‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 8 Recap: A Father’s Faults

All season long, The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story has filled in blanks. Why did Andrew Cunanan (played by Darren Criss) become a spree killer? Why did he kill Gianni Versace (Edgar Ramirez)? Why did he kill David Madson (Cody Fern)? Creator Ryan Murphy and writer Tom Rob Smith have used a blend of what we know and some fiction to weave a compelling narrative — one that gave us a much more challenging series than we first expected.

But The Assassination of Gianni Versace hasn’t contented itself with examining Cunanan as a killer; it’s also fascinated by Andrew the gay man, and all that led to how he became himself. Wednesday’s penultimate episode of the season took that train of thought to its organic conclusion, introducing us to Andrew’s father, Modesto Cunanan (Jon Jon Briones).

Modesto, like his son, is an impressively persuasive fabulist. He talks his way into a high-powered job on a lack of experience and a lot of charm. He moves his family into a neighborhood and home beyond their means, convinced he can build them the American Dream he (an immigrant from the Philippines) so desperately craves.

For a while, it works, just like we’ve seen Andrew’s plans briefly succeed. But soon enough, Modesto is committing major fraud crimes just to keep his American Dream afloat. When it all comes crashing down on him, instead of owning his errors, he flees, leaving his wife and children to deal with the consequences of his actions.

Briones is nothing short of fantastic as Modesto, winning the audience over just as much as he does the people he meets in the show. He’s so damn determined and positive, you can’t help but put faith in his mission. It helps that he’s crazy about Andrew, supporting him and making him feel loved.

Then you see Modesto verbally abuse his wife, and ignore his other kids to fully pin his hopes on Andrew. You see him take the cowardly way out after he’s discovered. And you see him later in life, when Andrew goes to meet him in the Philippines as a teenager, expressing no remorse but plenty of anger. It’s in that moment that you can feel the Andrew Cunanan we know now being formed. His father, perhaps the only man who truly expressed love for Andrew, can’t take responsibility for his crimes, and instead rages out at his son for daring to question him.

Maybe there was no saving Andrew Cunanan, no decision in his life that could have stopped what was coming. Maybe this is all a fable American Crime Story is telling us to feel like our lives are more in our control than they actually are. But in that moment, it feels like Modesto could have stopped what came after by teaching his son a lesson: that pathological lying and deceiving people have consequences. But he didn’t.

There’s a terror in the relatability of Andrew Cunanan’s story. A complicated relationship with his father. A need to feel validated by the world. A thirst for the fabulous things in life. An insecurity with the things we actually have. A desperation to be loved for how we look to the world because we’re too ashamed of who we are. Murphy and Smith’s greatest trick with this season was making a spree killer’s story strike so close to home for gay men.

I’ve not seen the finale of this miniseries — it was the only episode not furnished for critics ahead of the season premiere — but I find myself both eager and nervous to find out how this story ends. Not because I don’t know what happens; the hunt for Cunanan will end, as will Cunanan’s life. There’s no surprise in the straightforward narrative of it, which is perhaps why Murphy and Smith presented Cunanan’s life in reverse, to give viewers the feeling of unwrapping a package versus taking a road trip to an obvious destination.

Despite that lack of suspense, I want to know how this story, in this particular presentation, comes to a close. I want to see the full realization of The Assassination of Gianni Versace’s thesis. I want to feel some measure of closure with Cunanan, to walk away from this miniseries enlightened not just about his motives, but about how he became the man he was.

Judging from everything we’ve seen thus far, the finale should be a devastating experience. But hopefully, it will also be an enlightening one.

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 7 Recap: Donatella’s Strength

For the past several weeks, Andrew Cunanan (Darren Criss) has taken center stage on The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story. As the story increasingly became one about the ways in which internal and external homophobia affect and even ruin lives, it made sense for creator Ryan Murphy and writer Tom Rob Smith to zero in on the spree killer and his many victims. Aside from an appearance in episode five, the Versaces themselves have been absent from the story bearing their name.

Wednesday’s installment of the FX miniseries, however, brought both Gianni (Edgar Ramirez) and especially Donatella (Penelope Cruz) back to the fore. Yes, there was plenty of Andrew, as we saw him attempting to make ends meet as an escort, flirting with rich older men at an opera, and even meeting and charming his eventual second victim, David Madsen (Cody Fern). But much of this episode is spent watching Gianni become increasingly stricken by illness, and seeing Donatella step up to take charge of the House of Versace.

The siblings start the episode with a fight, as Donatella presents an idea for a new dress to Gianni: fashion as weaponry. Gianni grows angry with her, because she used other people’s sketches for her ideas instead of sketching on her own. He’s angry with his illness and takes it out on her.

Soon enough, though, they come back together to design a winner: a black dress made partially of leather straps. It’s BDSM-inspired, just kinky enough to raise eyebrows but still appropriate for a function — where, at Gianni’s behest, Donatella is the one to wear it. The dress draws gasps and excited headlines, not just for Gianni, but for his sister as well. It’s a display of strength from the sister of the House, a show that she is a formidable and powerful woman.

This episode is called “Ascent,” and while that certainly could be applied to the social-climbing Andrew, I think it’s far more relevant for Donatella. So far this series, she’s been a supporting character, a shadow who appears briefly in every other installment or so. When she does, no matter how iconic she looks, she always feels like part of someone else’s story. “Ascent” is her narrative, her coming out.

That show of strength comes at just the right time, however, as Gianni unfortunately grows even sicker. Suddenly, Donatella must take up the reins of the company, a responsibility that clearly terrifies her. She’s a star — we know this because we know her contemporarily, but it’s also absurdly obvious as she shows off her and Gianni’s dress. But she doesn’t quite know it yet.

And so as she addresses the employees of the House of Versace at episode’s end, we see Donatella slowly becoming more comfortable with herself. She starts off hesitant: “So my brother is sick. You all know this. Gianni is suffering a rare form of ear cancer. He decided to go to Miami and rest. While he is recovering, I will be taking care of the day-to-day operations.”

She says the last part with a level of doubt in her ability to do so, much less that she’s actually going to do it. But then, when she shares her assurance that her brother will beat his illness, her own confidence grows. “My brother is stubborn; don’t forget that,” she says with a chuckle. “He’s stubborn about life. And he will beat this sickness. He loves every one of you. He loves his work. He loves this place. So I’ve no doubt my brother will be back. In the meantime, I am honored and humbled to take the reins of this company while he recovers.”

Donatella says those last lines through the start of her tears. Cruz’s performance is remarkable here, as she restrains the emotion and powers through it. There’s an old saying that watching someone on the verge of tears is always more powerful than watching them actually cry. Cruz proves why that’s so true by powering through them, then taking things back to business.

“Our last runway show was our most talked-about to date,” Donatella says, rallying not just the troops but herself. “We must be talked about, or we are nothing. And now that Gianni’s away, we have to be even more bold, not less. We have to show that we are strong, daring — that we are relevant. And that this House will survive. No matter what, it will.”

It’s a hell of a scene, and encapsulates why Cruz’s performance is so damn indelible. We know what happens to Versace — we know the House survives — but if we were feeling any doubt, Donatella would assuage our fears. She’s a titan learning she’s a titan, with a phenomenal career ahead of her. In that final line, as she declares the House will live on, you can feel Donatella believe in her future, too.

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 7 Recap: Donatella’s Strength

Why Was Gianni Versace’s Queerness More Important To Ryan Murphy Than Joan Crawford’s?

American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace easily peaked with its fifth episode, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” which throws back the curtain on Versace’s controversial decision to come out in an interview with The Advocate. His struggle is brilliantly juxtaposed against the outing of U.S. Navy Lieutenant Jeff Trail, another eventual victim of Andrew Cunanan, which effectively ended his military career. The result, under the direction of Daniel Minahan, is complex, sinister, heartbreaking, and an important historical look back at mid-’90s queer culture.

It’s worth noting that show creator Ryan Murphy didn’t give his last unauthorized biographical star vehicle the same treatment. As Feud wrapped up its first season, dedicated to the rivalry between Joan Crawford and Bette Davis during the filming of Whatever Happened To Baby Jane?, queer women caught the punch they’d been bracing themselves for: Crawford’s queerness wasn’t going to be addressed, or explored, or even obliquely referenced in the miniseries, despite its relevance to her toxic relationship with Davis and despite the show aiming itself at “LGBTQ” (ie., cis gay male) audiences. Murphy was perfectly capable of telling a compelling queer narrative when it came to Versace and the other characters in his story, so why didn’t Crawford’s queerness merit the same attention?

In the months leading up to its release, Feud: Bette and Joan was lavished with praise as a triumph of queer representation. Esquire called Crawford and Davis “perhaps the gayest on-set rivalry in Hollywood history” and congratulated Murphy on his “successful packaging of gay content in ways both overt and covert for mainstream audiences.” Bustle unpacked the significance of depicting Victor Buono’s struggle as a closeted gay man in studio-era Hollywood. But there was an opportunity for queer storytelling at the very heart of Feud: Bette and Joan and Ryan Murphy missed it.

Joan Crawford was an OG celesbian. Of course, she wasn’t exclusively attracted to women, and her daughter surmised that she was likely bisexual in a 2010 interview with Joy Behar. She was well-known for having multiple affairs with women nonetheless. In her prime, Crawford was romantically linked to Alice Delamar, Barbara Stanwyck, Martha Raye, Dorothy Arzner, and Claudette Colbert. There’s even a rumored anecdote about how she propositioned Marilyn Monroe for sex at a party, Monroe accepted, and then politely confessed afterwards that she wasn’t that into it after all.

And while mainstream acceptance of queer identity in America during the golden age of filmmaking obviously didn’t exist, it was prevalent enough in Hollywood that the film community was largely supportive of queer talent. As long as they maintained an image of plausible deniability, studios covered for them and Hollywood could be a playground for queer debauchery. In Crawford’s case, MGM reportedly shelled out $100 million to prevent the leak of a lesbian pornographic film she’d made as a teenager. Said costume designer Miles White in the introduction of William J. Mann’s book Behind the Screen: How Gays And Lesbians Shaped Hollywood 1910-1969, “It was the best and worst of times. On the one hand, [studios] didn’t care and you had extraordinary freedom, but on the other, of course they did, and you weren’t free at all.”

For Crawford, an ex-showgirl whose film career enjoyed a resurgence in the 1940s, coming up during what Mann called a “wartime revival of gay subculture” undoubtedly played a part in her comfort with exploring her own queerness—this, in spite of being depicted as something of a prude on Feud. The arrival of other visible queer actresses at the time, like Marlene Dietrich who hailed from queer-positive post-war Berlin, meant that Crawford was in good company and had plenty of access to queer community when she wanted it.

It could be argued that Crawford’s sexuality didn’t come up in Feud because of the time period on which the story focuses. It’s late in both Crawford and Davis’ careers, and the same-sex flings of Crawford’s youth had passed her by. But Murphy found plenty of ways to reference both actresses’ pasts and Crawford’s sexuality was such a relevant factor in the actual tension between the two, so much of which was otherwise manufactured for publicity. When Crawford “stole” away Davis’ crush and Dangerous co-star Franchot Tone, marrying him herself in 1935, Crawford reportedly quipped, “Franchot isn’t interested in Bette, but I wouldn’t mind giving her a poke if I was in the right mood.”

After that, all of Crawford’s attempts to ingratiate herself with Davis, who courted the critical acclaim for which Crawford was so desperate, were dismissed by Davis as “lesbian overtures.” Crawford was obsessed with maintaining a modest image—likely an after-effect of studio training to stay closeted—which comes across on Feud as prissy uptightness. Meanwhile, Davis gets to play the cool girl, carousing with the crew after long shoot days and having sex with the director. But in truth, it was Crawford who enjoyed more sexual fluidity and Davis who responded with vaguely homophobic disgust.

The other glaring possibility for why this dynamic was excluded from the narrative is Ryan Murphy’s relationship with Bette Davis. The pair were close and had maintained a long penpalship leading up to an hours-long in-person interview a month before her death in 1989. She reminded Murphy of his grandmother, he said, and his admiration for her is obvious in headlines like “’Feud’ Ryan Murphy: How Bette Davis Changed My Career.”

In an interview with The Hollywood Reporter, Murphy claims he never struggled with staying objective during the making of Feud, saying, “I went into it knowing a lot about Davis and not about Joan Crawford but I left it knowing a lot about both of them and finding them both to be fascinating and sympathetic.” It’s possible that he simply didn’t want to face or disclose his idol’s latent homophobia.

But the real problem here isn’t where Murphy’s loyalties lie or even that we were robbed of a precious opportunity to see female queerness depicted on-screen. (In fact, given Murphy’s track record with delivering nuanced portrayals of queer women, it’s probably for the best that he didn’t try to delve into one of Crawford’s same-sex relationships.) The problem is that, in his execution, he reinforces the same problem he claims he wanted to expose with the making of Feud: the commodification of female conflict for male consumption and male gain.

Feud: Bette and Joan was touted as a victory for queer representation because it affirmed the pinnacle of gay male camp. But exploiting female conflict for the pleasure of gay men at the expense of representing Crawford’s own queerness is hardly a queer victory. And frankly, it’s this kind of disregard for and degradation of women on behalf of cis gay men which alienates them from more intersectional queer rights movements in the first place.

For better or worse, Murphy has dedicated most of his projects to queer visibility through the lens of camp. Even The Assassination of Gianni Versace, serious and dramatic though it may be, delivers moments of camp in its sheer sumptuousness. And that’s not to take away from the success of projects like it or his 2014 HBO adaptation of The Normal Heart, both of which capably depict queer identity in ways that are earnest and affecting. But the least we can do is stop praising Feud: Bette and Joan as some big favor to queer culture. For Crawford’s sake, if nothing else.

Why Was Gianni Versace’s Queerness More Important To Ryan Murphy Than Joan Crawford’s?

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 6 Recap: The First Instagay

In my initial review of The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story, I described Darren Criss’ performance as Andrew Cunanan as “like an Instagay of the ‘90s: opportunistic, narcissistic, and a pathological liar.” We’ve seen flashes of that so far, particularly the pathology of dishonesty. But it’s in this sixth episode, “Descent,” that we see Andrew as the original Instagay fully flourish.

Andrew is throwing a birthday party for himself. He’s hosting it at the home he shares with his wealthy lover, Norman Blachford (Michael Nouri), in La Jolla, California. And everything about it has to be perfect. From his friend and future victim Jeff Trail’s presentation of his birthday present (Andrew actually bought a pair of shoes to give him instead of Jeff’s actual gift) to how he talks about his living situation (Norman isn’t a sugar daddy, Andrew is just living with him to redesign his home!), Andrew’s whole presentation is a construction.

Even how we first see him in this episode is bullshit. We see Andrew, nude, taking an extravagant dip into Norman’s pool on this gorgeous property — as if Andrew is directing the scene himself, convincing his audience that all this is his. As the episode goes on, and the narrative escapes Andrew more and more, we learn just how false this tableau is.

Speaking generally, my issue with Instagaydom at large comes down to dishonesty. The very act of sculpting your life — through what you choose to post, what lighting and filters you use, who you’re photographed with — is like lying in grand form. Now, you could argue that social media invites such curation, be it on Twitter, Facebook, Snapchat, etc. I wouldn’t disagree with you there. But we all work to put forth our best selves, our funniest selves, our smartest selves. That’s true of real life as well.

What I find troubling about doing the same on Instagram is that it’s such a physical medium that allows for little context. See this white, cisgender, gay man with perfect abs? See him hanging out with dozens of men just like him, traveling on a seemingly infinite budget from fabulous location to fabulous location? An Instagay isn’t going to tell you that this is all a fabrication, a carefully designed life meant to attract more attention that will, in most cases, ultimately be converted into advertising revenue through sponsorships. They want you to believe in that fantasy. Context is the enemy of success on Instagram.

So we have a generation of young queer people who are growing up seeing these Instagays as not just a form of success, but the pinnacle of success. These hyper-stylized lives are seemingly achievable. Maybe it’s harmless and I’m being anxious over nothing. But I think, were I a young gay person trying to come into my own in 2018, I’d be constantly comparing myself to Instagays. And I think, in my mind, I’d lose that battle every time.

Andrew’s life, on the other hand, has context. If that first nude swim is what we’d see on his Insta story, the rest of the episode is what we’re not seeing posted on an Instagay’s feed. The party turns into a disaster, with every attempt to flatter Andrew’s crush, the adorable architect David Madsen (another future victim), foiled by the fantasy unraveling. After the party, his tantrum to Norman falls on deaf ears, and Andrew finds himself cut off from his funding. Finally, an extravagant trip to Los Angeles, all spent on worthless credit cards, to seduce David proves futile.

“Descent” is the story of Andrew’s perfectly curated life falling apart. This is how the spree killer we’ve seen in the episodes so far came to be: his lies consumed him, and his attempts to cover up his pathetic core were unsuccessful. Andrew Cunanan may have been the original Instagay, but he lacked the filters and the platform to keep up the charade. At episode’s end, he’s left a husk of his former self, being washed in a bath by his mother.

The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story is as much about how a killer is made as it is about his killings. Through its reverse storytelling structure, we learned more about the latter first. But now, we’re seeing the former — seeing how the seemingly perfect life slipped away from him.

That’s a lesson that’s still true: There is no such thing as the perfect life, no matter how it’s presented online. People get older. Looks fade. Money runs out. A fantasy is just that — and it’s only so long until the truth is revealed.

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 6 Recap: The First Instagay

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 5 Recap: Don’t Ask, Versace Will Tell

After a quick hiatus from the Versace clan, Edgar Ramirez’s Gianni and Penelope Cruz’s Donatella return in this week’s The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story. They’re still very much the secondary plot; the primary focus shifts to Darren Criss’ Andrew Cunanan and his first victim, Jeff Trail (as played by Ryan Murphy favorite Finn Wittrock). We see their first meeting at a gay bar, their quick friendship, and Jeff’s life lived in danger as a gay man in the military.

The title of the episode is “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell,” named for Bill Clinton’s infamous, unpopular policy to keep gays in the armed forces closeted. It’s obviously a reference to Jeff’s life as a Marine. But in some ways, it’s also a reference to Gianni Versace himself, who we see preparing to come out in an interview with The Advocate. Donatella would prefer her brother hew to the policy: She worries his coming out will jeopardize not only the brand, but his status in culture.

And so the two plots come together in dual interviews, which director Daniel Minahan cut together during the episode’s denouement. While Gianni talks to The Advocate, Jeff talks to a news magazine about Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell — albeit while disguising his identity. The treatment of their coming out interviews couldn’t be more different: Gianni talks in a luxurious hotel room with his partner, Antonio D’Amico (Ricky Martin), by his side. Jeff talks alone, shrouded in shadow, in a cheap motel room.

The show presents two men, baring their souls in very different ways, to highlight their differences. But what ultimately works best about the episode is how it depicts coming out as a core, base act, and the circumstances around it as what changes the experience.

For Jeff, this coming out is a conditional one. Yes, he’s speaking about his experiences more honestly than ever. But he’s also an unknown to those he’s coming out to on television. They’ll know him only as a shadowy soldier, not a specific person. He’s revealing himself under a certain level of cover, a double-edged sword that provides him both protection and keeps him from being completely honest, and thus earning the catharsis that comes with such a reveal.

Compare his experience to Gianni’s: He’s known by everyone. Versace is a name — this interview will reverberate and help change his reputation. Donatella is right to worry; the ‘90s were a different time, and Gianni’s coming out is a major risk. But with that comes a chance to be truly honest, to free himself from the chains of the closet.

To be more known is to risk more, but to have a name is to feel true release. It’s no surprise that Gianni’s interview is presented as a clear triumph, but Jeff’s is played as a more ambiguous emotional beat.

There’s an additional element here, one I haven’t yet talked about in these essays: Gianni Versace, an Italian man, is being played by Ramirez, a Venezuelan actor. Historically, Gianni was not Latino. But as depicted on this show, he is, further deepening the visual divide between he and Jeff, particularly in a period story presented in 2018.

Obviously, this affected little in Jeff and Gianni’s real lives, but it’s an interesting payoff of the Ramirez casting. In the modern world, an attractive white man like Trail would be not only celebrated, but thirsted after heavily. A Latino man, by sole virtue of not being white, would come under far more scrutiny and fire during his coming out, especially online.

Of course, thanks to Cunanan, neither man lived to see this modern world — to see how coming out changed things. But it’s not an exaggeration to say that both of their coming out stories likely affected history: by Gianni being visible, and by Jeff helping raise awareness about Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 5 Recap: Don’t Ask, Versace Will Tell

Mainstream LGBTQ Movies Are Failing Because Studios Aren’t Reaching The LGBTQ Community

…

This isn’t just about LGBTQ-specific media being left out of movies representing its own community. Black journalists and critics recently started a discussion about being left out of Black Panther press opportunities, with entertainment journalist Jaleesa Lashay asking Sterling K. Brown about publicists ignoring black reporters when it comes to access to and for black-related TV and film actors and projects.

“Are you aware,“ she asked, "of the disparities between the opportunities given to black journalists in comparison to our white counterparts? And do you think there’s any plan in Hollywood to make sure that the media room starts to reflect the diversity that we’re beginning to see in the industry?”

A similar scenario happened, too, when a Filipina reporter, Yong Chavez, shared with Darren Criss that she wasn’t able to get access to him despite his playing a Filipino character in American Crime Story. In response, Criss emailed his publicist from her phone, requesting they set something up.

Just how "aware” are stars, writers, or directors? Probably not very. Brown’s response to the reporter signaled this.

…

Mainstream LGBTQ Movies Are Failing Because Studios Aren’t Reaching The LGBTQ Community

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 4 Recap: Andrew and David, Me and Ryan

Like many a gay man, I have a fraught relationship with Ryan Murphy.

This isn’t exactly novel. Murphy is the man who gave Millennial gay boys their teen gay romance dreams in Glee with Kurt and Blaine. He routinely serves us gay icons in rotation on American Horror Story. And he turned Sarah Paulson into an honest-to-God star. But he also derailed Glee with too many guest stars and flights of fancy, and makes every season of American Horror Story unbearable by the end. That’s not even mentioning what a disaster shows like Nip/Tuck and The New Normal became under his supervision.

He gives and he takes with both hands, to say the least. Suffering through much of the toxic and unnecessary American Horror Story: Cult (which I could actually never bring myself to finish) only solidified my resolve: Murphy’s good work isn’t enough to cancel out his significant flaws. Save for maybe the Charles and Diana season of Feud (I did just finish bingeing The Crown, so I have needs), I was ready to wash my hands of him.

Then came The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story.

Specifically, then came the fourth episode of the miniseries, which does not feature Edgar Ramirez’s Gianni Versace at all — nor Penelope Cruz’s Donatella, for that matter. “House by the Lake” is a twist on a bottle episode: Instead of limiting locations, writer Tom Rob Smith and director Daniel Minahan limit storylines. The only people we spend substantial time with are Andrew Cunanan (Darren Criss), and his second victim, David Madson (Cody Fern). The story itself is compact: Andrew kills former friend Jeff Trail (Finn Wittrock), and forces David to escape with him through a combination of blackmail and manipulation. In the process, the team produces something truly extraordinary: an episode of TV that doesn’t just understand the damaging effects of internalized homophobia, but communicates them in a way that makes me reflect on my own gay shame.

But look at that: I said “the team.” And I highlighted the director and writer. Not Murphy. Because even now, after having watched this fantastic episode of TV twice, I still can’t quite square in my head that Ryan Murphy — the same Ryan Murphy who once had Kurt’s glee club teammates sing Bruno Mars’ “Just the Way You Are” to him, at his mother’s wedding — could produce such a vital gay work. But American Crime Story is his show, and his team works with him to make his vision real. Murphy deserves the credit.

He deserves the credit for the layered, surprisingly complex characterization of David. Though the Cunanan murders are all question marks in one way or another — be it motive or details about the victim that remain sketchy — David Madson is the biggest blank. So Smith and Murphy have fleshed him out into being a deconstruction, of sorts, of the Best Little Boy in the World stereotype. David is a clean-cut young man, an architect striving to be the best in his office. When he was younger, as we see in a flashback, he sought his dad’s approval by getting the best grades and academic awards. He only comes out to his father after presenting him with evidence of scholastic achievement.

“You waited until you won this award to tell me?” his father asks. David can only squeak out that he wanted to pair “good news” with “bad news.”

The irony is, David Madson was very good. As Murphy and Smith tell it, he was a sweet guy, patient to a fault with Andrew’s disturbing behavior, and good at his job. But he felt shame regardless. He felt embarrassed about having some sexual interests — nothing horrifying, just non-heteronormative. He felt he had to hide these parts of himself. He felt gay shame.

Andrew uses that shame to his advantage in this episode. He questions how David’s family might respond upon learning about David’s desires. He ponders whether they’ll actually believe that David had nothing to do with Jeff’s murder. He plants seeds of doubt that take hold in David’s mind, making the architect worry that the image of him as wholesome and good has been shattered.

For most of the episode’s runtime, Andrew is physically keeping David with him, either with hands or with threat of gun violence. The young architect has no choice; he’s stuck on the run. But there’s one moment, in a bathroom bar with a cracked window, that David has his chance to escape.

And he doesn’t take it.

Smith’s script zeroes in on a particularly insidious part of Andrew Cunanan’s spree: He, a gay man, uses his would-be lover’s insecurities about his own sexuality to trap David with him. We see David shift from resistant to angry to resigned through their trip out of Minneapolis. But because of the psychological damage Andrew does to him, he can’t take his way out when he has it. He’s too worried about the ways which his family won’t accept his dirty laundry, or won’t believe his innocence. The price of that choice, of course, is his life.

Heartbreakingly, David isn’t wrong in his assumption. Despite knowing the kind of man his son is, all it takes is detectives telling David’s father that there are things he and his wife “don’t know” about his son for him to grow suspicious. We don’t see more of his reaction, so it’s possible he’d have been fine. But the fear of his father’s reaction lingers, both for us and for David.

At the end of this installment, Andrew shoots and kill David. He would go on to kill three more, Lee Miglin being the next, before his killing spree ended in his own suicide. But because of the series’ reverse structure, in the next few episodes, viewers will learn more about both David and Jeff, the first man Andrew killed. We’ll get more of Fern’s extraordinary performance as David, for which he should almost certainly receive attention come Emmys time.

But there’s something about the end of this episode that feels final, largely because how Smith, Murphy, and Minahan structure it as a complete story. David is a tragic figure, undone by his own fears and shame thanks to the manipulations of a former fling-turned-spree killer. He’s hardly the only good man to fall victim to his own shame.

For this thoughtful, heartbreaking portrait of gay shame, Murphy has something I can honestly say I’ve never felt for him before: respect. He may be a frustrating creator, but any artist who can work with a team and execute a vision so nuanced and so vital deserves our attention. It’s my delight to say that the rest of this series is just as great, too.

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 4 Recap: Andrew and David, Me and Ryan

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 3 Recap: Judith Light Takes Center Stage

As the third episode of The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story opens, we see neither Gianni Versace nor Andrew Cunanan. Instead, writer Tom Rob Smith and director Gwyneth Horder-Payton introduce us to Marilyn Miglin. Miglin is a home-shopping icon and the head of a beauty product empire — worthy of a TV show in her own right. Considering the legendary Judith Light is playing her, you might expect Ryan Murphy and co. have suddenly decided to add another star to the mix.

But as much as Marilyn dominates the narrative this week, this is still not her story. We’re still in Cunanan’s; Lee Miglin, Marilyn’s husband (played by Mike Farrell), was his third victim. In flashes back-and-forth, we see both how he died, and how Marilyn handles the immediate aftermath of his murder.

When Marilyn has to go out of town for work, she asks an innocuous question of her husband: “What are your plans for when I’m away?” His struggle to answer — his reach for any possible thread of what he’s doing — depresses him mightily. “I’m going to work, like I always do,” he says, sitting, dejected, on their stairs. She asks if he wants to come with her: “I like it when you’re there.”

This takes Lee aback. “You do?” he asks. As depicted by Light and Farrell, the Miglin’s relationship is one of mixed signals and unspoken secrets. There’s clearly love there, but that’s only half the battle.

See, Lee’s real plans for when Marilyn is away are to meet up with a younger man he knows: Andrew Cunanan. There’s great hesitance within Lee for this meeting. As he goes to let Cunanan in, he freezes in front of his mirror and adjusts his sweater. He then lets out a deep sigh as he can’t quite get it right. The clothes are right; the fit is uncomfortable. Lee is a misfit in his own life, and meeting with Cunanan is his chance to try and find a better fit.

The Cunanan we see here is more aloof than prior. With Versace, he was trying to be the best version of himself. With Lee, he’s sloppy and distracted. This is, we know from history, the Cunanan who has recently killed two men. He can’t even muster the energy to pretend to care about his newest victim.

Unlike most of the episodes of The Assassination of Gianni Versace, Darren Criss’ Cunanan has relatively minimal screen time. Light takes center stage, particularly during the time after her husband’s death.

In fact, Marilyn wants Cunanan dropped from Lee’s history. She’s wounded to learn of her husband’s relationship with an escort, but her interest is in preserving his memory, not damning him in death. She wants there to have been nothing intimate between Lee and Cunanan, no connection. “We’ve never heard of him,” she insists icily. “It was a robbery, and a random killing.” It’s what she needs — not just as someone who cares about how things look, but as a widow who wants her relationship with her husband preserved as she remembers it.

In a powerhouse scene, Marilyn applies her makeup while monologuing about her husband’s murder. “I know what they’re saying about me,” she says, applying her face with an unsteady hand. “Why hasn’t she cried? Where’s the grief, the emotion? She couldn’t have loved him. How could a woman who cares so much about appearance appear not to care? … How dare they say our marriage was a sham? Lee and I shared our whole lives. We shared all kinds of adventures. We rode in hot air balloons. When I was lost in the desert, he rescued me. How many couples can say they have that kind of romance? I loved him. I loved him very much.”

She says those last lines through heaving sobs as Light allows Marilyn’s grief to overcome her. “There, is that better?” she spits. “Am I a real wife now?”

Marilyn’s plight is a sympathetic one. She knew her husband as one man; his death is revealing him to be another man entirely. Trying to make those ideas compatible is harder than merely erasing the parts of Lee that trouble her. Unfortunately, this reaction is rooted in internalized homophobia, both within Marilyn and the community at large. Her fear is not just that her husband was hiding secrets; it’s that the secrets would ruin his reputation — ruin the idea of their marriage. And so, she chooses to hide Cunanan’s motive.

Ultimately, it’s this lingering homophobia that keeps the real motive behind Lee’s death a secret — a recurring thread through this season of American Crime Story. We often think of homophobia as personally restrictive, a threat that keeps gay people in the closet and terrified of bullying, discrimination, and even assault. But homophobia is also structurally restrictive: For Marilyn to be secretive about her husband’s sexuality means one piece of the Cunanan puzzle was left out. The same goes for how the police wouldn’t canvas the gayest parts of Miami for Cunanan in the previous episode: Hate stands in the way of justice.

Personal and structural homophobia come together in next week’s episode, “House by the Lake.” Personally, it’s my favorite episode of anything that Ryan Murphy has ever done; think “Looking for the Future,” but so, so much darker.

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 3 Recap: Judith Light Takes Center Stage

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 2 Recap: Andrew Cunanan and the Pink Speedo

After sharing the limelight with the Versaces in the premiere of The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story, Darren Criss’ Andrew Cunanan took over the spotlight in Wednesday night’s second installment. The first episode showed us how the actual murder happened; this one was a step away from that action, and a beginning of the character study of Cunanan that this series really is.

It’s also the introduction of that infamous pink Speedo Criss was spotted wearing on set. Suffice it to say both episode and Speedo do not disappoint.

There’s another big moment near the end of the episode to focus on, but let’s first turn our attention to that Speedo. It comes out as Cunanan walks Miami Beach — where he’s fled to hide after a series of murders across the country. The police manhunt, as we see in parts of this episode, is hugely ineffective. Homophobia runs rampant in the police department; this is the ‘90s, and no one wants to put flyers up in the gayborhood.

As a result, Cunanan is able to hide in plain sight at a motel. He meets Ronnie, a squirrelly guy played by New Girl’s Max Greenfield, who nonetheless is earnest to a fault. Ronnie shares his tale of accepting that he was going to die, only to be flummoxed when he lived. “They handed me my life back, and I didn’t know what to do with it,” he says, voice trembling slightly.

Cunanan’s response is to lament the deaths of his best friend and soulmate — people, we know, he actually killed. When Ronnie questions if they both died that year, Cunanan is ever so slightly defiant in his affirmative response. Trusting as Ronnie is, there’s a hint of skepticism in his eyes.

As depicted by Criss, Cunanan is a performer, a chameleon. His life is whatever he needs it to be in the moment. But he’s not quite convincing enough. There’s always a seed of doubt there. He has to supplement his decent-but-insufficient storytelling skill with charm and sex appeal — hence the Speedo reveal.

Cunanan strips down to his bright, pink swimwear to take a shower on the beach, all while bragging about his connection with Gianni Versace. He goes so far as to invent a proposal from the legendary fashion designer, which Cunanan says “didn’t work out.” His story is clearly bullshit, even to someone as trusting as Ronnie. But when he’s fit, cute, and wearing not much clothing, it’s easy to be charmed by Andrew Cunanan.

Throughout the series, we’ll see men with sharp minds being won over by Cunanan, either sexually or merely to succumb to his will. In this scene, we see exactly how hypnotizing Cunanan can be when he properly mixes his tall tales with his impressive physique. With historical hindsight, we can question why anyone ever trusted Cunanan. We can see how flimsy his stories were. But devils don’t lead with their horns; they appear in forms most tempting. His darkness is seductive, shrouded in grand stories of brushes with fame and fortune. The greatest danger of a man like Andrew Cunanan is in how charismatic he can be.

It’s little wonder Cunanan successfully lures a wealthy, married, older man back to his hotel room, only to duct-tape his face and leave him gasping for air. By the time Cunanan has used his john for a free meal and drink, the man is simply relieved to have survived.

Cunanan eventually leaves the motel and Ronnie, almost running into Gianni Versace himself at a club. He misses the designer, however, and instead ends up dancing with a random guy on the dance floor — yet another man entranced by Cunanan’s looks. This time, though, as the guy asks what Cunanan does, the killer’s chameleon colors fail him.

“I’m a serial killer,” he confesses. The guy questions him, confused. “I said I’m a banker!” Cunanan says. And then he breaks.

“I’m a stockbroker, I’m a shareholder,” he begins. “I’m a paperback writer. I’m a cop. I’m a naval officer. Sometimes, I’m a spy. I build movie sets in Mexico and skyscrapers in Chicago. I sell propane in Minneapolis, import pineapples from the Philippines. I’m the person least likely to forgotten. I’m Andrew Cunanan.”

Without his grand stories, the true Cunanan is laid bare: He’s a kid desperate to be remembered, to be interesting. History has remembered him, of course — not as a banker, or a stockbroker, a shareholder, or any of his other many disguises. In his desperation to be famous, he became infamous.

But it was well into his spree of killings that Cunanan got to the end of his rope. Next week, we’ll learn what drove him to murder Lee Miglin — and the effect it had on his wife, Marilyn Miglin (played by Judith Light). That episode, like this one, and all the others, is just another piece of one complicated puzzle: How did Andrew Cunanan become Andrew Cunanan?

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 2 Recap: Andrew Cunanan and the Pink Speedo

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 1 Recap: Starting With a Bang

Mere minutes pass in The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story until Andrew Cunanan (Darren Criss) assassinates Gianni Versace (Edgar Ramirez). This is your first clue that you’re not really watching a show about Gianni Versace.

Welcome to Ryan Murphy’s latest exploration of 1990s celebrity crime. After sufficiently dazzling everyone with his take on a well-known story — the murder trial of O.J. Simpson — Murphy has chosen to take a broader, more difficult swing. He’s named the series after the murder of fashion designer Gianni Versace, I assume largely because it was Cunanan’s most high-profile killing. But Cunanan, and thus Criss, takes center stage in this story. The relatively balanced storytelling that puts both Cunanan and the Versaces in the spotlight this episode won’t return until we’re nearly through our nine-episode-long journey.

Criss gets plenty to do in this premiere installment: the killing, meeting Versace at a nightclub in San Francisco, stalking him to the San Francisco Opera, and even revealing his butt! But we’ll be talking mostly about him in the following weeks.

So let’s take this opportunity to focus on the Versace side of things; in particular, Penelope Cruz as Gianni’s sister, the iconic Donatella Versace.

Cruz as Donatella doesn’t step into the episode until it’s nearly over, arriving in Miami Beach via private plane upon hearing of her brother’s murder. Murphy, who directed this episode, frames her in a way perhaps only a gay man could: reverent, awestruck. Even the stairs descending from her private plane are shot with epic sweep. You’d feel compelled to let out a YAS if she weren’t there to identify the body of her dead brother.

Donatella is emotional upon arrival in her face, but none of that carries over to her body. She’s outfitted in the House of Versace’s finest, her long, blonde hair cascading over gorgeous leather. When she steps out of her limo upon arriving at the Versace residence at night, She wears sunglasses, so as to hide her tear-filled eyes from the paparazzi.

She is a wounded warrior; her brother’s clothes are her armor.

When you first hear Cruz’s take on Donatella’s accent, it sounds downright bizarre. It’s like she’s taken a long drag of a cigarette and is holding the smoke in her throat at all times. But that’s fitting; Donatella’s is a nearly impenetrable accent, which the fashion icon herself knows all too well.

Explaining her method of replicating Donatella’s speech back in October, Cruz told People she thinks the female Versace’s accent is “Italian with a very international flavor — very rock ’n’ roll.” That description doesn’t really mean anything until you hear it; once you do, it makes perfect sense, and matches the character’s presentation perfectly. Donatella sounds hardened, but her voice falters easily. She’s strong, but with tremendous emotion bursting at the seams.

After a few scenes of barely holding it together, Donatella lets her guard down, if only slightly, in a meeting with Versace’s board. She speaks emotionally but firmly about her brother, and the ways in which he will live on through his brand. “I will not allow that man, that nobody, to kill my brother twice,” she says, words trembling as they leave her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.

In her final scene of the episode, Donatella shuts down the planned public offering of the House of Versace. Gianni wanted it, and delaying would likely prevent the House from trying again for years. (Indeed, the company is still working to go public in present day.) It’s bad for business, but right for the moment.

“This is not a time for strangers,” Donatella insists. “This is a time for family.” And that’s Murphy and writer Tom Rob Smith’s idea of her in a nutshell: Donatella loves her brother deeply, and loves the people who work at the House. But she trusts no one else — her armor is fully secured to avoid giving the public an inch of herself.

Cruz will pop up in a few scenes here and there over the next few episodes, including one crucial story about Donatella and Gianni’s creative collaboration. But this first impression was her moment: how Donatella, icy goddess with a fiery heart, protected herself against the pain of her brother’s death.

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 1 Recap: Starting With a Bang