Versace Killer Andrew’s Cunanan’s Bizarre Childhood Depicted In ‘American Crime Story’

Episode 8 begins in 1957, Italy. Gianni Versace is a child, summoned to show his sketches of dresses to his mother. His mother tells him to follow his passions and pursue whatever career he desires. At school, a teacher insults Gianni after he self-identifies as a pansy. Later, Gianni’s mother patiently shows him how to make the dress he’s been fantasizing about.

Cut to San Diego, 1980. “Prince” Andrew Cunanan’s siblings note his father’s disproportionate affection for their youngest family member as they move into a new home. Andrew is given the largest room in the house.

Both Andrew’s father, Pete, and Andrew get dressed for respective interviews: Pete for a position as a stockbroker, Andrew for a spot in an elite private school. Pete extolls the virtues of his biography (much to the chagrin of his interviewers) while Andrew lists his most powerful wishes at the behest of schoolmistresses: He wants a Mercedes and a good relationship with God.

At home, Pete’s temper becomes obvious as he chastises Andrew’s mother for her frail nerves. Pete reads Andrew a book on etiquette as he falls asleep.

Pete lands the job; Andrew gets into the school. During Pete’s first day at work he’s shown failing at landing deals, but pretending like he’s succeeding. He buys a new car for Andrew (who is far too young to drive) that day. When Andrew’s mother is confused about Pete’s behavior, Pete pushes her to the ground. In the car, Pete explains that Andrew’s mother has been weak her whole life and that Pete is both Andrew’s mother and father. He rolls the window up as mother approaches the car.

Seven years later, Andrew showboats (and is called “a f*g”) during class photos while Pete works in a much less fancy call center. Andrew’s mother asks him about a new beau and Andrew wonders aloud what she’d think if he was dating an older woman. That night, Andrew has a secret rendezvous with an much older man. The man warns Andrew that their relationship must be kept hidden, as he is married. He drives Andrew to a high school party where he reveals an outrageous leather outfit, attracting attention on the center of the dance floor.

Andrew meets a girl named Lizzie who later admits she’s a married “grown-up” pretending to be a student because she missed so many opportunities as a home-schooled teen.

“I’m an imposter,” she says.

“All the best people are,” replies Andrew.

The next day, Pete’s bosses confront him about the lies he’s been telling at work. They inform him that the feds are aware of the scams he’s been running, making up fake stocks and stealing money from clients. He rushes to his desk and begins shredding papers.

He books a flight out of town for the same day. Andrew sees his father drive off into the distance. Andrew’s mother explains to her son that they have nothing left: Pete sold the house, emptied the bank accounts, and maxed out the credit cards.

Andrew tells his mom that he’s going to Manila to find his father. She warns Andrew that Pete is dangerous but Andrew will not listen.

Andrew manages to trace down Pete in the Phillpenes. Andrew asks where Pete’s been hiding the money that he had promised Andrew.

“Out of reach…” says Pete, as Andrew slowly realizes he’s been deceived. There never was millions of dollars stored away. It was all a lie. He confronts Pete.

“You were everything to me, Dad. But it’s a lie. And if you’re a lie, then I’m a lie. And I can’t be a lie,” says Andrew.

Ryan Murphy has embellished some of the details of Cunanan’s childhood, but a few of the more striking factoids are bizarrely true. Andrew, for example, did not cry as a baby — even when injured — according to testimony from Andrew’s parents themselves as recorded in Vulgar Favors by Maureen Orth. What the young Cunanan’s bizarre detachment from reality portended is quite clear now.

Surely Murphy seeks to humanize Cunanan by showing the strains of mental illness running through both his mother and father. And while Teen Vogue may think that sympathetic portrayals of (even objectively abused) serial killers in some ways romanticizes them, American Crime Story encourages empathy more than attraction.

What if Andrew had lived in a less dysfunctional home, like Gianni had? What if he wasn’t raised with materialism as the core tenet of his morality? Could he have grown up to be another Versace, boundlessly genius in some niche field? Or would his anger have festered anyway — always unsatisfied, always compelled to lie? Was it in his DNA? The lies are what brought Andrew’s father down, and perhaps what ultimately destroyed the younger Cunanan, too.

American Crime Story Recap: Building a Serial Killer Backward

The last four episodes of American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace continued telling in reverse the story of Andrew Cunanan’s rampage, weaving it with occasional tidbits about Versace himself. And as such, it wrestled with the same problem: Cunanan’s story is rich, fascinating, compelling, and creepy, hard to look away from but also hard to watch. The Versace stuff feels perfunctory, like the show is trying not to bounce the checks that its title and premiere already cashed.

But, now that the season is over, I have to say I think laying out the story this way was smart for a couple reasons. One, it maintains tension in a situation where we already know the outcome. A lot of people might not be aware of exactly who Andrew Cunanan killed before he shot Versace, and once you see him so casually bludgeon and shoot those people, everyone the younger Cunanan comes across feels like someone whose life might be in imminent danger. But two, and this one is the most important: It prevents the viewer from feeling any sympathy for a serial killer. If we’d started this show with Young Andrew, the sweet, innocent kid whose family life may have kick-started his mental undoing, we might have felt pity. And as we watched him lose his grip, we might have carried that pity into his downward spiral, into his murders, and past his victims. Which isn’t fair to them; Cunanan is not the hero of the piece. He is its horror. Telling it backward, then, means we saw the stark brutality of his crimes — of what he was capable of doing, and how glibly he could move on from it — before we saw the buildup to them, and while we could see the pieces the show was trying to put together about the hows and whys of his sins, we had those images in the forefront of our minds. So I felt sadness, but no sympathy.

It was supremely well-acted. All the Cunanan pieces were layered and interesting; the Versace stuff, less so. And in the end I think it achieved what it should: It painted a picture of a twisted, broken individual who went on a killing spree we’ll never truly understand, without in any way making us like him, or feel for him in place of his victims.

Here’s how they laid it out:

Ep. 6, “Descent”: Right after the hour devoted to poor Jeff Trail, and how achingly wonderful and tragic Finn Wittrock made his struggle — to me, that episode was a prime example of why backward storytelling worked; it was so much more affecting, knowing that Jeff was doomed, knowing this friendship that he thought was bringing him into the light was actually going to be his demise — we are introduced to Andrew’s past in San Diego. He’s living with a rich older man named Norman Blatchford in his sprawling oceanside manse; while he pretends to the world that he’s just Norman’s decorator, and they have separate mattresses, it’s implied he’s on Norman’s payroll as a companion, and Norman’s friends all sassily side-eye him — or in one friend’s case, actively call him out on his bogus airs and graces. For Andrew is throwing himself a lavish birthday party at Norman’s pad, inviting Lizzie, Jeff Trail, and his new crush David Madson, whom he has decided is his One and Only. Cunanan — per the show — asks Jeff Trail to give him expensive shoes and tell some white lies that will make Madson jealous. What ensues is Andrew seeing Jeff and David smiling and making small talk as Andrew gadflies about the party, which we’re meant to think informed some of the darkness that descended — and some of his cruel decisions with Jeff, like “accidentally” outing him via postcard. (This means the Trail episode is a SLIGHT timeline blip because we see Andrew and Jeff meeting in that hour, but here they’re already friends. Finn Wittrock is a Ryan Murphy guy, and I’m thinking they gave Trail his own episode as Emmy bait for Wittrock.) It ends with Norman (Michael Nouri from Flashdance, hotter as a silver fox) kicking out Andrew, and Andrew pulling a mini-STELLAAAAAAA by sneaking back to the house and contemplating breaking back into it.

We also see Andrew convince David to come to L.A. with him and spend time in a lavish hotel penthouse, echoing a lost weekend we’ll later see from when they met in San Francisco. It’s here that Andrew lays out his feelings for David and his belief that they should get married, and David spurns him, gently suggesting that perhaps Andrew thinks that David is The One because there haven’t been enough special someones in Andrew’s life. It’s also implied that David is starting to see through some of Andrew’s elaborate stories about his work, his life, his family, because he then kindly suggests they sit down and really get to know each other. With truths. So they start going back and forth, and David’s expression is so hopeful when he asks about Andrew’s family. Andrew opens his mouth… and starts talking about his stockbrocker father, and literary publisher mother, and how they adored him and gave him the master bedroom and she’d bring him lobster lunches at his fancy prep school. The air goes out of David — it’s like he sees in that moment that Andrew simply can’t be himself — and he visibly retreats. It’s the moment Andrew really loses him, the show implies, which is ironic because parts of that turn out to be truer than anything he’s ever told anyone else.

Ep. 7, “Ascent”: Here, we jump back to Andrew’s rise in San Diego’s social scene. He begins as a humble pharmacy employee with aspirations, living with a scattered, dreamy mother who seems only vaguely connected with reality. To make ends meet after he’s fired, Andrew tries to sign up with an escort agency that cruelly rejects him for being too smart, too square, too hard to sell. Almost out of spite, he goes out and attacks the job on his own, eventually turning up at the opera as polished as a gem and targeting Norman’s group with his charms. At a dinner party later, he’s almost tussled over by Norman, David — the snide, skeptical friend from Episode 6 — and a rich older man named Lincoln, who ultimately wins. Andrew asks for an expense account and cash and promises to turn their home into the heart of gay San Diego society, and Lincoln hungrily agrees. But then, high on his cash flow, Andrew — and some other suits his own age that he’s befriended — sees David Madson alone in a bar, and buys him a drink. A tryst in a hotel penthouse ensues, and Lincoln finds out and cuts off Andrew. Then he goes out and picks up a ragamuffin at the local gay hangout and brings him home; Lincoln reads him as a haunted loner, but instead, the man jumps at Lincoln’s touch and then bludgeons him to death with an obelisk. Andrew has returned home by now and is watching from the shadows, first in horror and then in fascination, as his benefactor is murdered and then he urges the killer to run. Supposedly, the murder is true, but no one knows whether Andrew witnessed it; the show uses it to imply that it awakens Andrew’s latent dark side. And intriguingly, it’s very similar to the way he later murders Jeff Trail, and partly evocative of Lee Miglin’s death.

Meanwhile, the show has paid Penelope Cruz a lot of money, presumably, so there’s a light storyline about Gianni grooming Donatella to come into her own. They do this by designing a dress together that she wears to the 1992 Met Gala, one they famously replicated later, and which has a bodice of belts. It was polarizing in the press but caused a stir in fashion circles; this happens in the show concurrently with Versace’s diagnosis with ear cancer and Donatella needing to step into a more commanding role at the company while he recovers. The parallels here are, I think, that tragedy brought both these people into who they became: Gianni’s illness gave Donatella the exprience she would later draw on to run the company, and Lincoln’s murder may have flipped a switch within Andrew that turned him from a pathological liar into a psychopathic serial killer. But as usual, the connections are loosely drawn, and the show slows down to a halt when the Versaces appear. Edgar Ramirez is good, and an uncanny likeness, and Penelope is… fine. It just feels so much like she’s acting around a mouthpiece.

Ep. 8, “Creator/Destroyer”: Here, we have a story of parents. Gianni’s mother, a dressmaker, encouraged her son’s latent artistry. When he was bullied at school for sketching dresses in class, his mother’s response is to piece together the ripped-up sketch and make it with him for real. She, the show suggests, built her son up; Cunanan’s father put Andrew on a pedestal and then may ultimately have helped destroy him.

We meet Modesto “Pete” Cunanan when he is moving his family from a small house to a two-story palace. Andrew’s other three (I think) siblings look on sullenly as they load and unload the U-Haul, and ride in the back with their mother, while Andrew rides shotgun and is led upstairs by his father to a master suite all his own. So that detail he told David was true. Andrew is very quiet, and sweet; clearly bright, but timid. No one quite knows why Modesto favored Andrew so heavily, but he did make everyone else sleep in cramped quarters, and he would serve himself and Andrew at dinner and leave the rest to fend for themselves. Even Andrew seems aware of the power imbalance and that Modesto is making something of a false god out of him, but is too cowed to complain. It’s telling when the ladies interviewing him for his fancy school ask him what his one wish would be, and when his scripted answer falls apart somewhat, Andrew offers up instead, “To be special.” This drives him straight to his doom, but in the near term, it turns him into the kind of attention-grabbing student at school who wears an unbuttoned shirt and necktie in his senior photo, or a red leather jumpsuit to a nearby party (in real life, he apparently donned it for Prom). He also trades sex with older men for money and convinces himself these are special relationships, which his clients quickly reject. It’s as if he spends his life trying to earn the platform and the adulation his father randomly gave him because he knows that was founded on dark things. Here he does become friends with Lizzie, who is awesome, and sees only Andrew’s buoyant side. Poor Lizzie. And poor Mrs. Cunanan, who becomes a shell of herself as events unfold.

Indeed, there is also a scene in which the show posits that Modesto sexually abused his young son, coming to his bed and telling him to tap into the side of himself that made no sound when he burned his foot as a baby. “Not a sound,” he repeats, switching off the light. No one seems to know if that’s true, although the favoritism absolutely was. Interestingly, Andrew’s siblings disappear entirely from the episode after the beginning, and are never mentioned again. The show almost throws it in there as if to be like, “Maaaaybe this is why Modesto favored him so much?” but then never has a take on the effect this had on Andrew. It might’ve colored his reliance on older men, specifically older providers who could give him the comfort his father later would not.

Modesto was also a gross shyster. He wields his wife’s post-partum depression as a threat. He turns on a dime when he decides people don’t have faith in him. He ignores his other children. He talks his way into a job with Merrill Lynch, but his gift of the gab is no match for his inability to play the markets. He quickly realizes he’s in over his head, and out of desperation, he starts swindling clients and tumbling to less and less prestigious firms until he’s busted by the FBI and flees to the Philippines. The family is left with nothing, and worse, he knew it was coming and did nothing to protect them. Andrew flies to Manila, convinced his father has money socked away and a plan for the family, and is galled to learn that Modesto does not and doesn’t care and never would have reached out to them. Andrew shatters. It could be because he coped with his father’s abuse by putting faith in him — like, needing desperately to believe that his person who has always told you that you’re amazing really is right, and really is good, and really is a straight-shooter. And that the self-worth he inflated you with is genuine and not based on lies. Whatever it was, Andrew finally sees his father for the hollow man he is, and starts to cry as Modesto taunts him. Andrew pulls a knife on him, but Modesto sneers that he doesn’t have it in him to kill. (This feels on-the-nose.) Andrew doesn’t, instead returning to San Diego to apply for a job at the drugstore. When the friendly Filipino clerk presses him on his ancestry, a bitter Andrew unspools his first lie about his background and the one he would tell the most: that Modesto owns countless successful pineapple plantations.

Ep. 9, “Alone”: We now pick up the manhunt after Versace’s death. Andrew originally reacts as nonchalantly as he did after Lee Miglin’s death, breaking into a nearby houseboat — more house than boat, but bobbing on the water — and celebrating with Champagne and snacks as he watches the coverage. But then he can’t get out of town, because checkpoints have been set up everywhere. He becomes increasingly dirty, desperate, and hungry, holed up in the houseboat with nowhere to go. A weepy call to Modesto extracts promises that Modesto will come get him, which I thought were going to lead to Modesto turning him in for the reward — but in the end he just goes on TV and gives a smug interview about how he and Andrew are working together to sell his life rights to Hollywood. Aghast, Andrew watches this and realizes that his father will never, ever be there for him, not ever, and that he is well and truly stuck. So he fires a gun at the TV in anger. I think this is pitched as his undoing, although apparently he didn’t actually do that. The caretaker or landlord, or whatever, comes into the place and sees it’s in disarray and Andrew shoots a gun at the ceiling to make him flee. So the cops come, and as they slowly climb up the stairs, Andrew sits on the bed and puts a gun in his mouth and pulls the trigger.

Word of his death is the only thing that makes Marilyn Miglin feel like the nightmare is over. For David Madson’s parents, it meant not being able to prove that David had nothing to do with Jeff Trail’s murder, and getting no answers about why he went on the lam with Andrew. What for her was closure was, for them, a door left ajar forever. The show takes liberties with Versace’s lover Ricky Martin, claiming he tried to kill himself after Donatella coldly told him that the house he was promised is controlled by the company now. In reality, he did live in Lake Como for a while and credits Elton John and their pals with helping him get over it. And Donatella, obviously, rises to the occasion, takes control of the company, and turns it into an empire, although all we see is her lighting a bunch of candles in the mausoleum.

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American Crime Story Recap: Building a Serial Killer Backward

‘THE ASSASSINATION OF GIANNI VERSACE’ FINALE: DARREN CRISS STEALS THE SHOW AS WE LOOK BACK AT A TRAGEDY

“Being told no is like being told I don’t exist.”

That all-consuming need to be seen, to be relevant, to matter, but falling devastatingly short, defines Andrew Cunanan’s character, portrayed by Darren Criss in The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story on FX. The Ryan Murphy anthology is based on Maureen Orth’s book, “Vulgar Favors: Andrew Cunanan, Gianni Versace, and the Largest Failed Manhunt in U.S. History.”

Cunanan’s murder of Gianni Versace in 1997, shooting the celebrated fashion designer at point blank range in front of his leafy South Beach mansion, sets things in motion. Edgar Ramirez steps into the shoes of Versace, bearing a striking resemblance to the Italian fashion mogul. Ramirez’s presence is felt, almost regal, breezing through ornate hallways in silk robing. And Penelope Cruz as Donatella Versace is uncanny, not only a dead-ringer, but capturing the spirit of the flashy fashion designer from her peroxide-blonde mane and high fashion threads to a gravelly voice that gives her a distance, at times feeling cold.

But Darren Criss’s Cunanan is the star of the show, which could have easily been titled, “The descent of Andrew Cunanan: The Gianni Versace Murder.”

The Filipino-American, who struggled with his sexuality and identity, cultivated a fast lifestyle, charming and lying his way into the beds of wealthy older men, after picking them up at local gay bars and on the social scene, spending their money along the way.

In the summer of 1997, Cunanan committed a string of murders – acquaintance Jeffrey Trail, former lover David Madson, millionaire real estate developer Lee Miglin, caretaker William Reese and Versace. The sadistic nature of the killings was shocking, played out on screen in grizzly detail.

The FBI and law enforcement were heavily criticized for not taking the slayings of gay men more seriously as they continued over those sweltering months. One costly misstep, was not having the Miami Police put up Ten Most Wanted posters with Cunanan’s image at gay bars. Homophobia was certainly pointed to as a possible contributing factor in the botched manhunt.

In the ninth and final episode, we return to the scene of the crime – the Versace murder and the end of the line for Cunanan. It all comes to a head in a colossal standoff outside the houseboat where Cunanan was holed up. In The Assassination of Gianni Versace, Cunanan sees the boat’s caretaker, Fernando Carreira, from the upper deck and fires a warning shot. Not true. It is public record that the single gunshot was in fact the self-inflicted one that ended Cunanan’s life. There wasn’t really a showdown, because Cunanan was dead.

Then there is the matter of Donatella and Gianni’s partner, Antonio D’Amico, played by Ricky Martin. On the show, Donatella cuts Antonio off financially, casting him out with no pot of gold from the Versace fortune. Plummeting into depression, Antonio is left suicidal, downing a bottle of pills. Again, not true. Antonio was in reality, left with a $30,000 monthly allowance for the rest of his life, given access to the Versace homes, and later launching a design business in Italy.

Why these plot points were turned on their heads in the final act is puzzling. Yes, one can take creative license to be sure, but why with events that are in the public record and easily knowable? It made little sense, especially because most other aspects of the story were closely adhered to. These deviations took away from a series that was relatively successful.

Darren Criss in particular, can look forward to awards season recognition for his haunting and engrossing portrayal of a sociopath. For a character so easy to despise and discard, Criss strove to make us understand. His empathetic, yet deranged take on this pathetic figure was simply unforgettable and worthy of high praise.

Overall, The Assassination of Gianni Versace felt uneven and almost too dark to digest. Yes, there was a glossy sheen to
the production, but Cunanan’s descent into unspeakable violence was the focus, so relentless and disturbing, it left the viewer with little relief in sight. A fuller look at Versace’s glory years as one of the top designers in the world and a deeper dive into the mentorship he gave and the bond he shared with his sister would have gone a long way to bring a bit more light to a show that was so dark.

‘THE ASSASSINATION OF GIANNI VERSACE’ FINALE: DARREN CRISS STEALS THE SHOW AS WE LOOK BACK AT A TRAGEDY

ACS: Versace Finale Recap: “Alone” Marks The End Of Pain For One And The Beginning For Others

After nine grueling and emotionally draining weeks, The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story came to an end this week in one epic finale episode. Weeks of flashbacks have been leading up to this episode, and the pay off was worth it.

We’ve been saying this for weeks but Darren Criss’ performance in this episode really brought home all of the emotions of this horrible tragedy, and I daresay, made us feel a little sorry in the end to see him go, though the pain Andrew Cunanan caused everyone is one that will linger on for years. Criss wasn’t the only stand out performer from this episode as both Ricky Martin and Penelope Cruz did amazing in displaying their utter heartbreak and devastation caused by Gianni’s death.

Without further ado, let’s discuss “Alone.”

Back To The Start: The episode picked up exactly where the season premiere began, with Cunanan frantically strolling down the streets of Miami Beach, gun in hand, waiting for the perfect shot at Gianni Versace. We all know how that ended. Shortly after the murder, Marilyn Miglin was the first familiar face to reappear; the FBI showed up at her Miami hotel room to inform her that it was no longer safe for her to be in Florida, offering to help transport her to safety. She said no and promptly proceeded to let the police have it for their epic screw-ups.

Justice Served Wrong: Miglin wasn’t the only one displeased on how the authorities have been handling the whole Cunanan situation. Ronnie was also interrogated, providing him the chance to roast the cops on how seriously they’d been taking this case. To him, they haven’t been doing all that they can because Cunanan killed a bunch of gays.

Hiding In Plain Sight: As for Cunanan, he was holed up in some stranger’s houseboat literally eating dog food, practically daring the feds to bust him. He spent most of his time watching reports about himself on the news, and interviews with his father, which triggered Cunanan so badly that he shot his television screen. Speaking of the homeowner, it was his call to his caretaker that triggered the beginning of the end for Andrew. A burglary was reported by the caretaker, and the next thing Cunanan knew, the police helicopters were circling overhead. A negotiator tried to reason with Cunanan but he wasn’t about to give in. The infamous killer then placed a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger before he could be apprehended.

A Tragic End Of A Life And Love: Shortly afterwards, we were taken inside Gianni’s funeral, during which Antonio discovered that he might as well have died along with his lover. The priest at Gianni’s funeral ignored him, and adding insult to injury, Donatella tells him that he’s not allowed to live in one of Gianni’s house as promised. In closing, Cunanan is later buried in a public mausoleum while Donatella prepares to meet with Versace’s lawyers and Antonio attempts suicide.

ACS: Versace Finale Recap: “Alone” Marks The End Of Pain For One And The Beginning For Others

‘American Crime Story’ Comes to a Tragic End as Everyone Winds Up ‘Alone’

The finale of American Crime Story season 2 is titled “Alone,” a theme that is seen throughout the excellent episode. This season has quietly been one of the strongest things on TV right now (maybe the best show currently airing). Credit must be given to the writers and producers, because they absolutely stuck the landing, which is a tricky thing with a true story that ends in such a way as Andrew Cunanan’s story ended.

The thrust of the action returns to present-day Miami Beach (present day for the show), where Cunanan (Darren Criss) is on the run and then in hiding because of the high-profile nature of Gianni Versace’s murder. Unlike with Cunanan’s previous victims, Versace’s killing has captured the attention of the entire country, and therefore a manhunt involving hundreds of federal agents has descended upon the city.

As such, Cunanan has basically nowhere to go. He breaks into a houseboat and posts up there, initially celebrating his fame and being able to get away with killing Versace (Édgar Ramírez) in broad daylight. But as the days go by, Cunanan can’t leave the city because of police checkpoints, and he becomes increasingly desperate, to the point where he eats canned dog food because there’s nothing else in the houseboat.

In a heartbreaking scene (and it’s quite a credit to Criss’ performance that this scene is even remotely sad), Cunanan calls his father in Manila and cries about how he doesn’t know what to do. Modesto (Jon Jon Briones) promises he’ll be on the next flight out and that he’ll come get Andrew, but the next day, Cunanan watches on TV as his father is interviewed in Manila. Clearly, Modesto hasn’t even left the Philippines yet — plus, he makes up complete lies about his conversation with his son.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but Andrew has never been on the receiving end of the lies in quite this way, and it’s devastating.

When the caretaker of the houseboat comes by and finds Andrew there, the cops descend and the manhunt ends when Cunanan shoots himself in the head.

While all of this has been going on, there have also been glimpses of just how “alone” everyone else is. Cunanan’s mother Mary Ann (Joanna P. Adler) is alone and terrified, ushered out the door of her apartment by federal agents while reporters scream questions at her. Marilyn Miglin (Judith Light, who is outstanding in this episode) is trying to soldier on with her life and her business, but she is clearly a little lost without Lee and in a lot of pain.

Ronnie (Max Greenfield) is shown defending himself alone to the FBI, railing on them for not caring about these crimes because they involved gay men until a victim was so high-profile that they couldn’t ignore it anymore.

David Madson’s father is having to defend his son against accusations that David (Cody Fern) was involved in the murder of Jeff Trail (Finn Wittrock), which, by all accounts from law enforcement, he was not.

Versace’s partner Antonio (Ricky Martin) is utterly alone, even when surrounded by Versace’s friends and family, because no one will really acknowledge their love and the pain Antonio is in. In case you were wondering, Antonio is still alive, so the suicide attempt we see at the end of the episode was unsuccessful (if it even happened; we can’t find anything to corroborate that it did).

Even Donatella (Penelope Cruz) is alone, though she has a better support system than most. But she is haunted by refusing to take her brother’s call the morning he was killed, which she finally confesses to her older brother Santo (Giovanni Cirfiera) after the crowds and press have dispersed and they are alone.

It’s an incredibly tragic ending to a tragic season, but what else could it have been? Andrew Cunanan clearly was in a lot of pain and he inflicted that pain and suffering on nearly everyone around him, first psychologically and then as an actual killer. He then finally turned his pain and desperation back on himself.

‘American Crime Story’ Comes to a Tragic End as Everyone Winds Up ‘Alone’

The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story Season Finale – Reel Talk

Nine weeks ago, FX premiered the second season of their anthology crime series, American Crime Story.The first season touched upon the sensationalized O.J. Simpson trial and it lured in millions of viewers who are still fascinated by that media circus some 20+years later. While the first season was compelling television, the element of surprise was missing. Anyone with an iota of memories has some knowledge of the murders of Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman and the subsequent trial that interrupted regularly scheduled programming for weeks. Ryan Murphy, the mastermind behind this series, is at his best when making television based on salacious headlines and his attention to detail did not disappoint. That being said, Murphy and his team could only do so much to tell us things we didn’t already know and that element always made it seem like the show was recreating acts we have already seen so many times before.

The second season of American Crime Story took a different approach. The crime in question dominated headlines in 1997 but unless you are a true crime junkie, it’s one of those stories that faded into the background. The July 15, 1997, murder of fashion designer Gianni Versace shocked the nation at the time because it was so brutal and so sudden. Soon the world knew that the man who took his life was 27 year-old Andrew Cunanan and so many theories abounded as to why he did it. Was it random? Was he an obsessed fan? A case of mistaken identity? These were questions taken to Cunanan’s grave when he committed suicide on July 23.

Or so that’s how it seemed to the general public. Bits and pieces of Cunanan’s road to murder were revealed on news outlets but the FBI knew so much more about Cunanan’s journey. Versace wasn’t his first murder, in fact over a three month period, Cunanan took the lives of four other people: naval officer Jeffrey Trail, lover David Madson, Chicago real estate developer Lee Miglin, and caretaker William Reese. The beginning of these murders put Cunanan on the FBI’s Most Wanted List (in fact he was the first person to be put on the list as the Internet became a more significant tool to utilize this method) but Cunanan didn’t achieve the headlines he longed for until he gunned down Versace and the world really wouldn’t know anything about his prior victims until various documentaries and news programs decided to fully delve into the case.

The sense of mystery surrounding Cunanan and his motives is why the second season of American Crime Story has been compelling television from start to finish. The season began with the murder of Versace but subsequent episodes worked in reverse and essentially explained how we got to that pivotal moment on the steps outside of Versace’s Miami mansion. Because Cunanan was known to present a different version of himself to those who knew him, a lot of the series is based on speculation and tidbits from those who crossed his path throughout his life. A lot of what we saw over nine weeks is largely fictionalized but the heart of the story has an undeniable ring of truth.

The biggest complaint by most watching the series as we headed to the finale, which aired last night, was that for a show called The Assassination of Gianni Versace, there was very little about Versace or his inner circle. This was clearly Cunanan’s story but as a viewer, I can understand the slight misdirection. Versace is the name the public knows and his murder is the crime that most remember. This is the name that will make people watch. Ryan Murphy has also said that it was heavily considered to put Cunanan’s name in the title but it was ultimately decided that this would glamorize him and that’s something they did not want. For me, the most significant reason to use the Versace name and then tell a larger story beyond the fashion designer’s life and murder is that it brings awareness to the victims that didn’t make all the headlines. The episodes detailing naval officer Jeffrey Trail and David Madson and their fatal encounters with Cunanan were the best the series had to offer because it finally humanized these two men who simply were an afterthought in the media coverage. The episodes went into more than how they met Cunanan and how they were murdered, they made the people you cared about and that made their demise at his hands all the more tragic. You felt as you watched their episodes, which spanned more than a single arc, that these guys finally got their voice. The depiction of their murders was brutal but more poignant and memorable was the depiction of how they lived.

The Versace aspect was never frivolous, however. There were a few times that the Versace story would run parallel with Cunanan’s journey. One episode dealt With Donatella Versace’s unease and rise in her brother’s industry as it explored Cunanan’s rise as a kept man in the world of rich men. Cunanan came from money but his father ultimately abandoned the family, leaving his kids with their mother in less than favorable conditions. Versace’s story showed how he got to where he was based on hard work while Cunanan’s showed that he wanted the things Versace had but didn’t feel like he had to put in the work to do so. This is a man who thought something was owed to him and his descent into madness escalated as the world and character he created for himself began to fade away.

For those who wanted more Versace, the season finale took us back to the events of July 15, 1997. Having explored Cunanan’s road to murder, the finale deals with the manhunt for Cunanan and the eight days he spent in hiding as the media firestorm erupted from his murder of Gianni Versace. The frantic final days of Cunanan’s life, again, are largely fictionalized because the one person who knows how they were exactly spent was Cunanan and he subsequently took his life alone on a houseboat and with that act, achieved the infamy he so desired.

Much of the episode dealt with Cunanan becoming increasingly more emotional and hopeless as he took shelter in a houseboat, watching Versace’s larger than life Italian funeral on television and reminiscing about his time with the designer. This is another bone of contention, especially with the Versace family. They vehemently deny that Versace knew Cunanan at all while others who had some knowledge of Cunanan’s life, believe they crossed paths at some point. One motive for Cunanan’s rage against the designer was that maybe he tried to get into Versace’s inner circle at some point and was denied. Cunanan apparently held on to grudges when it came to those who wronged him on some level and that makes this Versace speculation have some air of truth.

Another interesting aspect of the episode had nothing to do with Cunanan. The relationship between Versace’s grieving sister Donatella and his lover, Antonio D’Amico has been explored sparingly throughout the series and what we gathered is that these two didn’t like each other. This seems to be more on the end of Donatella who circled the wagons and ultimately pushed D’Amico out. He was promised the Lake Como property by Versace himself but Donatella and the board don’t allow this to happen. The scenes are played to emotional perfection by Penelope Cruz and Ricky Martin and while both performers were a bit underused over the nine episodes, they did get a few moments to shine and I think they will ultimately be remembered come award’s season. To do what they did with so little by giving so much is a testament to their talent.

Before we get to how this story ends, it’s important to touch on the cultural significance of this story and its views on society as a whole. The People v. O.J. Simpson dealt with race relations and its impact on the trial during season one, while this season zeroed in on the complexities that the gay community weathered in the late ’90s, and how homophobia continues to pervade society. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the pointed speech delivered by Ronnie (Max Greenfield) to the Feds after they bring him in for questioning over Cunanan’s whereabouts. Wiry and HIV-positive, Ronnie berates them for their insensitivity and idiocy in not catching Cunanan sooner while he was in plain sight in Miami. The one thing that most know who followed this story is that it’s largely believed to be one of the biggest FBI fails of all time and a lot of it has to do with how they perceived the murders before it was too late. This was a gay man killing other gay men and that became the narrative rather than simply finding a growing spree killer before he took more lives. Ronnie’s line in last night’s episode sums up their approach best:

“The other cops here, they weren’t searching so hard were they, why is that? Because he killed a bunch of nobody gays?…You know what the truth is, you were disgusted by him, long before he became disgusting. You’re so used to us lurking in the shadows. Ya know, most of us, we’re obliged! People like me, we just drift away, we get sick, nobody cares, but Andrew was vain. He wanted you to know about his pain, he wanted you to hear, he wanted you …he wanted you to know about being born a lie. Andrew is not hiding. He’s trying to be seen.”

Throughout the series, we have seen some compelling performances. Finn Wittrock gave humanity to naval officer Jeffrey Trail that would likely make those who knew him proud, while Cody Fern gave you poignant insight into Cunanan’s most personal victim, David Madson. The namesake of this series can’t be ignored either. Edgar Ramirez has turned in fine work as Gianni Versace, portraying him as driven but ultimately a sensitive soul who was proud of his accomplishments. Whether it was pushing his sister Donatella, or tender moments with Antonio, Ramirez hit all the right notes in the role and gave the character much more depth than was probably on the page.

That being said, the real MVP here is Darren Criss. From start to finish he has delivered on all fronts as Andrew Cunanan. This isn’t an easy role to portray. Cunanan was a known liar and manipulator but for awhile he was able to get people to buy what he was selling. He was charming but, as we know now, largely unhinged. Criss balances all of these aspects of his personality with the greatest of ease and he makes it so seamless that it’s pretty scary to watch. To be likable on one level and out of your mind insane is no easy feat, but Criss makes it look effortless. Glee made Criss a household name but this is the kind of role that makes you a star. If he doesn’t sweep all the awards for his portrayal here, it would be a travesty of epic proportions.

As we reach our conclusion, the series ends with one of those parallels I touched on earlier. Cunanan ultimately shoots himself and, after the events take place, a final scene juxtaposing Cunanan’s unremarkable final resting place and lack of mourners with Versace’s opulent mausoleum and Donatella’s palpable grief is a tragic but fitting into the themes that the series explored. Cunanan wanted the things Versace had but couldn’t obtain them. Whether it was love, wealth, fame or admiration, Versace earned those things based on his character and the world mourned him. Cunanan tried to achieve these things based on lies and deception and he ended up dying alone. Cunanan was voted in high school to be “most likely to be remembered” and in a way he was, but that final image of him, with a self-inflicted gunshot wound through his mouth as he laid there a former shell of himself, is probably the last way he wanted to be seen.

The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story Season Finale – Reel Talk

Darren Criss Delivers Performance of The Year in The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story (Review)

The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story explores the murder of designer Gianni Versace by serial killer Andrew Cunanan, based on Maureen Orth‘s book Vulgar Favors: Andrew Cunanan, Gianni Versace, and the Largest Failed Manhunt in U.S. History.

I was not familiar with the details surrounding the mid-90’s murder of Gianni Versace and I did not fact check ANYTHING while watching ACS Versace. Much to my surprise – this story was INSANE. Literally one of the most impressive and profound true stories about a man’s descent into madness. Darren Criss’ performance as spree killer Andrew Cunanan is legendary. Think American Psycho meets Taxi Driver and we’re starting to get the whole picture here. Criss deserves every single acting award coming his way. There will not be a better acting performance in 2018 or maybe even years from now that can match the intensity and sadness that Criss has put on display here in these nine incredible episodes.

I know that the title of the series has Versace in it, but American Crime Story is all about Andrew Cunanan. We dive deep into the psyche of a killer and although we will never know WHY he did what he did, you will damn sure have a better understanding what led Cunanan down this path of death. Writer Tom Rob Smith doesn’t sympathise with Cunanan so much as peel back the layers of mystery of his life, so that viewers get the entire story, including that of his victims who all deserved to have their stories told in a profound way. Cody Fern for example — is a future star. Watch for that kid to do some amazing things down the road. Ryan Murphy stuck to his guns by casting Criss, known for Glee and his work in music and that decision turned out to be one of the best casting decisions of all time for the smallscreen. Hell – Ricky Martin could get an award too for playing Versace’s lover – those scenes in the finale – in the church? Unreal.

Following up the OJ Simpson mini-series was a huge undertaking, but I honestly think that ACS Versace was a sprawling and epic drama that did a better job getting into the mindset of everyone involved in this sweeping tragedy. Edgar Ramirez and Penelope Cruz literally BECAME Gianni and Donatella Versace, not only in their physical appearances, but the accent and essence of these fashion icons. We do delve into the Versace family for a while and it’s very intriguing, but the split of the show does feel like a 90-10% split with Cunanan and his other victims’ storylines taking up most of the screentime. I’m not complaining though – I’m obsessed with true crime and serial killers (last year’s Mindhunter was made for me), so having more time dedicated to understanding what may have drove Cunanan to murder was the right choice.

From the opening episode which shows the murder of Versace, to the final episode which wraps up all the loose ends in devastating fashion, ACS Versace might be the best mini-series yet from Ryan Murphy. And I’m including American Horror Story in that declaration. Darren Criss BECAME Andrew Cunanan for this role. You will not see a better character study of a serial killer than you will here. These nine episodes are constantly jumping back and forth in time (which I’m told may have turned off some viewers with its sporadic story structure) but I think that was the correct choice to take people on a better emotional journey. If we were to have told this story chronologically — I don’t think it would have captured our attention. The sporadic narrative was a necessary evil in order to uncover the essence of Cunanan’s insanity. There’s a monologue in the finale where Max Greenfield tells the police that Andrew isn’t hiding – he’s wanting to be seen and it really does sum up what happened with the botched investigation and pursuit of Cunanan in general. He was a gay man, killing other gay men — so law enforcement didn’t give a shit back then. Plain and simple – sad but true.

The glorification of serial killers isn’t what we were going for here and by the end of the series — Cunanan is most certainly not celebrated in any way whatsoever, but I do feel like Criss’ performance is culturally one of the most significant and impressive acting performances of our time. Whether he’s seducing older men with his IDGAF dance moves in a speedo, or when he’s wrapping tape around his face while having a shower – Criss is doing something unlike any other character in years. He’s bizarre, scary and at times – enigmatic. The episode in which he shows up to a party, rips off his trenchcoat to reveal that red leather suit and struts right into that house like a boss – is one of the best scenes of 2018. Andrew just wanted to be remembered and although the murderer will likely fade into obscurity, I hope that Criss’ iconic performance stands the test of time. It’s that good.

Rating: ★★★★★

Darren Criss Delivers Performance of The Year in The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story (Review)

The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story Review: Alone (Season 2 Episode 9)

The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story Season 2 Episode 9 “Alone” is still compelling to watch but falls a little flat. “Alone” was always going to be a hard sell because much of the episode, Andrew is, well, alone and he is more dynamic when he is with other people.

We have seen Andrew in all sorts of forms—charming, predatory, menacing, confident—but when he’s by himself, he is just kind of blah.

In the days after Andrew killed Versace and there was a stepped-up manhunt in Miami, Andrew was in hiding. He could no longer afford to be out in public or else he risked capture.

So, much of the episode is Andrew trapped in a houseboat.

A highlight of “Alone” is seeing Judith Light as Marilyn Miglin again. She steals every scene she’s in and damn it, when Marilyn is on the verge of tears, I’m on the verge of tears too.

The story she tells about how she wanted to make a perfume that her mother would have worn is such a great story and evokes so much emotion.

Even Andrew is in awe of her. But there is no glimmer of remorse.

It’s interesting to see how when Andrew first breaks into the houseboat, he’s still giddy from killing Versace and to see his name paired forever with Gianni’s. The houseboat isn’t exactly lavish, but Andrew enjoys a bottle of champagne to celebrate his latest murder.

But then, food runs out. He eyes a can of dog food attempts to eat it and then vomits.

No, he is not that desperate–yet.

After seeing David Madson’s father on TV (which Andrew seems to be a little obsessed with the coverage of himself), he calls his father.

I wasn’t expecting to see Modesto again but even watching Andrew and Modesto talk on the phone elevated the excitement of the episode.

After seeing how things ended with Modesto on The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story Season 2 Episode 8 “Creator/Destroyer,” I’m surprised that Andrew reached out to him.

I never thought for a minute though that Modesto was going to help him. In fact, it wouldn’t be surprising if he had ratted out Andrew for financial gain.

As the days go on, we see that the rest of the dog food has been eaten. Modesto has not come to save Andrew and he has become the cockroach he trapped under glass.

Without much fanfare, Andrew is discovered at the houseboat and it is there, that he puts a gun in his mouth and pulls the trigger.

We’re then taken to the scene from the first episode where Gianni and Andrew are backstage at the opera. Andrew tells Gianni that he wants to be special and he’ll convince the world that he is.

Gianni: It’s not about persuading people you’re going to do something great—it’s about doing it.

And there we have it summed up in one line how completely different these two men are, no matter how they are forever connected.

“Alone” did show Donatella and Antonio briefly although it’s just plain sad to see how Antonio was treated. He isn’t acknowledged and is shunned at Gianni’s funeral and then is told that he may not have anywhere to go as the property Gianni promised him is controlled by the label’s board.

The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’s biggest failure is the time jumps and the way the season is structured. “Alone” is the finale, however, there just isn’t enough to it to really pack a punch.

I think it would have been better if throughout the season we saw the aftermath of Versace’s murder intercut with Andrew’s previous murders. There isn’t much of a build-up to when Andrew is discovered and when he commits suicide.

By breaking up the manhunt, this final episode may have had more energy. I just feel like I watched an episode of Andrew watching TV.

That being said, I still enjoyed the whole season of The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story. There were so many brilliant performances, but Darren Criss takes the cake.

He is amazing on every episode and plays so many versions of Andrew. It’s exciting to watch.

The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story is also very sad because I kept wanting the victims to survive.

The characters may not reflect their real-life counterparts one hundred percent, but I was invested in each and every one of them. There are lots of memorable moments throughout the season, but none of them felt sensationalized. And even though Andrew was humanized, his actions were never excused.

It’s disappointing that “Alone” is the weakest episode, but it doesn’t diminish the excellence of the episodes that came previously.

Rating: 3.5/5

The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story Review: Alone (Season 2 Episode 9)

Why The Assassination of Gianni Versace Is the Year’s Most Underappreciated TV Show

“Hiding? He wasn’t hiding.”

So says South Beach staple Ronnie Holston (the enthralling Max Greenfield) of his erstwhile “friend,” Andrew Cunanan (Darren Criss), in the season finale of American Crime Story. Though the episode culminates in Cunanan’s suicide, as the manhunt for the spree killer comes to an end, it’s here, under questioning, that Ronnie explains Cunanan’s motive—and with it The Assassination of Gianni Versace’s raison d’être, which is the belief that the meaning of stories is dependent on both their creation and their reception, each subject to proliferating points of view. “The other cops, they weren’t searching so hard, were they?” Ronnie asks. “Why is that? Because he killed a bunch of nobody gays?”:

You know, the truth is, you were disgusted by him long before he became disgusting. You’re so used to us lurking in the shadows and, you know, most of us, we oblige. People like me, we drift away. We get sick, nobody cares. But Andrew was vain. He wanted you to know about his pain. He wanted you to hear. He wanted you to know about being born a lie. Andrew is not hiding. He’s trying to be seen.

Ronnie’s monologue is indelicate, but it’s also imperative. Despite emphasizing the authorities’ negligence, their unwillingness to rub elbows with the queers at Twist or Warsaw Ballroom in order to catch Cunanan—despite elaborating, as I wrote at the start of the season, an ambitious, unorthodox, potent, frankly astonishing reconsideration of what it means to be and be called a faggot—the response to Versace from many critics has most often made it seem minor, or niche: “Serial killer porn” with “a cipher and supposition at its core,” a “short-story collection” set against Season One’s “epic,” “cheap” “wall dressing” instead of “uncompromising” high art, “a padded adaptation of The Talented Mr. Ripley,” a “spectacle,” a disappointment, a flop. As The Washington Post’s Hank Stuever wrote, in the most explicit dismissal of this sort, “The failure of Versace is that it takes a case that is at best vaguely remembered (mostly by fashionistas and gay men) and tries to apply to it the same degree of resonance and insight [as The People v. O.J. Simpson].”

To crib from Lili Loofbourow’s brilliant exploration of “the male glance,” or the impulse to diminish cultural artifacts produced by, for, and about women, the reception of Versace begins to suggest its heteronormative corollary: “the straight glance.” Though Stuever’s linguistic slippage—between critiquing the series for failing to find resonance in the case and critiquing the case for lacking resonance in the first place—is the clearer tell, the implication is present in others’ digs, too, not least their remarkable alignment with the tacit hierarchies Loofbourow identifies. That The People v. O.J. Simpson leans on supposition and spectacle in its own right—from its tragicomic glimpses of Kato Kaelin, Faye Resnick and the Kardashian kids to the flirtation between Christopher Darden and Marcia Clark—or turns Simpson into a cipher—more symbol than character—of course goes unmentioned. In this hermeneutic, The People v. O.J. has the sweep of a historical epic, and a subject (Race in America) to match, whereas The Assassination of Gianni Versace is a cheap, compromised imitator, invested in problems—the AIDS crisis, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”—that no longer plague us. In this hermeneutic, the former is drama, the latter “porn.”

Unsurprising, then, that so much of the critical discourse surrounding Versace fixates on the series’ treatment of homophobia, only to elide its essential queerness, or blithely raises the subject of certain cultural traditions—porn, opera, horror, camp—only to leave such associations more or less unexamined. The point here is not that Versace is above reproach—Richard Lawson’s superb, decidedly mixed review, for Vanity Fair, is proof enough of that—or that there should be no room for critics to disagree. It’s that the reception of Versace reproduces a familiar script, such that even critics sympathetic to the series seem as uncomfortable with its central subject as the Miami cops were with those South Beach fags. If one is to explain the season’s reduced “cultural relevance,” there’s no point beating around the bush with references to its tonal “learning curve”: In terms of generating the high ratings and broad critical acclaim that transform a mere TV program into a bona fide “phenomenon,” the most underappreciated series of the year so far—and, for my money, the best—might have been too gay for its own good.

In truth, Versace’s vexing reception illustrates the very resonance its critics suggest it lacks. If the season can be said to possess a singular theme, after all, it’s the one Ronnie echoes in his interrogation: For all the strides made on this front in the past two decades, American culture continues to undervalue, misunderstand, disdain, or simply ignore the queer experience—not because it’s hidden, but because we aren’t looking. Consider the series of episodes focused on Cunanan’s spree before he reached Versace, a daring, reverse-chronological-order disruption to the traditional structure of “true crime”: In “A Random Killing,” “House by the Lake,” and “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell,” which commemorate the lives of Lee Miglin (Mike Farrell), David Madson (Cody Fern), and Jeff Trail (Finn Wittrock) and relate the profound terror of their deaths, Murphy, writer Tom Rob Smith, and directors Gwyneth Horder-Payton and Daniel Minahan offer a brief tour of queer convention. The roseate palette of Marilyn Miglin (Judith Light) and her cosmetics line reminded me of Douglas Sirk’s (or Todd Haynes’) melodramatic baubles, displacing repressed emotions onto an unhappy wife; the shower sequence that follows Trail’s gruesome murder is reminiscent of Psycho, with Cunanan standing in for Norman Bates; Madson and Cunanan’s twisted, tense, ultimately fatal road trip suggests the New Queer Cinema, via Gregg Araki’s The Living End. The queerest episodes of the series, aesthetically speaking, are those most desperate to be seen and heard—those committed, in the series’ most admirable gambit, to reasserting the presence of those so often erased in the glare of that morning in South Beach. (That this does not extend to Cunanan’s fifth victim, cemetery caretaker William Reese, is at once the series’ one glaring moral shortcoming and, perhaps inadvertently, further proof of its radical approach: In Versace, reacting to more than a century of screen entertainments, it’s the murder of a straight man that’s considered incidental.)

As Ronnie declares in the season finale, it’s the tabloid spectacle of Versace’s murder that finally focuses investigators’ attention, and following from his superb Feud: Bette and Joan, Murphy renders the viewer complicit in the sensationalism, only to pull the rug out from under us as the series proceeds. If The People v. O.J. cuts through the haze of “the trial of the century” to (re-) discover the humanity of the attorneys on both sides, Versace (literally) works backwards from its most visible moment to do much the same for the men Cunanan murdered—interwoven with Criss’ gripping, genuinely harrowing portrayal of the monster responsible for making them characters in the same American crime story. In this context, the most common criticism of the series I’ve encountered, that its title is “misleading,” begins to read as nothing more than a form of derailment. The series does not promise a biopic of Gianni Versace, but rather the (longue durée) tale of his assassination, and it delivers: Trace its dovetailing threads back to beginning, and what emerges is a bracing acknowledgement that the forces by which a pair of strangers find themselves on opposite ends of a gun barrel are multi-stranded, root-and-branch—perhaps beginning with parents, family, community, society, but also including an inordinate number of forking paths, personal choices, possibilities opening and closing, fortune and fate. In its structure as in its queering of television tradition, The Assassination of Gianni Versace is an ideal meeting of form and function. What critics failed to see, in comparing it endlessly, fruitlessly, frustratingly, unfavorably to The People v. O.J. Simpson—in framing it as prima facie less “resonant” or “insightful” because it defies the mould of the “important” drama, the “unforgettable” case—is that the series is not in fact minor, or niche. It is, at its bruised and buried center, about a few of the central questions of queer life, and queer art: How to be, and when, and where, and to whom, and why the many seductions of the range of answers might go hand-in-hand with the many dangers.

I suppose this was the undercurrent of my earlier paean to the series, and to its treatment of “faggot”—that unutterable word, that unforgivable commonplace, that useful descriptor, that reclamation. To my mind—as to Ronnie’s, and perhaps to Murphy’s—the most fantastical figure in the series, the one I struggle to see myself in, is not Andrew Cunanan, with his shame, his fear, his eagerness to be seen and heard, to be “special.” It’s Gianni Versace. For the series’ nervy, imperfect, radical, frankly astonishing gambit is to suggest that the closet might be enough to drive anyone crazy—it’s a kind of “double consciousness,” for lack of a better term—and that there are nonetheless countless other factors separating assassin from icon. Its expansion of the possibilities for the queer stories we see on TV—movies got there first—Versace is an evolution, albeit a flawed one, and the resistance to reading it as such, I’d argue, is at the heart of critics’ failure to appreciate it.

It’s that “flawed” part, in the final estimation, that made the series irresistible to me, which Ronnie’s monologue—and its unplanned reminder of Cunanan’s own—so forcefully captures. Us faggots, we are bankers, stockbrokers, shareholders, paperback writers. We are cops, naval officers, and sometime-spies. We build movie sets in Mexico and skyscrapers in Chicago. We sell propane in Minneapolis, import pineapples from the Philippines. We are queens and con men, somebodies and nobodies, fashion designers and fledgling TV critics, assassins, icons, and everything in between. The season defines itself by its refusal to hide the range of queer stories—of human stories—that TV can spin, stories of success and failure, love and hate, heroism and villainy, life and death. The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story, which focuses on a man desperate to be remembered, another too famous to be forgotten, and those whose legacies deserve to be respected—reclaimed—is ultimately animated by one central belief, one indelicate imperative: Queer lives matter, and not just their ends.

Why The Assassination of Gianni Versace Is the Year’s Most Underappreciated TV Show

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace’ Went Out with a Bang

What’s more embarrassing for the FBI—that they couldn’t find Andrew Cunanan in the three months between his first killing and the murder of Gianni Versace, or that they still couldn’t catch him after he shot a celebrity in broad daylight?

Either way, the second season of American Crime Story would’ve been very different if Cunanan had lived to tell his story. Maureen Orth’s Vulgar Favors offers as complete an account of his life and death as seems possible, but she—and we—can never know exactly why Versace was his ultimate target, or what was going through his mind as he picked off each of his five victims. As writer Tom Rob Smith has observed, Cunanan is “this kind of vortex, a dark abyss. Once he starts killing people, he crosses a line, and he isn’t really human in a way that we understand.”

As a result, while The People v. O.J. Simpson could stick close to the facts, The Assassination of Gianni Versace was, like Orth’s book, necessarily fleshed out with conjectures. Its finale, “Alone,” gets the gist of Andrew’s last gasp right: On July 23, 1997, eight days after killing Versace, Cunanan put a gun in his mouth and fired. His presence on a two-story houseboat in Miami Beach was first noticed by its caretaker, Fernando Carreira. (The vessel’s owner and his possible connection to Cunanan is a different story.) When he saw that the curtains were drawn, Carreira grabbed his gun and started searching, but left when he heard a gunshot. Police and news teams soon swarmed the area. By the time the cops ended the standoff, entered the boat and found the place littered with copies of magazines like Vogue, Cunanan was dead.

What we don’t know is how Cunanan spent the final week of his life. Did he try to escape from Miami? Did he follow the news about him and Versace on multiple televisions at once? Did he resort to eating dog food? We have no idea. Did he really speak to his father? Apparently not, although Pete did hope to make a movie about his son—and accept thousands of dollars to appear on TV, where his primary concern seemed to be denying Andrew’s homosexuality.

Police fielded various tips as to his whereabouts, almost all of them unhelpful. On July 16, the owner of a sailboat anchored not far from the houseboat reported a break-in. Orth reports, “He found old pita bread and newspapers open to stories of the Versace killing, including Versace’s hometown paper, Milan’sCorriere Della Sera. He also saw a man resembling Cunanan sitting on a bench nearby reading a navigational guide book that he later realized had been taken from his boat.” But no forensic evidence was ever recovered. The FBI’s manhunt was a failure on every count.

Despite some moments of doubt, the last two episodes of Versace have, as far as I’m concerned, cemented the season as a worthy successor to O.J. First of all, the acting was superb, from Darren Criss’s lead performance to the many great recurring roles. And it was nice to see Judith Light, Ricky Martin, Dascha Polanco, Annaleigh Ashford, and Joanna P. Adler (who plays Andrew’s mom) one last time, in an episode that elegantly checked in with all of the people affected by Andrew’s rampage. But the best scene in “Alone” was Max Greenfield’s return as Ronnie, Cunanan’s friend in Miami. “You were disgusted by [Andrew] long before he became disgusting,” he tells police interrogators, in a sharp indictment of societal homophobia. “Andrew’s not hiding—he’s trying to be seen.”

This seems to sum up Smith’s ultimate argument: In a world that Cunanan’s high school classmates were so sure he’d make an indelible impact on, some combination of selfishness, laziness, lying, egomania, self-delusion, a chaotic family, homophobia, classism, and racism rendered him invisible. That invisibility both catalyzed his murder spree—a last, desperate attempt to matter—and ensured that it was able to continue for so long. Smith resists the temptation to “humanize” Cunanan or justify his behavior, but he doesn’t excuse society as a whole from the role it played in making him the monster that he finally became, either. The season’s final shot, which fixes on Cunanan’s plaque at the mausoleum before pulling back to show that his is just one among hundreds of identical vaults, is a perfect rejoinder to his longing to be special.

What we’re left with is the uncomfortable certainty that American Crime Story rescued Cunanan from the dustbin of history—and that he would’ve been thrilled to know that there would be a whole season of TV devoted to him more than 20 years after his death. On the other hand, the ongoing American Dream narrative, which used everyone from David Madson to Lee Miglin to Gianni Versace to imply that we live in a meritocracy and the only thing standing between Andrew and success was his allergy towards work, was the season’s weakest note. If you understand race and class in America, you know that the reality is a bit more complicated than that.

Anyway! Let’s not make this all about Cunanan. Before we close the curtain on this fascinating story, let’s do a final check-in with the major characters who resurfaced in the finale.

Elizabeth Coté

Cunanan’s longtime friend and former benefactor did, in fact, go on TV to implore him to turn himself in. Her plea, which was more or less identical to the one that appears in the episode, was released the same day Cunanan died. The line where she says, “I know that the most important thing to you in the world is what others think of you,” comes straight out of the real statement. Coté later consulted on a TV movie about Cunanan that never came to be.

Marilyn Miglin

I covered most of Marilyn Miglin’s life, post-Lee, in an earlier recap, but suffice it to say that she put herself back together pretty quickly. She brought her son, Duke, in on the real-estate and cosmetics businesses, before forcing the sale of Lee’s company and remarrying in the fall of 1998. To this day, the family denies that Lee and Duke had any connection to Andrew.

Ronnie

Even though Andrew had written down Ronnie’s room number on his pawnshop form, subjecting his friend to a terrifying encounter with a SWAT team, Ronnie covered for Andrew, claiming not to recognize him in a photo.

MaryAnn Cunanan

When Orth spoke to MaryAnn for Vulgar Favors, she was living in a one-bedroom bungalow in National City, with a memorial garden for Andrew outside. She still didn’t believe he killed Versace (although she did acknowledge that he probably killed the other four victims). A few months after Andrew’s death, between making multiple paid appearances on newsmagazine shows, she attempted suicide.

Modesto “Pete” Cunanan

Pete remained in the Philippines throughout his son’s ordeal—Orth reports that he hadn’t visited the States since his departure in 1988—making an unsuccessful case that Andrew’s cremated remains should be shipped to him and that he should have control of Andrew’s estate, such as it was. He also remarried, hunted for gold bullion that he believed Japan had left in the Philippines at the end of World War II, and joined a New Age cult called Church Universal and Triumphant.

Antonio D’Amico

As the Versace portion of the finale suggests, Antonio got a rough deal after Gianni died. He spent August of 1997 with Elton John and his partner, David Furnish, in France. Back at work in the fall, Donatella ignored him. And though Gianni had stipulated in his will that Antonio should have a monthly allowance and access to his homes, it turned out that those residences were owned by the company. So, Antonio settled with the Versaces for a lump sum and an apartment. He left the company’s atelier, in January 1998, in the company of a security guard. The scene where Antonio tries to kill himself is, unfortunately, true. But, as of 2017, he was living in the Italian countryside with a new partner and his own line of golf clothing.

Donatella Versace

There’s no mystery surrounding Donatella’s life after Gianni’s murder—she’s been a celebrity, the subject of ridicule and a designer in her own right ever since. Although she struggled at first, with grief, with cocaine addiction, with her daughter Allegra’s anorexia, and with finding her voice, Donatella got clean and started making smart hires in 2005. By now, she’s kept the brand afloat for over two decades. “Now,” she said in a fascinating Guardian interview from 2017, “I feel like the death of my brother made me strong. But for a long time it was a trauma.”

‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace’ Went Out with a Bang