You're probably familiar with the Hitchcock classic, The Silence of the Lambs, and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Maybe you've even read the original novels that inspired the first two films. Now prepare to meet the man behind the Bates Motel owner, Buffalo Bill, and the chainsaw-wielding villain. The one and only Ed Gein!
The initial installments of this anthology series centered around the Milwaukee monster – an individual possessing widespread notoriety. Then came the sibling duo – a somewhat specialized case for dedicated true crime fans. Now the spotlight turns to the Plainfield Ghoul. While he may lack the brand recognition of Dahmer, Bundy, or Gacy, and only killed two people, his postmortem violations and macabre artistry with female corpses have left a lasting mark. Even now, any film or show featuring mutilated bodies, removed epidermis, or items crafted from human tissue likely draws inspiration to Gein's exploits from over 70 years ago.
Is my tone too casual? This appears to be the deliberate approach of the creators. Rarely have I seen a television series that lingers so gleefully on the worst depredations an individual – and mankind – can commit. This extends to a substantial narrative strand devoted to the horrors of the Third Reich, shown with little to no justification.
Structurally and stylistically, the show is impressive. The pacing is flawless, and the clever interweaving of past and present is executed brilliantly. We see the actor as Gein committing his crimes – the murders, tomb violations, and curating his gruesome trophies. Simultaneously, the present-day narrative follows Alfred Hitchcock, Robert Bloch, and Anthony Perkins as they craft the iconic film from Bloch's Gein-inspired novel. The integration of the real – his devout parent and his obsession with women resembling her – and fictionalized scenes – lurid portrayals of the Buchenwald criminal and SS officer gatherings – is executed proficiently.
The missing element, and unforgivably so, is ethical commentary or deeper insight to counterbalance the protracted, admiring visuals of his immoral deeds. The series portrays his rich inner world and positions him as a helpless individual of his domineering mother and a morbidly fascinated girlfriend. The underlying suggestion seems to be: What is a poor, schizophrenic guy to do? During a key moment, Robert Bloch theorizes that without exposure to photographs, Gein would have remained a small-town simpleton.
One might contend that a show from this stable – known for sleek, exaggerated aesthetics – is an unlikely source for deep psychological exploration. But previous works like the OJ Simpson trial drama offered sharp analysis on media and justice. The Versace murder story explored celebrity and society. Impeachment scrutinized systemic sexism. So it can be done, and the producer has succeeded before.
Yet not in this case. The Ed Gein Story feels like a commercialization of an underexploited true crime story. It demands sympathy for the individual responsible without offering genuine insight into his transformation. Aside from the reductive "religious mother" reasoning, there is little effort to comprehend the origins or prevent future cases. It is nothing but voyeuristic pandering to the basest instincts of viewers. The wartime sequences do have lovely lighting, though.
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Tracy Carr
Tracy Carr
Tracy Carr
Tracy Carr