Standard Of Review: You Should Watch Netflix's 'Making A Murderer' For Artistic And Sartorial Reasons

Making a Murderer is an excellent addition to the Netflix oeuvre, according to culture critic Harry Graff.

Making A MurdererRural Wisconsin. Documentary filmmaking. Dad jeans. That does not exactly sound like the recipe for a television phenomenon; it sounds more like a behind-the-scenes featurette for a Brett Favre Wrangler commercial. And yet, over the holiday season, virtually everyone was talking about Netflix’s excellent ten-episode limited documentary series Making a Murderer (this column will contain very light plot spoilers through the first three episodes and very light fashion spoilers through the seventh episode).

Making a Murderer tells the true story of Steven Avery, a man from an unpopular family in rural Manitowoc County, Wisconsin who helps run an auto salvage yard. In 1985, Avery was falsely convicted of sexual assault and false imprisonment. In 2003, he was ultimately exonerated and released from prison due to the efforts of the Wisconsin Innocence Project after DNA testing confirmed his innocence. Avery subsequently sued the county, its former sheriff, and its former district attorney for civil rights violations, alleging that the county was negligent in its investigation, including ignoring strong evidence another person was the actual culprit. However, as Avery’s attorneys begin to depose the Manitowoc County officials, Avery is arrested again, this time suspected of murdering Teresa Halbach, a photographer for Auto Trader magazine who had entered Avery’s property in order to take pictures of cars.

In order to pay for his defense, Avery is forced to settle his civil suit for only $400,000 in order to hire Dean Strang and Jerry Buting, two heralded local Wisconsin criminal defense attorneys. Strang and Buting’s theory of the case is that Avery was set up by the police in retribution for his lawsuit. Even though the investigation into the Halbach disappearance was supposed to be led by the nearby Calumet County Sheriff’s Department, the Manitowoc County officers were nevertheless involved in the case and found key pieces of evidence that pointed towards Avery’s guilt. Moreover, officers conducted a highly questionable interrogation of Avery’s unintelligent seventeen-year-old nephew Brendan Dassey, bullying him into stating that he and Avery were involved with the murder. With that evidence in hand, special prosecutor Ken Kratz decided to try Avery for murder.

There have been a plethora of Internet think-pieces regarding the systematic injustices exposed by the series. However, I want to focus on the artistic merit of the documentary itself. Creators Laura Ricciardi and Moira Demos spent over ten years gathering footage for Making a Murderer, and the result is one of the most innovative and creative documentaries in recent memory.

The most jarring aspect of Making a Murderer is the lack of a narrator. A recent trend in documentary filmmaking is the use of heavy narration and/or the documentarian inserting himself or herself into the story. This can often be a useful tactic; for example, in HBO’s excellent 2015 documentary series The Jinx, filmmaker Andrew Jarecki made himself a character in the story, engaging in numerous conversations with his subject Robert Durst and unsuccessfully crashing a party in an attempt to convince Durst’s brother Douglas to appear onscreen.

Ricciardi and Demos eschew putting themselves on screen. In fact, if Making a Murderer did not have opening credits, there would be no way to know that they were involved at all. Accordingly, the camera captures Avery’s family members (particularly his parents) around their house as they discuss the case and interact with each other (such as cooking dinner) as if the cameras were not there. As a result, Making a Murderer frequently plays more like a reality show like The Real World than a true crime documentary series. Also, for most of the documentary, Avery himself speaks off-camera in a disembodied voice, as the camera shows a series of shots of the area, such as the Wisconsin wilderness, the Avery auto salvage yard, and random houses, barns, and cars. The grim landscapes visible as Avery speaks underscores the direness of Avery’s situation.

While ostensibly about Avery, the true stars of Making a Murderer are Strang and Buting, who do not even appear until a few episodes in, but steal every episode. Ricciardi and Demos have almost unprecedented access to the attorneys, filming them in their offices, their houses, and even in their cars. Litigation attorneys (like me) will accordingly appreciate these scenes, as Strang and Buting discuss legal strategy and even make jokes about the case (such as Buting reading a news article that criticizes him but praises Strang). Despite the cameras, Strang and Buting act completely naturally in these unguarded moments.

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The two men also certainly dress naturally. When not in court, both men (and especially Strang) dress casually enough to fit right in at Quinn Emanuel. Strang is often clad in polos and dad jeans, and in one hilarious scene even lies on the couch with his bare feet up. The internet has seemingly fell in love with Strang’s normcore style; there is even a Tumblr called “StrangCore” dedicated to Strang’s fashion sense.

My one complaint with Making a Murder is that Ricciardi and Demos possibly fell too much in love with Strang and Buting. The middle episodes in the series focus almost exclusively on Avery’s trial for Halbach’s murder. Long stretches of those episodes are devoted to showing video of the direct and cross examinations of numerous witnesses. These episodes tend to drag a lot; I can only watch a cross-examination of a forensic expert for so long before my mind wanders elsewhere and I begin daydreaming of all the plot contrivances in Star Wars: The Force Awakens.

Despite this small quibble, Making a Murderer is an excellent addition to the Netflix oeuvre. And after watching, you will realize that if you ever have a case in Manitowoc County, Wisconsin, you may need to purchase a new wardrobe.


Harry Graff is a litigation associate at a firm, but he spends days wishing that he was writing about film, television, literature, and pop culture instead of writing briefs. If there is a law-related movie, television show, book, or any other form of media that you would like Harry Graff to discuss, he can be reached at harrygraff19@gmail.com. Be sure to follow Harry Graff on Twitter at @harrygraff19.

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