a white-passing Filipino who constantly lies about his background is a pretty interesting character trait to explore!

It’s a testament to Penelope Cruz and Edgar Ramirez that I never outwardly groan at some of the cheesier lines (“This dress is not my legacy. You are”).

American Crime Story is starting to go in circles

Andrew spirals out of control in a compelling American Crime Story

“Descent” B+

“Descent” is a lonely and isolating episode of The Assassination of Gianni Versace, which is sometimes even heightened when Andrew is seen with other people. At the same time, it also remains unforgiving; there are instances where you almost want to feel sorry for him (the ending comes to mind) or when it offers hints to partially explain his actions, but the episode smartly never commits fully to these ideas. It’s these scenes where the effectiveness of the backwards timeline (which ended up growing on me) is most on display: you can’t ever feel truly sorry for Andrew because we’ve seen the vicious, brutal murders.

What “Descent” is most concerned with is depicting Andrew’s, well, descent as he spirals further into drugs, sadness, and desperation, becoming more unhinged with every moment. It also wants to simply shed more light on Andrew’s character in general—again, I presume, with a blend of fact and fiction. “Descent,” which jumps back a year before the murders, begins at Andrew’s birthday party while he’s on a mission to do one thing: win over David.

The only thing that’s bigger than Andrew’s current obsession with David is his forever obsession with being seen as someone much better than who he actually is. Andrew struggles to control other people’s perception of him, as if trying to craft his own narrative. He even wants to have two birthday parties: one for Norman’s friends, and one for Andrew’s—even though he’s ostensibly living off Norman (vaguely as a kept boy), he doesn’t want his peers to know that he’s shacked up with an older man. He wants them to think he’s available, he’s rich, he’s successful, and he’s in control. He especially wants David to see this.

It’s hard to parse how much of Andrew’s infatuation with David is real—or maybe he just thinks it’s real?—vs. how much he just thinks the two of them will look good together to outside people. But there seems to be some truth to Andrew’s infatuation (and the hope that the two of them can build something together) as he describes his feelings to a friend: “[David’s] a home. He’s a yard and a family, and picking kids up from school. He’s a future.” (Also of note: He says all this while still not being able to fully admit that he’s gay.) But despite Andrew’s efforts to impress—which includes a reluctant Jeff ordered to give Andrew a particular gift that Andrew himself picked out, and also lying to say he’s still a Naval Officer—David’s eyes are elsewhere. It’s David and Jeff who hit it off, not David and Andrew who nervously watches the two chat before slipping away for some confidence-boosting drugs. You can see Andrew start to unravel during this party, full of nervous and paranoid energy, and increasingly upset that he’s not in control.

Control is such a recurring theme in this episode: personal control, control over people, control over relationships, losing control to drugs and madness, relinquishing control to a familiar family figure. Reeling from the party not going his way, Andrew hands Norman a list—an ultimatum, really—about what he wants in order to stay. But Norman isn’t as foggy as Andrew assumed; turns out, Norman already investigated Andrew and found out all about his lies. Among them? Saying his parents are New York City billionaires, that was he was disowned when they learned of Norman, and that he has a PhD. Andrew’s a mix of frustrating contradictions: The notion of going back to school is “insulting” because it’s “ordinary”—Andrew’s biggest fear, it seems, is to be a normal, ordinary, forgettable person—yet he still puts enough importance on being educated that he lies about having a doctorate.

Andrew loses the control he thought he had over Norman, and both David and Jeff are next. A glossed-over element from “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell”—the postcard that Andrew “accidentally” sent to Jeff’s father—occurs in this episode, and Andrew plays dumb (“Why would I do that?” and “Your parents always assume”) but now it’s clearer that this move to force Jeff out is another way Andrew attempted to exert control over the men in his life, especially when they weren’t catering to his will. With Jeff moving to Minneapolis for a propane job—not for David, he emphasizes, but that’s surely a part of it—Andrew see this as two men he brought together, one of whom he “loves,” leaving him on the outside.

Andrew tries to regain control through David, surprising him with a ticket to Los Angeles and a free stay in a fancy-as-hell hotel, treating him to big meals and new clothes (“Dress for the man you’re going to be,” he advises). He tries to woo David by sort-of speaking honestly, per David’s request, and does sprinkle in some real details (his parents’, and especially his mother’s, spoiling him to a bizarre extent) with some toned-down lies. But that doesn’t work either. Andrew is left alone, now controlling the fictional narrative in his head, telling a bartender about his engagement and honeymoon.

In a drugged-up fantasy sequence where Andrew, high on crystal, imagines Versace as his tailor, Assassination once again tries to draw parallels between murderer and victim—while astutely showing Andrew’s warped self-perception. Andrew is sort of right in believing that he’s given a lot to people but that’s different from believing the world has “taken” from him. And his generosity isn’t about being generous at all: it’s about buying people’s affecting, forcing people into trips, manipulation and control through material items. “The world has wasted me,” Andrew says, even though it’s turned Versace “into a star.” In a searing exchange, Andrew wonders aloud about the difference between them and ultimate chalks it up to luck; imagined-Versace chalks it up to being loved.

Stray observations

“Descent” shows the rock bottom Andrew hit before going on the killing spree—though I’m not sure how much of a span this episode covers: weeks? Months?—eventually begging Norman to let him in, and then retreating back home where his mother bathes him. (Also eerie: “This is not your smell.”

Choice line from Norman: “Being smart is useless unless it’s in the service or something.”

Lee Miglin was at the party! Which feels a little too much like tying a neat little bow on connecting the men (Lee, David, Jeff, and Andrew all in one photo), but it was quick enough.

“Who are you trying to be?” “Someone he can love.”

Andrew spirals out of control in a compelling American Crime Story

A devastating episode of American Crime Story is the season’s best yet

“Don’t Ask Don’t Tell"A-

If there’s one prominent problem with the majority of true crime narratives, it’s that they put the focus entirely on—or grossly glorify—the criminal rather than spending time with the victims. The approach makes sense because that’s often what people want: the gory details, insight into a murderer so we can try to put together the “why?” puzzle pieces. Interest in the victims is secondary and cursory: limited background details, just enough to let us know how we can possibly avoid that same fate. While The Assassination Of Gianni Versace certainly is heavy on Andrew Cunanan, an episode like “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” proves why victims’ stories are important, too—and the result in this season’s best episode so far.

“Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” brings Versace back into the mix by juxtaposing him publicly coming out (in Advocate) with Jeff Trail’s struggles of being closeted in the Navy. It’s an interesting juxtaposition because the military and fashion worlds feel miles apart, and like polar opposites. The cold open, however, features Donatella worried—and perhaps a little angry—about Versace’s decision, concerned that being so public will affect sales, stock, and public perception. Not to mention, it appears Donatella and Antonio have always been at odds (we saw a bit of this in the pilot episode) so she thinks Versace is only coming out to appease Antonio (“You want to be famous,” she accuses him) who is frequently mistaken for an assistant instead of Versace’s partner. Versace’s mind won’t be changed; he had “a second chance” after he got sick but survived, and he wants to live openly. Jeff, too, wants to live openly but that’s impossible with his career in the Navy, and more so during the height of the Don’t Tell Dont Ask days.

That policy, which wasn’t repealed until late 2011, is indeed the focal point of an episode that is both powerful and heartbreaking. After Andrew watches a video of Jeff’s appearance in a 48 Hours episode dedicated to DADT, the episode smartly puts the killer on the backburner for a while to instead jump back to 1995. The bulk of the hour is about a crucial period during Jeff’s time in the Navy, starting with him breaking up a fight between a straight officer upset that another officer “brushed up against me” and then, later, stopping gay bashing in his bunk. The targeted officer cries to Jeff that he needs to be reassigned; he knows that there’s a target on his back, and he knows that there won’t always be someone around to intervene. Another officer spots the two of them and the intimate moment is cut short by the realization that Jeff just made himself a target, too. The scene is informed by the 48 Hours interview where Jeff tells the story of saving a sailor’s life. “If I hadn’t done it, if I hadn’t stopped them, no one would have suspected me.” And then the kicker: Jeff dreams of taking that moment back.

Since that moment, Jeff has lived with the knowledge that saving one person essentially derailed his own life. If he had ignored it, if he had let this man die, it’s highly possible that Jeff could have continued to serve without incident—but then he’d have to deal with knowing he turned a blind eye. There was no winning for him, so he chose the self-sacrificing route. This doesn’t just speak to his character as a fellow gay officer, but also to his base qualities as a caring human being, which makes everything even harder to watch because we know the outcome.

Through Jeff, “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” shows the horrible implications and consequences of the titular policy. It forced members of the military to stay in the closet, to lie about their lives, to spend all their time in the service living in fear that they could be outed—or attacked just for being suspected of “homosexual activity”—and kicked out. It also allowed some officers to encourage others to out their colleagues and, in some instances, it forced gay military members to turn on others in order to save themselves. One officer, the episode shows, was cut a deal by the military police: if he outs the gay military officers he knows—through tattoos, because he doesn’t know their names—then he won’t get dishonorably discharged. Jeff keeps his cool during that conversation but you can tell that he’s trying to quell his inner panic. (It also now makes more sense why last week’s episode lingered on Jeff’s tattoo in the morgue.) And sure enough, there’s an immensely upsetting scene where Jeff tries to carve off his tattoo.

Writer Tom Rob Smith accurately captures the weight DADT had as it loomed over the gay military community, resulting in an episode that just feels heavy, like there was an anvil on my chest crushing me more and more as the hour continued. There’s so much tension built in to small actions, such as Jeff’s captain wordlessly handing him the Dignity And Respect: A Training Guide On Homosexual Conduct Policy book or Jeff slipping on his pristine white shoes to match his dress whites. The former is jarring because you almost want to laugh at the cartoonish cover, but its comic book approach only heightens how fucked up the policies are (and Jeff can recite the specific regulation from memory; another tell). The latter is more urgent, setting up Jeff’s aborted suicide by hanging. It’s a testament to how powerful and effective the storytelling is in this series: We know that’s now how Jeff dies, but I still held my breath. But in a way, some of Jeff did die while in the Navy.

Another impressive task the episode pulls off is having Jeff’s military experience seamlessly lead to depicting why he was originally so drawn to Andrew (a stark contrast to two years later in the airport). Andrew clocks Jeff as new to the gay bar scene, and he uses this to position himself as a charming, knowledgeable, comfortably-out gay man, and one who is willing to welcome Jeff to the scene. What Jeff craves—what he doesn’t get from the military—is to be open about who he is and accepted for it. Andrew doesn’t just accept him but celebrates him, even paying for all of Jeff’s drinks that night. It’s easy to see that magnetism that drew Jeff to Andrew, the beginnings of their friendship before it went awry, and why Jeff now feels like he “owes” Andrew. (It’s also interesting to note of how that mix of respect and envy Jeff felt toward Andrew for those early days is similar to how Andrew felt toward Versace.)

Toward the end, there’s something beautiful about seeing both Versace and Jeff able to talk about their sexuality—even if Jeff is doing it anonymously—in their respective interviews, despite them both knowing that it could affect their careers. Jeff says so explicitly (“By talking to you, it’s the end of my career but honestly maybe my career died a long time ago because they know”) and I’m sure Donatella’s concerns are in the back of Versace’s mind, too. It’s freeing, even if just for a moment, but, of course, it’s cut short by Andrew.

Stray observations

So, uh, happy Valentine’s Day!

Both Cody Fern and Finn Wittrock have been tremendous these last two weeks! ACS really kills it when it comes to casting, huh?

Here’s a link to the Dignity and Respect manual if you want to flip through it—I couldn’t bring myself to really dive in because, as a queer military brat, this episode was especially rough to watch. (It also reminded me of the PS, The Preventive Maintenance Monthly army comics I used to read as a kid, despite never knowing what the hell they were talking about.)

It was good to see Versace & co. back this episode! I’m glad the series included the Advocate interview, which I know was important to Ryan Murphy.

A devastating episode of American Crime Story is the season’s best yet

The New Girl loft was the scene of a murder on last night’s American Crime Story

No episode of The Assassination Of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story has started where the last one leaves off. Narratively or geographically: Every week, the show takes a step back in time to further peel away the layers of the personal and cultural pressures that forged serial killer Andrew Cunanan (and, to a lesser extent—in that we haven’t seen him since episode two—the victim whose name is in the show’s title). Cunanan shoots Versace on the steps of his Miami villa in the cold open of the premiere episode; when the second episode, “Manhunt,” picks up, the murderer hasn’t even arrived in Miami yet.

It works to disorienting effect, but the show employs some clever tricks as well as some tried and true devices to prevent viewers from getting totally lost. “A Random Killing” opens in Toronto, introducing fragrance magnate Marilyn Miglin in the midst of a home-shopping segment. When the modern aspect ratio has been restored and Marilyn’s trying to contact her husband, Lee, on an airport payphone, onscreen text informs us she’s in Chicago. Last night’s episode, “House By The Lake,” begins with a corny sales pitch for one of the Twin Cities. But I’m not buying it. The chyron after the star wipe might read “Minneapolis, Minnesota,” but that’s definitely the neighborhood occupied by a Los Angeles educator and her knucklehead roommates. I’ve stood across the street from that building, yakking at a camera. I’d recognize that sculpture hanging above the doorway anywhere. That’s the New Girl loft.

Two shows, different as night and Jess Day, choosing the same, relatively nondescript converted industrial space as a shooting location. Sitcom establishing shot as murder scene. New Girl films on the 20th Century Fox lot, but footage of 837 Traction Avenue has set the scene for nearly every (if not every) episode of the show that’s aired since 2011. It’s central to the premise of the entire show, in which Jess moves into the building with three strangers after she finds her boyfriend sleeping with another woman in the pilot. But take a different approach to framing the building, and, voilà: It becomes David Madson’s loft in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where the body of Jeffrey Trail was discovered in late April of 1997.

Asked how the production settled on that location, The Assassination Of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story executive producer Brad Simpson said, “We were looking for an area that matches the loft district [where] David lived in Minneapolis—without the L.A. skyline. We worked off of the actual photos the location and art department chose.”

Since first watching the Assassination Of Gianni Versace screeners in early January, I’ve been chuckling to myself at the coincidence. (There’s the added wrinkle of Max Greenfield being a cast member on both Versace and New Girl.) But my heart also breaks a little at the implication: Even after surviving to seven seasons and picking up a handful of award nominations, New Girl’s impact on the TV landscape is minimal enough that it can’t stake a firm claim to one of its most recognizable and identifiable images. Establishing shots are calling cards, pins dropped in a map that say, “The Friends live on this corner,” or, “This is the Conner family home.” If your show reaches a certain level of prominence or prestige, it’ll be associated with these real-life structures for as long as they’re left standing. You’re not going to see an HBO crime drama set up shop in New York and use Tom’s Restaurant as a recurring setting—at least not without some sort of wink toward Seinfeld.

That sense of place, and a show’s relationship with it, are some aspects of what media scholar and A.V. Club contributor Myles McNutt has written about as “spatial capital,” so I reached out to him about the New Girl loft showing up on Versace: “Any location carries spatial capital: This includes its proximity to the studio where the production is based, its similarity to the location being represented, and—important in this case—what other projects the location has appeared in. I would have personally felt that ‘appearing in an establishing shot every time New Girl returns to the loft’ would be significant enough to raise questions about this location, but maybe they never saw the show, or felt its linear ratings were so low few would be forced to confront the intertextual confusion.”

And while such overlap has always been a reality for Los Angeles, the migration of TV production from L.A. to smaller production hubs like Vancouver and Atlanta has extended this challenge elsewhere. “With all of the genre shows shot in Vancouver,” McNutt said, “it’s inevitable they will be shooting in locations where other shows have shot before—the question is how the shows negotiate this intertextuality, if they’re even aware of it.”

You can see such a negotiation in action in “House By The Lake.” The twilight, the low camera angle, the ominously steady zoom: It’s the New Girl loft, but there’s no merriment, no will-they/won’t-they shenanigans, and no games of True American going on behind those walls. That’s a future crime scene right there.

Even when New Girl uses a nocturnal establishing shot, 837 Traction still looks homier and more inviting than it does on The Assassination Of Gianni Versace. There are lights on upstairs, and the windows are open, as if to shout out to the world, “This is a place where six weirdos in their 30s have been gradually learning the things they should’ve learned in their 20s!”
Then again, if you’re Myles McNutt, you’re pretty sure somebody’s getting killed in that loft, no matter what show it’s on.

The New Girl loft was the scene of a murder on last night’s American Crime Story

American Crime Story jumps back to Andrew Cunanan’s first murder

“House By The Lake” B+

There’s a surrealness to “House By The Lake” that manages to heighten the creepiness—and trust me, this episode is plenty creepy. From the bizarre opening advertisement for Minneapolis to that strange dream sequence toward the end, “House By The Lake” plays around with reality, all while remaining completely unsettling as we watch the cruel control Andrew has over the people in his life.

In “House By The Lake,” we see how the series is a character study that examines Andrew—without providing easy answers—and how it does so without erasing or justifying the horrible things Cunanan did. It takes place a week before Lee Miglin’s murder and introduces us to Andrew’s first two victims: Jeff Trail and David Madson. Andrew and David had once been in a relationship—some reports said that Andrew frequently claimed David was the love of his life—though they were broken up at the time of his murder. Post-Minneapolis ad, the episode is immediately tense and awkward: It begins the day after Andrew proposed to David and was turned down. When David, who goes downstairs to let Jeff in, explains this, he recounts that Andrew “said I was the man of his dreams, his last chance at happiness.” (It’s easy to think back to Andrew telling Ronnie that the “love of his life” died, though under different circumstances.)

Jeff’s murder is quick and brutal: Andrew slams the door shut the moment Jeff walks in and begins bludgeoning him with a hammer—27 hits. By the end, there’s blood on the floor, walls, all over Andrew, and even some on David who can’t do anything but stare, horrified. The dog barks the whole time. What’s arguably more chilling (and “chilling” is indeed the word of the episode) is Andrew’s calmness afterward, seamlessly switching from murdering to mothering. “Arm’s up,” he instructs David, the way you do with a child, taking off David’s shirt and putting him into the shower to clean off the blood. Even this feels surreal.

What resonates the most in this episode is watching Andrew post-murder—by all accounts, the first time he’s killed someone—with his stoic actions and conversations. When David understandable asks if Andrew is going to kill him, too, Andrew seems surprised with the question, as if it’s something totally absurd to ask a man you just witnessed murder another man. He dismisses the murder with “I lost control.” Andrew also tests his manipulation skills, attempting to guilt David out of calling the cops (and with a healthy dose of passive-aggression thrown in the mix too). “What will happen to you?” he asks with faux-concern. “I’ll tell them you had nothing to do with it, but what are they going to believe?” After all, Andrew explains, it is David’s apartment, and it was David who let him up. When that doesn’t work, Andrew calmly pulls out a gun but the threat is only visual, not verbalized, and Andrew doesn’t let up his original argument. “I can’t allow you to go to jail. I can’t allow this to destroy your life.”

Later, Andrew switches up the argument for not going to the cops: “They hate us, David. They’ve always hated us. You’re a fag.” I went into Assassination with the assumption that it was going to be a stealth examination on homophobia and gay culture in the ‘90s, similar to how The People vs O.J. Simpson was successfully built around race. The further we go (back) in this story, it’s slowly starting to appear that that’s the case. Even when in imminent danger—forced on the run with a gun-wielding murderer—David’s concerns are about how he was outed, even about his activities (Andrew left BDSM toys and magazines on the bed) and worries about everything the police will uncover about him. Will his parents still be able to live in the same town? Will people still frequent his dad’s shop? Throughout, we get glimpses of David’s internal struggle about coming out: the dreams he has about his father, explicitly wondering aloud “Was I afraid of the disgrace? The shame of it all?” (echoing Andrew’s future murder of Lee Miglin, asking if he’s more afraid of death of disgrace), and then that devastating bait-and-switch in the titular house by the lake where David finds a calm acceptance for only a false moment.

The episode also goes back to the flawed police investigation, which was a trend no matter what city the murder was in. When the building manager lets two detectives into David’s apartment, they do a quick run through of the crime scene where a body is wrapped up in a couch and pushed aside. Immediately, they assume it’s David’s body because it’s his apartment, his wallet on the counter, and his coworker who first sounded the alarm because he hadn’t been at work. Because of the scene on the bed, the police too-quickly chalk it up as some gay hookup gone wrong (“They do what they do, this extreme stuff, David ends up in the rug” Detective Tichtich says). And when they learn about dark-haired Andrew staying with David, Tichtich finally realizes that it isn’t blonde-haired David in the rug so now they assume that it was David who killed Andrew. This mix-up, compounded with the fact that the police then leave the crime scene to instead wait for a warrant, and that they don’t properly ID the body until it’s in the morgue, is so frustrating to watch. (And, if I remember correctly from Orth’s book, it was days before any of this got sorted out.)

But back to Andrew and David, where everything still feels unreal and terrifying: David with his hands out of the window to feel the air; Andrew singing along to “Pump Up The Jam” as if it’s nothing more than a carefree road trip with a friend, or a lover. He even says “I’m so glad you decided to come with me” as if David ever had a choice in the trip or his ultimate fate. Maybe David does, just a bit, because after he smashes a bathroom window to escape, he aborts his plans and returns to Andrew. Or maybe David just knows that he can’t escape—that Andrew would’ve somehow found him—or maybe he just isn’t sure if he wants to return and face everything. (Though he does try again later, but, well.)

“House By The Lake” is bookended by murders—Jeff during the cold open and David during the last few minutes—but we only see Andrew break down once, curiously while watching an acoustic cover of The Cars’ “Drive” (“You can’t go on thinking nothing’s wrong / Who’s gonna drive you home, tonight?”), before reaching out to grip David’s hands. But Andrew does “lose control” again after an argument in the car, pulling over to point a gun at the man he supposedly loves. Andrew shoots him once in the back, as he’s running, and the second point-blank through the eye. He cuddles with David’s body, as if trying to recreate a past moment the two shared, before walking away and heading to Chicago, where Lee Miglin lives.

Darren Criss has been getting immense praise for his portrayal this season and this episode really showcases his talent, putting in a performance that is truly haunting from his even speech to his lingering stares.

At least a TV series finally resisted the urge to kill a dog! (Though we still got a dead animal which is probably my least favorite trend in media right now.)

The backwards formula is finally working for me now that it’s less convoluted and because we’re learning more about the victims (and it’s interesting to see the beginning pieces, such as Andrew’s references to visiting Lee Miglin). David’s flashbacks were a highlight, and hopefully next week we’ll learn more about who Jeff Trail was.

So, the Versace family sure has disappeared, huh?

American Crime Story jumps back to Andrew Cunanan’s first murder