Andrew Cunanan would probably have taken a sense of pride in even being mentioned in the same sentence as O.J. Simpson.
Not much connected the two men in the late 1990s except their involvement in crimes that shocked and fascinated the country in equal measure. The latter was a towering public figure who’s trial in the murders of his ex-wife and her friend ignited racial and judicial conversations that still linger today; while the former was a 27-year-old, fame-hungry nobody who’s name is remembered by history because of his fifth and final victim: iconic fashion designer Gianni Versace.
The two men are also the subjects of seasons one and two of FX’s crime anthology series “American Crime Story,” but now we know even that connection is a bit flimsy.
Save for the title they share, the dramatic recreations of each man’s story are astoundingly different in everything from storytelling to emotional tone, so much so some viewers may refer to their channel guide to ensure they’re watching the right show when “The Assassination of Giant Versace” premieres 10 p.m. Wednesday.
“The People V. O.J. Simpson,” which debuted in February 2016 and went onto sweep every award show it was eligible for, stunningly intertwined commentaries on race’s role in the trial of the century and its infamously divisive verdict; the misogyny that besieged prosecutor Marcia Clark; the nation’s obsession with the case; and the media’s thirst to deliver every second of it.
Its story largely existed in a courtroom after the crime and within the bounds of the judicial system. But “The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story” takes a starkly divergent approach, one that is sometimes brilliantly engaging and just as often convoluted.
First, here are the facts. In July 1997, Versace, the renowned and beloved designer who became an icon for the gay community, was shot and killed on the steps of his Miami Beach mansion by Cunanan, a wayward creep, charismatic opportunist and compulsive liar who had previously killed four other men, three of whom were possible lovers.
The second “ACS” opens with a sweeping intricately paced, classically scored and nearly silent ballet of sorts that culminates in the titular killing. From there, the show almost exclusively shifts into reverse, using subsequent episodes to work backward to see how Cunanan arrived at Versace’s doorstep, offering parallels in their lives along the way.
Although the title would suggest this is an account of Versace’s murder, this is never his story.
By episode two, it becomes clear, despite how the show is marketed, this story belongs to the man pulling the trigger: Andrew Cunanan, played with a menacingly detached disposition by “Glee” alum Darren Criss.
Admittedly, Criss’ performance takes some getting used to, as does the character of Cunanan. He’s devoid of empathy and therefore lacks social norms that would make him easy to understand. He’s creepy from the moment you meet him, a trait that only intensifies the divide between the character and reality. He’s sadistically violent and craves attention. He’s annoyingly charming and manipulative to make his way in the world in spite of having just pennies to his name.
At first, it doesn’t seem as though Criss is strong enough of an actor to balance the manic overcompensation or reserved demeanor that Cunanan alternates between. But as the show progresses and it more squarely falls on his shoulders, it begins to blur whether Criss’ acting is actually more calculated in capturing Cunanan’s truly disturbing psychosis or if his limitations are simply disguised underneath the weight of it – a question I think is better left unanswered and works in Criss’ favor.
Up until now, Criss was best known for playing Blaine, the heartthrob a capella crooner on “Glee,” created by “ACS” executive producer Ryan Murphy (who does some stunning direction in “Versace’s” first two episodes). But tackling Cunanan is more in line with his gonzo stint as Hedwig in “Hedwig and the Angry Inch” on Broadway, a character more akin to an emotional ticking time bomb. Wherever you come down on the performance, Criss bears the brunt of this show and deserves his due.
Curiously, a few episodes of “The Assassination of Gianni Versace” go by without even an appearance or mention of anyone from Versace’s orbit.
Edgar Ramirez stars as the designer destined to meet his tragic end, a flashy role that never quite feels as elevated or important as the legacy of his name would have you believe. Sure, Versace is the reason Cunanan’s crimes got the spotlight they did, but Ramirez doesn’t have much to do in comparison to Criss despite being good in the role.
It’s the scenes of hostility between Penelope Cruz as his demanding sister Donatella, and Ricky Martin as Gianni’s longtime partner Antonio that carry more dramatic substance early on, but even those feel somewhat tame considering the high-class world un which they exist.
Of the trio, Cruz commands the screen most engagingly as a sister broken by the loss of her brother but resolute in her ambition to carry on the family name. With the signature cascading strands of platinum blonde hair and thick accent, she assertively peels back the layers of a woman many know today as the butt of plastic surgery jokes.
Writer Tom Rob Smith based much of the show on the intricately detailed book “Vulgar Favors,” by Maureen Orth. But as it unfurls, the narrative takes sizable detours, the results of which only pull more focus away from thew man in the title.
In an episode devoted entirely to the story of Lee Miglin, a Chicago architect and Cunanan’s third victim, Judith Light is utterly brilliant as the widow whose composure and poise begins to crack under grief. A later episode explores the nightmare of being gay in the military in the age of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” following “American Horror Story” player Finn Whittrock as Jeff Trail, Cunanan’s first victim.
The biggest supporting cast breakout, however, is Cody Fern as David Madson, Cunanan’s most substantial romantic relationship – at least to him. Arguably, Madson was put through the worst psychological hell of any of Cunanan’s victims, giving Fern plenty of time to mine the depths of grief, shock and desperation.
Like “The People V. O.J. Simpson,” “Versace” tries its hand at saying a lot about the social implications that surrounded the crimes, but it stumbles more often than its predecessor.
For example, a case is made early on that hesitation to understand or give validity to gay culture and relationships hindered the manhunt for Cunanan. Seeing as it was the 1990s and society, let alone law enforcement, was still grappling with its feelings about the LGBT community, it’s a fair question to probe. And maybe that is one of the traits that makes this a distinctively American crime story. But the show ultimately drops the ball in making its case, providing evidence like bread crumbs but leaving much of the prosecutorial responsibility up to the audience.
It’s indicative of what ultimately defines “The Assassination of Gianni Versace” as an entertaining, ambitious but perplexing follow-up to “O.J Simpson.”
Having seen eight of the series’ nine episodes, I have no idea what the message of this season is, a strange place to fall after season one’s concise stances on a number of issues. It lives somewhere between the opulent world of Versace and the desire to covet such materialism that drove Cunanan. But maybe a little middle ground is OK.
“The Assassination of Gianni Versace” is not what it’s title would have you believe, but what lies outside the burden of expectation – the unexpected moments on Cunanan’s spree – are what bear the most fruit, whether its ripe or not. In reality, Versace unwittingly gave Cunanan his infamy. But in “ACS,” it’s Cunanan that has the defining story.
TV HUNTER: ‘Assassination of Gianni Versace’ a chilling, perplexing saga
ACS news 