Costumes help tell the story in “The Assassination of Gianni Versace”

In the pantheon of 1990s fashion, the name Versace rises above all others when it comes to a kind of baroque sexiness and celebrity flash that ran counter to the grunge and minimalism trends of the decade. There was a joy in the bold patterns, gold Medusa emblems and barely there dresses Gianni Versace dressed celebrities like Madonna and Gwyneth Paltrow in and featured on supermodels including Naomi Campbell and Cindy Crawford. That joy was snuffed out tragically on the steps of Versace’s Miami villa on July 17, 1997, when hustler-turned-spree-killer Andrew Cunanan fatally shot the designer.

“American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace” (debuting Wednesday, Jan. 17 on FX) tells the story of Cunanan’s deadly rampage that eventually brought him to Versace’s doorstep. Chronicle television critic David Wiegand had much praise for the series’ storytelling. Style viewed the first eight episodes of the limited series with an eye toward whether show-runner Ryan Murphy and his longtime costume designer, Lou Eyrich, got the era’s fashion story correct.

Early in the series, we see a re-creation of one of Versace’s runway shows and peek behind the scenes at Gianni (Édgar Ramírez ) putting the finishing touches on a collection with his sister Donatella (Penelope Cruz). Instantly, the liquid-gold excess of the Versace heyday is illustrated, with Gianni telling his sister that he wants to create “happy” clothes, not the moody collections coming into vogue via rising fashion stars Alexander McQueen and John Galliano. Knowing what’s coming, the exuberance of his collections is that much more haunting.

In a later episode, we get an even more intimate look at the creative partnership between the siblings as they collaborate on a dress to be worn by Donatella to a party celebrating the 100th anniversary of Vogue in 1993. The result is a re-creation of the actual black leather-strapped, luxe-bondage gown that caused a red carpet sensation in the press, akin to what Gianni’s gold safety-pinned, side-slit gown for model Elizabeth Hurley did a year later at the “Four Weddings and a Funeral” premiere. It was Donatella’s black leather debutante gown of a sort, symbolic of a kind of creative coming out. This Versace-land rings period-true, from the clinging, chain-printed Speedos worn by Gianni’s live-boyfriend, Antonio, to the crisp uniforms worn by the villa manservants. The bright Miami and Milanese sun that infuses these scenes makes the Versace floral prints and shining hardware pop even more, especially compared to the (metaphorical) darkness in Andrew Cunanan’s (Darren Criss) world.

Criss’ transformation from affable “Glee” singer to sadistic con artist in “The Assassination of Gianni Versace” is helped considerably by Eyrich’s costuming, which sees him transform from prep school uniform and mall basics to “American Gigolo” boxy suiting, as well as the ever-present wire-rim glasses that were seen on a thousand wanted posters. In re-establishing the worlds each season in Murphy’s three anthology series, Eyrich’s work has been essential, whether it’s the ever-evolving gothic motifs of Murphy’s “American Horror Story” or the fading Hollywood glamour of 2018’s “Feud: Bette and Joan.”

She doesn’t just get the big picture right; she uses clothes to further the story. Eyrich’s attention to Cunanan’s status-seeking menswear, whether it’s a pair of Ferragamo loafers or a Rolex watch he uses to entice a potential romantic partner/victim, drives the narrative. Cunanan’s pretending and social climbing would not have the same believability if it weren’t for the way he used his charm, good looks and ability to dress the part to ease his way into his victims’ worlds. Eyrich’s wardrobe concepts are frequently more than re-creation, they’re world-specific interpretations that use both exaggeration and restraint to drive the narrative. The soft decorator earth tones worn by the older, affluent gay men that Cunanan sees as potential prey perfectly capture that subset in the same way the fleeting glance at ’90s club fashion encapsulates Miami’s gay scene.

Eyrich and Murphy’s work together over the years has become so well-regarded that in 2017 the Paley Center in Beverly Hills celebrated their collaborations on “American Horror Story” with a special exhibition, “The Style of Scare.” Although the scares are more of the suspense variety and less supernatural in “The Assassination of Gianni Versace,” Eyrich’s costumes are essential in keeping the tension in the series as taut as one of Versace’s signature little dresses.

Darren Criss is pleasant and dutiful during an interview on a recent Thursday afternoon, answering questions about his role as serial killer Andrew Cunanan in the new FX miniseries “The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story.”

But when the subject shifts to his childhood in San Francisco, the actor is downright joyous.

Criss happily remembers stories that have been buried for a while, including the time he called San Francisco actor Peter Coyote, whose son was a classmate of Criss’ brother, for advice about getting into acting. Criss was 7 years old.

“The synapses in my brain are suddenly awakening,” Criss says, talking faster. “I remember really, really nervously looking at the school roster, getting the number and going into the closet and shaking nervously, and saying, ‘Hi, is Mr. Coyote there?’ For a child to be talking to an adult on a level other than, ‘Can so-and-so come over to play video games?’ it was a nerve-racking experience.”

Criss says Coyote gave him a vote of confidence, and talked to him about enrolling in the Young Conservatory program at the American Conservatory Theater. Criss flourished there, and appeared in the musicals “Fanny” and “Do I Hear a Waltz” with 42nd Street Moon when he was 10.

The St. Ignatius College Prep graduate went on to University of Michigan, where he co-created “A Very Potter Musical” in 2009. It became a YouTube hit, and he has since glided effortlessly between film and stage, performing as openly gay singer Blaine on television’s “Glee” between 2010 and 2015, and in a “Hedwig and the Angry Inch” revival that started at San Francisco’s Golden Gate Theatre in 2016.

But his most challenging performance — maybe anyone’s most challenging TV performance this year — is as Cunanan, the designer-obsessed serial killer in “The Assassination of Gianni Versace.”

Criss is onscreen more than anyone in the highly anticipated follow-up to “The People Vs. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story,” which won nine Emmy Awards in 2016. “Versace” co-stars Edgar Ramirez as Versace, who was shot by Cunanan in 1997. Penelope Cruz plays Donatella Versace, the designer’s sister.

Told in a challenging but rewarding reverse chronology, Cunanan comes off at first as a monster. But the pulpy exterior also gives its lead characters nuance; the series presents Cunanan and Versace as talented gay men with parents born outside the U.S.; with one finding the American dream and another becoming a living nightmare.

Speaking by phone from his Los Angeles home last week, Criss is reserved about his performance. While most reviewers have already seen all eight episodes, Criss had only seen four — and binged those the night before.

“It’s hard to watch anything you do objectively,” Criss says, when asked for his first impressions. “That sounds so unenthusiastic, but I promise you it’s not. I’m thrilled with how a lot of things turned out.”

One thing Criss insists is that he didn’t follow the dark character — there are scenes of physical and emotional torture by Cunanan, followed by an alarming lack of empathy — into the abyss.

On the worst days, Criss says, he would execute a pratfall down a stairway on set or provide other blooper reel material to lighten the mood. And he insists that while the victims of Cunanan both living and dead weighed on his mind, the most violent scenes were not as harrowing to perform as they look on screen.

“You have to remember that, (A) of course, it’s fake, (B) there’s not this creepy music looming in the background,” Criss says. “And there are 30 or 40 people around you who you can crack jokes with and grab a tea with, and give you the sort of necessary levity.”

Levity seems to be Criss’ default position, especially after the questions about Cunanan end and the San Francisco conversation begins again.

Criss and his musician brother, Chuck, who put out a pop album together last year under the band name Computer Games, took every advantage of the San Francisco art community. Criss says he hung out with theater performers in their 20s and 30s when he was a preteen; and their lessons were in the forefront of his mind as he created “A Very Potter Musical” and subsequent musicals.

But his parents recently moved out of San Francisco after 40 years, seeking a warmer climate in Southern California. When Young Conservatory director Craig Slaight retired after 29 years at ACT, Criss says, Slaight’s party doubled as Criss’ own goodbye.

“It was a nice time to get a couple of drinks, and say, ‘Fare thee well, San Francisco,’” Criss says. “When I go back, I’m a stranger in a strange land — I’m on Yelp, I’m on whatever hipster blogs. I treat it like a true tourist.”

There’s no bitterness for Criss about the changes in San Francisco or in any other part of the interview. Criss says that during the 1990s, there were probably a lot of natives from the 1950s and ’60s who were angry. That won’t be him.

“It’s always going to be different, everyone is going to hold their experience of a city higher than the people ahead of them,” says the 30-year-old actor and singer. “I try not to be a curmudgeon, because to me that’s the fastest way to be old.”

And that San Francisco childhood will always be with Criss, as long as the synapses are still firing. Asked if he remembers co-starring in “Fanny” when he was 10 years old, he provides a couple of warm stories, then sings a few bars from his 20-year-old performance. (“Be kind to your parents/ Though they don’t deserve it …”)

“ACT is such a huge part of my life, and I’m so forever grateful for them existing,” Criss says. “If I grew up in any other city in any other circumstance, I don’t know if I really would have had the support system in place to make this dream a reality.”

For ‘Versace’ actor Darren Criss, SF childhood still shines brightly

‘Versace’ had something Cunanan would kill for: Fame

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The bar was already set especially high for the second installment of “American Crime Story” by the critical and popular success of last year’s “The People v. O. J. Simpson.” From the long white Bronco chase along the Los Angeles freeways to the gavel-to-gavel coverage of Simpson’s trial, much of the nation had followed the case from beginning to end, all but guaranteeing a sizable audience for the dramatization. Critical raves, Emmys and other awards only added to its success.

Unlike Simpson, the central character in the FX anthology series’ second season was not well-known at all, but his obsessive desire to change that drove him to kill one of the most famous fashion designers in the world. “The Assassination of Gianni Versace,” whose nine-episode season premieres Wednesday, Jan. 17, may not get “Simpson”-level ratings, but it takes the series, loosely based on a book by Maureen Orth, to another level altogether. Though at times excruciating to watch, it is a riveting and provocative indictment of both homophobia and, on a larger level, our obsessive fascination with celebrity, both real and manufactured.

In fact, the show’s new season is even more about celebrity than the first. Versace (Edgar Ramírez) has it, uses it, wallows in it. His boldly opulent, neo-baroque fashion designs reflect it, taunt wealthy customers with it. Celebrity is what Versace’s boyfriend, Antonio D’Amico (Ricky Martin), uses to entice attractive young men to follow him from Miami clubs to Versace’s villa. Sometimes Versace is part of the ensuing menage. Other times, he keeps working while the sex continues in the background, almost as if he is feeding directly off its energy as he creates his designs.

Andrew Cunanan (Darren Criss) learns from his con man father, Modesto (Jon Jon Briones), that appearance is everything — that it doesn’t matter who you are inside or what you actually accomplish in life: As long as you look and act the part, you can pretend to be anyone you want to be. Let others work hard for success: If you’re smart and inventive, you can get there simply through elaborate pretense.

We meet Cunanan on a sun-bleached morning on the beach as Versace is returning to his gated palazzo after a short walk to buy the newspaper. Cunanan walks calmly forward, raises his arm and shoots, killing Versace and creating the small red waterfall on the villa steps that we will see next to crime markers when the murder is covered by TV news. A turtle dove is collateral damage. Later, in a singularly over-the-top scene, the camera pulls back in the morgue to show Versace’s body on a table, and then, in the foreground, that of the bird. Although the actual bird was gray, it becomes tellingly white in the TV version.

From that shocking beginning, screenwriter Tom Rob Smith tells the story of Cunanan’s life in extended flashback, showing us how his father doted on him to the exclusion of his other children and wife, and how Cunanan began lying from an early age to hide his family’s lack of status and wealth. He was a show-off at school and later as an attractive young man who pathologically reinvented his biography to get him closer to older men, in particular. Like a character in Dickens or Fitzgerald, Cunanan wanted to belong.

Smith’s reverse chronology is fundamental to the success of “Versace” and why it is often excruciating to watch. We know what will happen to each of his victims as he makes his way toward Miami.

Cunanan goes first to Minneapolis because he is in love, or what he convinces himself is love, with David Madson (Cody Fern). We already know how Madson and Cunanan met, and we know what will happen to him. Cunanan all but holds him hostage in his own loft as they wait for Madson’s friend Jeff Trail (Finn Wittrock) to arrive.

Although the names of Trail and Madson aren’t well known, we know who they are by this point in the story. We know Madson is a gifted, kind and ambitious young architect. We know that Trail struggled trying to hide his sexuality as a career naval officer and having to leave the Navy broke his heart. That knowledge informs our reactions as we see them moving toward inevitability. Cunanan blames Trail for the fact that Madson refuses to be the “man of my dreams.”

From Minneapolis, Cunanan goes to Chicago where Lee Miglin (Mike Farrell) is alone in the richly appointed home he shares with his wife, Marilyn (Judith Light), who has her own cosmetics empire. Miglin is deeply closeted. Does Marilyn know? She is stoic, cold, micro-focused on detail when she returns from a business trip to find her husband dead. At this point, it is redundant to say this about any Judith Light performance, but she is extraordinarily brilliant in showing Marilyn’s herculean effort to bottle her roil of emotions, her shame, her pain, the loss of her husband, of course, but also the game of pretense they carried on for years.

While Smith is telling Cunanan’s story, he is telling Versace’s as well. The two stories couldn’t be more unalike, but there is a common thread here: Versace wants his work to be noticed, and to accomplish that, he has to be noticed himself. And like Cunanan, artifice is a key ingredient to making that happen. Until he made what was then a bold decision to come out in an interview with the Advocate, Versace was coy and protective about his sexuality. When he tells his sister, Donatella (Penelope Cruz) that he’s going to come out, she tries to dissuade him, reminding him of how Perry Ellis, his body ravaged with an illness that his representatives refused to name, had to be helped onto the runway for one of his final fashion shows. Donatella is sure Versace’s revelation will kill his business.

The moment Versace comes out, the thread he unknowingly had in common with Cunanan is severed. Cunanan was incapable of telling or being the truth. Versace is strengthened by it, and so is his brand.

The quality of Smith’s script is honored effectively through the direction of the series, by Matt Bomer, Gwyneth Horder-Payton and series creator Ryan Murphy, and through exquisite performances, beginning with that of Darren Criss. His national tour of “Hedwig and the Angry Inch” showed there was more to him than the singing, dancing charmer of “Glee,” but nothing he’s done compares to his work here. In fact, he uses that charm as the base for Cunanan’s twisted personality. We may have read the papers and watched new accounts of the killing spree and wondered how anyone could have been taken in by such a malevolent poseur. The answer is in Criss’ Emmy-worthy performance.

Ramírez is equally convincing as Versace. His physical resemblance to the designer is uncanny, but the performance is what makes the story so credible. We see the man behind the public figure, a man who loves beauty and who comes to understand what Cunanan never can, that truth is beauty. Wittrock, Briones, Fern and Farrell contribute mightily to the production. Cruz does a decent job as Donatella, although she never manages to keep her natural Castilian accent under control playing an Italian woman. No matter, Cruz is convincing as the one person Gianni could trust more than any other, and, as we know, the woman who would take control of his business after his death.

From the outset, what Cunanan wanted to be was famous. He wanted people to pay attention to him and to remember him. In his final moments on that houseboat off Collins Avenue, did he think he was guaranteeing cultural immortality by taking his own life? If so, he was wrong there as well. The fact that he is not Simpson, that it will probably take you a minute or two to recall the name of Versace’s killer, is one reason why “The Assassination of Gianni Versace” is more than just the story of a loser on a killing spree.

‘Versace’ had something Cunanan would kill for: Fame