Cody Fern, ‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ (FX)
Initially, it seemed like Cody Fern‘s delicate, devastating performance as David Madson, the second of Andrew Cunanan’s murder victims, was going to be relegated to a mere tragedy of proximity. David was unfortunate enough to cross paths with this burgeoning killer at exactly the wrong time, catching his eye, earning his sinister intention, and ultimately reaping the violence that Andrew held inside him. Ryan Murphy and Tom Rob Smith’s production was far smarter than that, showing David in the crosshairs not of one madman but of a dehumanizing, unsympathetic society that left people like David exposed and uncared for. Into that elevated narrative, then, stepped Cody Fern, an Australian actor and genuine find, who played David not just with the doomed air of future victim but with the waxing and waning of someone trapped between choices he never wanted to have to make. As the season went on, we got to see more of how Fern played David’s faith in people — his parents, his friends, his neighbors — and how that faith would be broken and questioned. The way Fern plays David, wholesomely kind and talented, you can see why Andrew would have thought that attaining him would solve all his problems. But Fern also never let those haunted doubts behind David’s eyes go away. The ones that, in his final days, wondered if the shame of a son touched by sin wouldn’t be worse than the grief of a son lost forever. — Joe Reid
Darren Criss, ‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ (FX)
It would have been easy for The Assassination of Gianni Versace to lean into the pulpy tone that defined Versace’s murder in 1997. Instead Darren Criss brought us a performance that was more complicated, nuanced, and sympathetic than any coverage of Andrew Cunanan has ever been. Criss’ Cunanan was unmistakably the villain of his own story, but through his shifting glances, fake smiles, and constant lilting lies, he captured the hero Cunanan saw in the mirror. More than once Criss forced audeinces to ask if this killer — who murdered five innocent men in cold blood — was actually a victim of his upbringing, societal homophobia, and his own disturbed mind. And yet the Versace season of American Crime Story was never afraid to pull back, showing us the monster Andrew Cunanan was beneath his perfect smile. Criss’ portrayal of a young man so enchanted by notoriety and enraged by jealousy that he would kill to obtain it is one of the most haunting roles ever brought to screen. — Kayla Cobb
‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’
From singing high schoolers to horror stories throughout history, Ryan Murphy has made a career out of humanizing society’s outcasts. But nothing he has created has ever been as heart-breaking, nuanced, or painful as the Versace season of American Crime Story. Rather than building to the climax of Andrew Cunanan’s (Darren Criss) murder spree, American Crime Story starts with Versace’s (Édgar Ramírez) murder. What follows is a complicated reflection on how the prejudice the LGBT community faced in the ’90s, a toxic celebrity environment, a genius designer’s complicated legacy, and one man’s disturbed mind all resulted in one of the most preventable murders in American history. American Crime Story transformed its pulpy premise into an emotional love letter to Cunanan’s victims all while pointing a judgmental finger at the bigotry that led to these five victims’ needless deaths. — Kayla Cobb
To borrow a conceit from Community, we’re living in the darkest timeline. Pick a day and chances are there will be another dystopian-sounding news story. From unsettling meetings with North Korea to reports of children being forcibly removed from their families by our government, 2018 has proven to be a horror show… And the best television of the year has captured that. So far this year’s best shows have been about a serial killer (The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story), a dictatorship that imprisons and rapes women (The Handmaid’s Tale), and deeply warped race relations (Atlanta and Dear White People). 2018 has been great for television, and horrible for everyone’s mental health.
1. ‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 4: “House By the Lake”
With its fourth episode, The Assassination of Gianni Versace emerged as the show it had been trying to be. Without the gaudy trappings of the Versace family, producer Ryan Murphy and writer Tom Rob Smith turned their narrative eye towards the unbearably tragic murder of David Madson.
Darren Criss (as Andrew Cunanan) and Cody Fern (as Madson) turn in searing performances as killer and victim, respectively, anchoring the episode even as it takes a few flights of fancy. — Joe Reid
1. ‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 4: “House By the Lake”
With its fourth episode, The Assassination of Gianni Versace emerged as the show it had been trying to be. Without the gaudy trappings of the Versace family, producer Ryan Murphy and writer Tom Rob Smith turned their narrative eye towards the unbearably tragic murder of David Madson.
Darren Criss (as Andrew Cunanan) and Cody Fern (as Madson) turn in searing performances as killer and victim, respectively, anchoring the episode even as it takes a few flights of fancy. — Joe Reid
Since its premiere The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Storyhas been decidedly different from other shows. It’s a Ryan Murphy series that remains constantly somber and dark, veering away from the campy tone that so often defines the creator. It’s a show that portrayed a serial killer who targeted the gay community not as a sideshow attraction or a punchline but as a psychologically compelling horror story. It’s a show that proudly and directly discussed LGBT discrimination in broad strokes that applied to both Gianni Versace‘s murder by Andrew Cunanan and modern day conversations about discrimination. In many, many ways the Versace season of American Crime Story was revolutionary — but this revolution left very little room for the women of this story. That changed last night with the season’s finale, “Alone.”
It’s worth taking a minute to praise the skill that went into structuring Versace. The first 10 minutes of this crime drama started with the crime that made Cunanan a household name — his murder of legendary designer Gianni Versace. It was the dramatic and celebrity-laden hook that made this story instantly engaging, but after starting with that bang, Versace switched to a controlled burn as it slowly and painstakingly unravelled the lives of the five men Cunanan murdered, as well as Cunanan himself. After this winding narrative back through history, “Alone” snapped back to the moment right after Cunanan committed his most famous murder. This figure who was always defined by who he was, compared to the people around him, is now alone on a houseboat, waiting for his inevitable death. It’s a haunting transition from the confident and dangerous man the show has established Cunanan to be, and it’s also a shift that allows Versace to embrace its chorus of grief-stricken women.
Because of who he was and what he did, Cunanan is again the central focus of this episode, but he shares the spotlight with several personifications of grief; the most notable of which is Judith Light‘s Marilyn Miglin. Caught between relief that her husband’s murderer will finally be captured, and unbridled anger that it’s taken authorities this long, Marilyn’s grief is shown hiding under a deceptively strong-willed and steely exterior. In between her fiery glares and lip quivers, Light shows just how much this loss has wounded her character. Penelope Cruz‘s Donatella Versace has a similar but much more extravagant breakdown. Surrounded by gorgeous fabrics, this once seemingly fearless woman laments the last time she ignored her brother’s call. All season this character has been portrayed as the height of sophistication and wealth, but in this one moment as she sobs, she’s no longer beautiful. She’s in pain because of the man she lost, and no amount of beautiful dresses can bring him back.
Though Light and Cruz undeniably steal the show, there are other flickers of grief from Versace‘s female secondary characters. At one point, Cunanan (Darren Criss) is shown watching a reconstructed interview that actually happened with his longtime best friend, Lizzie (AnnaleighAshford). It’s a small moment, but Lizzie’s reminder that this serial killer was a godfather carries weight. Cunanan had a life and people who genuinely loved him before he became the monster he died as. Though its a far more subtle moment, the wide-eyed Mary Ann Cunanan (Joanna Adler) also gets her moment to mourn the son she used to adore. Shown transfixed to the crime report unfolding in Miami, Mary Ann follows without question when the police ask her to come with them. Regardless of what happens next, she knows her little boy is dead. As horrible as Cunanan’s many crimes were, that revelation hurts.
Ricky Martin‘s Antonio D’Amico also gets a heartfelt moment of mourning in Versace‘s final episode, choosing to take a handful of pills rather than face life without his lover. However, there’s a sort of intentional dullness to Martin’s portrayal of sorrow. He seems so hurt, he’s unable to fully express his pain in any form other than action. Though those actions communicate Antonio’s own personal grief, it’s the tears of the women around him that make “Alone” a distinctly sad episode of television.
In a way, it’s a bit odd that a show as revolutionary as Versace would end on such a typical portrayal of gender. In our society, women are the ones who are allowed to cry and express grief while men are expected to bottle up these particular emotions. Aside from a couple of pointed outbursts from Antonio throughout the season, that’s essentially what happens in Versace. But seeing as how this episode was directed by Daniel Minahan, the director who was responsible for some of this season’s most spectacular episodes including “House by the Lake”, it feels like there’s a very good reason why this show’s emotional climax hinges on breaking down its strong women.
As the show establishes, strong, confident women were always Gianni Versace’s muse. The designer had little patience for fashion empire institutions that took themselves too seriously, instead choosing to embrace models and designs that embraced life. Because of this, ending this powerful story with two of the show’s most powerful women shamelessly expressing grief over the lives they have lost feels like a tribute to Gianni Versace himself. Yes, the final moments of Versace are appropriately tinged with sorrow, but there’s an unexpected ray of happiness lurking beneath them. Though he was cruelly taken away before his time by a mass murderer, the world was lucky to have Gianni Versace while it did. That’s what Versace‘s mourning women partially represent — pain that such wonderful people were taken before their times.
Cunanan, Koresh and Hearst. On the surface they have nothing in common, other than than being three notorious figures who had done wrong in one way or another (serial killer, polygamist with way too many guns, kidnap victim turned revolutionary bank robber), capturing the world’s attention. Over the past two months, they OVERLY captured MY attention, as their incredible and tragic stories unfolded in three separate, but (mostly) equally excellent TV series – The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story, Waco, and The Radical Story of Patty Hearst.
I live for series like these, because things that happen in the real world are always more compelling than stories that are made up (that’s why I STILL prefer Rome over Game of Thrones). I come to these types of series to learn, and to ask why, but what I didn’t realize would happen upon exiting them is that I would find myself sympathizing with these devils. The levels of badness differ between Cunanan, Koresh and Hearst, but after spending all this time with them, I see them now more as humans with flaws (some more deeply flawed than others) than as the pariahs that the media and the passing of time have turned them into.
‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’
I am not much of an awards guy, but in my hopes of hopes, I want Darren Criss to win 17 Emmys for playing Andrew Cunanan. Cunanan lived a life of lies, but mainly because he always wanted to impress people, make friends and feel loved and wanted. Darren Criss conveys this so perfectly that I was impressed, and loved his character so much that I wanted to actually be his friend. When Criss as Cunanan was charming and happy, I was charmed and happy. When he was doing wrong, and going on the lam, I was disappointed (and disgusted) that he was doing these actions, and yet I was somehow secretly hoping for him to NOT get caught. What is wrong with me? How could I possibly find empathy for a guy who senselessly murdered at least five people?
ACS: Versace brilliantly tells the Cunanan’s story backwards – starting with Versace’s murder, and tracing his sordid life back to childhood. By the time we learn the truth about his father Modesto, and how he professionally swindled people and left his family with nothing, you can see where everything started to go wrong for Cunanan. He just wanted a better life for himself, but unfortunately, that better life always seemed to elude him, so he took it out on those who were able to do what he wasn’t able to – succeed. And still, I felt for Cunanan. His father disappointed him. It was hard for him to be gay in a time that wasn’t easy for anyone to be gay. He was different and just wanted to feel special. Criss crossed all these roads – the light and the dark, and it somehow filled me with glee (pun intended).
But how could I not root for the Catholic school misfit who shows up at a house party in an Eddie Murphy Delirious red leather jacket and awkwardly takes center stage in someone’s living room, acting a fool like John C. Reilly in Cyrus?? Even if this scene never happened in real life and was dreamed up by the writers, I still have to shout – ‘you go Andrew!’
If only you found happiness in life, and not sadness, and didn’t created way too much sadness for way too many others.
Andrew Cunanan walks through Miami Beach toward death as “Vienna” by Ultravox plays on the soundtrack. That New Wave masterpiece is both a celebration and rejection of glamour. Sequentially so, in that vocalist Midge Ure sings of “a man in the dark in a picture frame, so mystic and soulful” and “haunting notes, pizzicato strings, the rhythm is calling,” only to follow up by proclaiming “the image is gone…the feeling is gone…this means nothing to me.” Simultaneously so, in that when he sings “this means nothing to me” the song soars as if nothing has ever meant more to him. Inextricably so, in that it wedges “only you and I” between each declaration of faded emotion and emphatic meaninglessness; in that the title comes from the chorus’s climactic phrase “Ah, Vienna,” a cry of joy and a sigh of loss all at once. The first time that chorus hits in the ninth and final episode of The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story, Andrew Cunanan assassinates Gianni Versace. The second time, he’s standing in a stranger’s kitchen, rummaging through a fridge in a house he’s burglarized, pulling out a bottle of champagne and fiddling with the foil around the cork. His lonesome toast to himself is not timed to the music. The feeling is gone, only you and I, it means nothing to me, this means nothing to me.
“Alone,” ACS Versace‘s finale, is based almost entirely on such disconnection. Andrew Cunanan becomes a superstar literally overnight and ends his life with a stomach full of dog food and scrounged garbage. His sociopathic, spotlight-hogging father announces that the film of his son’s life is to be titled A Name to Be Remembered By — unnecessary verb, dangling participle and all — while reporters the world over mispronounce his name in increasingly comical ways. Andrew spends his life seeking the approval and affection of mostly older men and ends it after discovering empathy in the form of two women: Lizzie, his old friend, who pleads with him on television to show the world the loving and lovable person she and her children (“your godchildren”) have known all along; and Marilyn Miglin, wife of the man he tortured to death, raised (like Andrew) by a single hardworking mother after her fondly remembered father (like Andrew’s) was no longer there. Marilyn recounts the story of her family and her desire to create a perfume like something her late dad would have given her mom to show her she’s special and loved, and discovers her husband did things like this for strangers all the time without her knowledge. Andrew’s own mother, who wanted nothing more and nothing else but to be close to her son, hides from the world under blankets and jackets now that his presence is inescapable. The police, who Keystone Kop’d their way through a months-long manhunt as bodies piled up (even their wanted posters are preposterously homophobic, misleadingly tarting Andrew up like a drag Joker), deploy a small army of SWAT goons to corner Andrew in the houseboat where he just up and kills himself anyway. The monster they sought is pronounced by the lead investigator who finds his corpse to be “just a boy.” It falls to Ronnie, an HIV-positive junkie absolutely invisible to the straight world and who only knew Andrew under an assumed identity, to tell the FBI this man spent a lifetime in the shadows, in pain, and now wants only to be seen. At the heart of it all, the magic moment Andrew and Gianni shared in that San Francisco opera house long ago was just that — a moment. “It feels like destiny,” the desperate young man told the older genius. “Why, can’t you feel it?” He can’t.
Across the board, the performances — from Darren Criss, Édgar Ramírez, Penélope Cruz, Ricky Martin, Judith Light, Jon Jon Briones, Joanna P. Adler, Annaleigh Ashford, Dascha Polanco, and Max Greenfield, with Criss and Light especially putting in absolutely crushing work — resist grandiose or valedictory choices. None of them see this as a date with destiny at all. The episode’s only false note comes when writer Tom Rob Smith, director Dan Minahan, and showrunner Ryan Murphy insert a vision of Andrew’s younger self in the bedroom where he’ll die. It feels too grand, too full-circle. But then the boy disappears and the man lies back on a stranger’s bed in his boxer shorts, swallows a gun barrel, looks into the mirror at his own sad reflection, and blows his own head off, his own sixth and final victim.
Andrew Cunanan is dead and gone when The Assassination of Gianni Versace, one of the best dramas of the decade, concludes. Its final scenes focus on the family of the title character, not his killer; even this choice is a deliberate disconnection from what’s come before. Estranged though they are, both his sister Donatella and his partner Antonio struggle to connect what they had with what they have now. Donatella, who has coolly presided over Antonio’s excision from his late partner’s estate, sobs, because her brother annoyed her on the day of his murder to the point where she refused to pick up the phone when he called. Antonio has been rejected not only by Donatella but by the priest at Gianni’s funeral mass — where rich and famous friends from Princess Diana to Elton John to Naomi Campbell to Sting were present, but where Antonio himself did not merit a mention as a part of the family, nor a kiss from the cleric, whose institution spent the decade denying the humanity of homosexuals while systematically destroying the humanity of so many children in its charge. Like Andrew, he attempts suicide; unlike Andrew, he is unsuccessful.
Gianni Versace ends the series as a photo in a shrine where his sister goes to grieve and lament what could have been had she picked up the phone. Donatella is a distorted reflection in glass embellished with the House of Versace’s Medusa head emblem, monstrous in her mourning. Antonio lies cradled in the hands of the help, who save him from his effort to die with the love of his life. Andrew is just a name on a wall in a mausoleum, one of countless others, nothing special. It’s all so unglamorous, so unceremonious, so blunt and short and ugly. The glamour Versace worked all his life to create, that Andrew tried all his life to recreate, has no place here at the end. The image is gone, only you and I, it means nothing to me, this means nothing to me.
ACS news 