The Rise and Fall of True Crime: Evolution of True Crime Episode 4
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VOICE OVER: Rebecca Brayton
WRITTEN BY: Mackenzie Aker
Love it or hate it, we've all experienced this tidal wave of crime content in recent years, so… how did we get here? Where do we go? Welcome to our four-part series “How True Crime Became a Global Obsession”! In this episode, we'll be exploring the rise and fall (and rise?) of the true crime genre.
Love it or hate it, we’ve all experienced this tidal wave of crime content in recent years, so… how did we get here? Where do we go?
Welcome to WatchMojo’s series “The Evolution of True Crime”! In this episode, we’ll be exploring the rise and fall (and rise?) of the true crime genre.
As we know, true crime in its various forms has been a staple of pop culture for hundreds of years. From 16th century sailors’ ballads recounting gruesome murders, to Netflix’s latest miniseries, our morbid fascination with crime and brutality is pervasive. But throughout the 2010s true crime exploded into one of the most-watched and most-talked about media categories, elevated from trash TV and cozy mysteries, into a cultural force. Hell, WatchMojo alone published over 100 true crime videos in 2023 alone. But are viewers experiencing ‘true crime fatigue’? Are we over the ‘Serial Killer Cinematic Universe’? Where does the genre go from here?
A 2022 study found 34% of American adults who listened to a podcast in the last year said they regularly consume true crime podcasts. The same study found that true crime was the most common topic between the highest-rated podcasts on Apple and Spotify. Another 2022 study found that half of Americans admitted to enjoying true crime, with 13% citing it as their personal favorite. But with popularity, comes greater scrutiny. The more a topic is discussed, the more viewers seek to unpack its nuances (like in this miniseries, for example). So let’s talk about where true crime is at today.
We can look back at landmark works like “In Cold Blood” and “Thin Blue Line” as benchmarks of “modern” true crime. But let’s be serious. The True Crime Boom got REAL in the 2010s. As the streaming revolution began to take root, viewers (and listeners) started experiencing stories in new ways. For one, streaming makes content available to anyone with a password, on their own schedule, expanding the potential viewer base considerably compared to traditional TV or film. Secondly, streaming is as much a part of online culture as it is visual media culture, thanks to the expansion of online fandoms and social media. The internet provides new possibilities for engaging with the stories we consume, especially if their focus is on a mystery. A mystery is a puzzle, it puts the viewer in a position to hunt for clues, to draw their own conclusions in real life. Who doesn’t want to be the one to crack the case? We know how true crime media reflects the issues of its time – so what kind of widespread cultural questions can it generate in digital space?
HBO’s “The Jinx” is a great viral example. The series investigates the suspicious deaths of three individuals all connected to New York real estate heir Robert Durst. The show features a lot of self-reflexive moments, as filmmaker Andrew Jarecki explores his own working relationship with Durst, who’s an active and willing participant in the production. And the ending is absolutely explosive. This twisty independent investigation ultimately helped lead to Durst’s arrest and conviction in 2021. The internet was lit aflame by the series’ finale, some hailing it one of the most shocking moments in TV history. But what is of note for us here, is the discourse it generated in digital space. Fans carried topics that are usually limited to academia, such as body language analysis and objectivity in nonfiction storytelling, into the mainstream.
“Making a Murderer” is another example. This milestone series generated major discussions about mental health and criminal responsibility, documentary ethics, and bias in police work. Over 500 000 people signed an online petition to the White House in 2015, advocating for a pardon for central character Steven Avery. These are not necessarily activists or people linked to the case, but viewers who were moved by what they saw in the show. And that is the true power of nonfiction storytelling – viewers are made to feel as if they have the complete story, an encyclopedia of the facts. And in an online context, fans find themselves in a position to take some level of action: to post something, join an advocacy group, get active in a forum, sign a petition - to feel as though they too can be a participant in the execution of justice.
Netflix’s “Don't F**k with Cats: Hunting an Internet Killer” takes this concept even further. The series covers the internet-sleuth-driven quest to identify an anonymous poster of animal cruelty videos, later identified as murderer Luka Magnotta. The core of this story is how random people online were able to identify this elusive figure, using clues from his videos. Modern true crime often questions the effectiveness of the criminal justice system, and this series empowers the independent-PI roleplay that the internet makes possible. Anyone can be a detective, or even better than a detective, stepping in when the police can’t do their job. The internet allows viewers to themselves become part of the stories they consume.
This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, of course - the outcome of “Don’t F**k with Cats” was positive. But this does mark an evolution. And what’s interesting is how fresh technology brings new life to the content-consumer relationship in true crime - to the way audiences explore gruesome cases from a safe distance, or try to crack a whodunnit. These are classic devices of mystery and true crime, but the internet allows consumers to dig far deeper into the nitty-gritty of the case at hand, easily accessing photos, archival documents, official reports, and bouncing ideas off other aficionados. True crime fans now have far greater and deeper means to connect with it. This is inherently related to why we see a true crime explosion in this era.
Podcasts are another tech innovation that contributes to this explosion. Radio may be somewhat passé, but the format makes content a hell of a lot more accessible when you’re not planted in front of a screen. The podcast “Serial”, for example, is a major player in this True Crime wave - an absolute phenomenon. The first podcast to win the Peabody award, it holds a world record for the most downloaded podcast of all time. “Serial” helped popularize true crime in podcast form, and its innovative storytelling kept viewers waiting with baited breath for the next reveal. This is another example of true crime being led by independent researchers, seeking to uncover problems with “the system”. In the case of Adnan Syed (the central figure of season 1), Serial’s popularity got absolutely everyone talking about his case. And the investigation ultimately helped change its outcome.
“The Jinx”, “Making a Murderer”, and “Serial” all debuted within about a year of each other. But let’s talk about a different true crime sensation given life by streaming: “Tiger King”. At a moment where everyone was suddenly stuck indoors - no work, no social life – “Tiger King” provided the exact niche story that could only be called comforting given the timing of its release (March 2020). This series has everything: murder, conspiracy, illegal zoos, mullets ... Its home on Netflix allowed for a nostalgic collective viewing experience; as everyone’s lives were flipped, seemingly everyone was also watching “Tiger King”. The so-called Streaming Revolution has carried the new wave of true crime by expanding its viewerbase and viewers’ ability to immerse themselves in these stories from the comfort of their own homes – especially in 2020 when we were literally stuck there.
But what are the downsides of this genre explosion in the digital age? It’s important that we talk about victim experience here. Are the victims of true crime stories ever really done justice through their representation? And what about the surviving families of victims?
We’ve already seen how shows like “Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story” delve into the mystique of a murderer’s mind, and yes, several of his victims are depicted in the show. But really… the series is not about them. Their identities, their lives, and the tragedy of their stories are not the center of the show. The focus remains on Dahmer himself. And so there emerges a cycle of revictimization, where the real-life victims are killed off for show, while their murderer gets a Netflix-backed, famous actor deep dive. The real victims are just plot devices in Jeffrey Dahmer’s show. While it’s contested by creator Ryan Murphy, multiple families of Dahmer’s victims claim they were never contacted prior to the show airing in 2022. As Eric Perry, the cousin of Dahmer victim Errol Lindsey, said: “We’re all one traumatic event away from the worst day of your life being reduced to your neighbor’s favorite binge show”.
A point of opposition to this dynamic could be the 2017 Netflix series “The Keepers”, which covered the unsolved murder of Sister Cathy Cesnik in 1969, and a web of abuse in her Baltimore community. The series featured interviews with her students who were themselves victims of abuse at school, and allowed them to tell the story through their own experiences, keeping Cathy at the core. This created space for Cathy’s story to be told, without re-victimizing those involved and sensationalizing their trauma for profit. The narrative belongs to them, and is recounted from their perspectives.
And this is really the core ethical concern of true crime writ large. Is it fair to survivors of these tragedies to have their private lives and intimate family moments aired on TV? Mindy Pendleton, stepmother of Robert Mast, who was murdered in 2015, recounted begging the producers of Netflix’s “I Am a Killer” to not feature their story. The episode aired without her permission or participation, and featured his murderer detailing her ‘side of the story’. The episode was not about Robert, but about his killer through a lens of curiosity. Victims’ families have also cited the traumatizing effects of having their killed loved one’s lifestyle, decisions, risks, relationships, and so forth scrutinized in the public eye by armchair detectives with no real-life connection to the case.
And this is an age-old question in nonfiction media: what responsibility do we have to the truth? What responsibility do we have to the real-life people and events that we cover? There isn’t really such a thing as “pure truth” in media, because what viewers are shown is filtered through so many layers of perception. The lens always omits more than it captures, regardless of a filmmaker’s intentions.
But true crime continues to push these boundaries, for better or worse. A prime example is “Monster” and its deeply aestheticized telling of tragic historical events. Some viewers praised its vision and performances. Others criticized its potentially glorifying effect. Can the series just exist as entertainment? Or should there be a higher bar for sensitivity and historical accuracy? It depends who you ask.
But given the enduring presence of true crime across hundreds of years, it’s clear that the genre is here to stay. It will continue to evolve in line with the changing social concerns of its time. And perhaps given the sheer volume of formats and platforms available today, we can expect it to expand in different directions, serving a broad range of tastes. All things will find their fandom.
With that being said, the ethics of true crime remain up for debate and deeply subjective. We’ve seen how true crime can reflect biases in our society, and in turn, influence viewers’ perception of the issues it covers. Rather than focusing on the unattainable bar of “TRUTH”, perhaps the better measure here is honesty. Does the creator tell us the limits of their research? Does the content polarize characters into GOOD GUYS and BAD GUYS? Who are you made to identify with in the story? Then again, if you’re just along for the ride and want to enjoy a juicy mystery, that’s okay too. We’re all fans here.
But at the end of the day, it’s important to keep in mind that these ‘juicy mysteries’ were not just written to entertain us. They are the stories of real people, who lived through very real events. And they could happen to you too.
Welcome to WatchMojo’s series “The Evolution of True Crime”! In this episode, we’ll be exploring the rise and fall (and rise?) of the true crime genre.
As we know, true crime in its various forms has been a staple of pop culture for hundreds of years. From 16th century sailors’ ballads recounting gruesome murders, to Netflix’s latest miniseries, our morbid fascination with crime and brutality is pervasive. But throughout the 2010s true crime exploded into one of the most-watched and most-talked about media categories, elevated from trash TV and cozy mysteries, into a cultural force. Hell, WatchMojo alone published over 100 true crime videos in 2023 alone. But are viewers experiencing ‘true crime fatigue’? Are we over the ‘Serial Killer Cinematic Universe’? Where does the genre go from here?
A 2022 study found 34% of American adults who listened to a podcast in the last year said they regularly consume true crime podcasts. The same study found that true crime was the most common topic between the highest-rated podcasts on Apple and Spotify. Another 2022 study found that half of Americans admitted to enjoying true crime, with 13% citing it as their personal favorite. But with popularity, comes greater scrutiny. The more a topic is discussed, the more viewers seek to unpack its nuances (like in this miniseries, for example). So let’s talk about where true crime is at today.
We can look back at landmark works like “In Cold Blood” and “Thin Blue Line” as benchmarks of “modern” true crime. But let’s be serious. The True Crime Boom got REAL in the 2010s. As the streaming revolution began to take root, viewers (and listeners) started experiencing stories in new ways. For one, streaming makes content available to anyone with a password, on their own schedule, expanding the potential viewer base considerably compared to traditional TV or film. Secondly, streaming is as much a part of online culture as it is visual media culture, thanks to the expansion of online fandoms and social media. The internet provides new possibilities for engaging with the stories we consume, especially if their focus is on a mystery. A mystery is a puzzle, it puts the viewer in a position to hunt for clues, to draw their own conclusions in real life. Who doesn’t want to be the one to crack the case? We know how true crime media reflects the issues of its time – so what kind of widespread cultural questions can it generate in digital space?
HBO’s “The Jinx” is a great viral example. The series investigates the suspicious deaths of three individuals all connected to New York real estate heir Robert Durst. The show features a lot of self-reflexive moments, as filmmaker Andrew Jarecki explores his own working relationship with Durst, who’s an active and willing participant in the production. And the ending is absolutely explosive. This twisty independent investigation ultimately helped lead to Durst’s arrest and conviction in 2021. The internet was lit aflame by the series’ finale, some hailing it one of the most shocking moments in TV history. But what is of note for us here, is the discourse it generated in digital space. Fans carried topics that are usually limited to academia, such as body language analysis and objectivity in nonfiction storytelling, into the mainstream.
“Making a Murderer” is another example. This milestone series generated major discussions about mental health and criminal responsibility, documentary ethics, and bias in police work. Over 500 000 people signed an online petition to the White House in 2015, advocating for a pardon for central character Steven Avery. These are not necessarily activists or people linked to the case, but viewers who were moved by what they saw in the show. And that is the true power of nonfiction storytelling – viewers are made to feel as if they have the complete story, an encyclopedia of the facts. And in an online context, fans find themselves in a position to take some level of action: to post something, join an advocacy group, get active in a forum, sign a petition - to feel as though they too can be a participant in the execution of justice.
Netflix’s “Don't F**k with Cats: Hunting an Internet Killer” takes this concept even further. The series covers the internet-sleuth-driven quest to identify an anonymous poster of animal cruelty videos, later identified as murderer Luka Magnotta. The core of this story is how random people online were able to identify this elusive figure, using clues from his videos. Modern true crime often questions the effectiveness of the criminal justice system, and this series empowers the independent-PI roleplay that the internet makes possible. Anyone can be a detective, or even better than a detective, stepping in when the police can’t do their job. The internet allows viewers to themselves become part of the stories they consume.
This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, of course - the outcome of “Don’t F**k with Cats” was positive. But this does mark an evolution. And what’s interesting is how fresh technology brings new life to the content-consumer relationship in true crime - to the way audiences explore gruesome cases from a safe distance, or try to crack a whodunnit. These are classic devices of mystery and true crime, but the internet allows consumers to dig far deeper into the nitty-gritty of the case at hand, easily accessing photos, archival documents, official reports, and bouncing ideas off other aficionados. True crime fans now have far greater and deeper means to connect with it. This is inherently related to why we see a true crime explosion in this era.
Podcasts are another tech innovation that contributes to this explosion. Radio may be somewhat passé, but the format makes content a hell of a lot more accessible when you’re not planted in front of a screen. The podcast “Serial”, for example, is a major player in this True Crime wave - an absolute phenomenon. The first podcast to win the Peabody award, it holds a world record for the most downloaded podcast of all time. “Serial” helped popularize true crime in podcast form, and its innovative storytelling kept viewers waiting with baited breath for the next reveal. This is another example of true crime being led by independent researchers, seeking to uncover problems with “the system”. In the case of Adnan Syed (the central figure of season 1), Serial’s popularity got absolutely everyone talking about his case. And the investigation ultimately helped change its outcome.
“The Jinx”, “Making a Murderer”, and “Serial” all debuted within about a year of each other. But let’s talk about a different true crime sensation given life by streaming: “Tiger King”. At a moment where everyone was suddenly stuck indoors - no work, no social life – “Tiger King” provided the exact niche story that could only be called comforting given the timing of its release (March 2020). This series has everything: murder, conspiracy, illegal zoos, mullets ... Its home on Netflix allowed for a nostalgic collective viewing experience; as everyone’s lives were flipped, seemingly everyone was also watching “Tiger King”. The so-called Streaming Revolution has carried the new wave of true crime by expanding its viewerbase and viewers’ ability to immerse themselves in these stories from the comfort of their own homes – especially in 2020 when we were literally stuck there.
But what are the downsides of this genre explosion in the digital age? It’s important that we talk about victim experience here. Are the victims of true crime stories ever really done justice through their representation? And what about the surviving families of victims?
We’ve already seen how shows like “Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story” delve into the mystique of a murderer’s mind, and yes, several of his victims are depicted in the show. But really… the series is not about them. Their identities, their lives, and the tragedy of their stories are not the center of the show. The focus remains on Dahmer himself. And so there emerges a cycle of revictimization, where the real-life victims are killed off for show, while their murderer gets a Netflix-backed, famous actor deep dive. The real victims are just plot devices in Jeffrey Dahmer’s show. While it’s contested by creator Ryan Murphy, multiple families of Dahmer’s victims claim they were never contacted prior to the show airing in 2022. As Eric Perry, the cousin of Dahmer victim Errol Lindsey, said: “We’re all one traumatic event away from the worst day of your life being reduced to your neighbor’s favorite binge show”.
A point of opposition to this dynamic could be the 2017 Netflix series “The Keepers”, which covered the unsolved murder of Sister Cathy Cesnik in 1969, and a web of abuse in her Baltimore community. The series featured interviews with her students who were themselves victims of abuse at school, and allowed them to tell the story through their own experiences, keeping Cathy at the core. This created space for Cathy’s story to be told, without re-victimizing those involved and sensationalizing their trauma for profit. The narrative belongs to them, and is recounted from their perspectives.
And this is really the core ethical concern of true crime writ large. Is it fair to survivors of these tragedies to have their private lives and intimate family moments aired on TV? Mindy Pendleton, stepmother of Robert Mast, who was murdered in 2015, recounted begging the producers of Netflix’s “I Am a Killer” to not feature their story. The episode aired without her permission or participation, and featured his murderer detailing her ‘side of the story’. The episode was not about Robert, but about his killer through a lens of curiosity. Victims’ families have also cited the traumatizing effects of having their killed loved one’s lifestyle, decisions, risks, relationships, and so forth scrutinized in the public eye by armchair detectives with no real-life connection to the case.
And this is an age-old question in nonfiction media: what responsibility do we have to the truth? What responsibility do we have to the real-life people and events that we cover? There isn’t really such a thing as “pure truth” in media, because what viewers are shown is filtered through so many layers of perception. The lens always omits more than it captures, regardless of a filmmaker’s intentions.
But true crime continues to push these boundaries, for better or worse. A prime example is “Monster” and its deeply aestheticized telling of tragic historical events. Some viewers praised its vision and performances. Others criticized its potentially glorifying effect. Can the series just exist as entertainment? Or should there be a higher bar for sensitivity and historical accuracy? It depends who you ask.
But given the enduring presence of true crime across hundreds of years, it’s clear that the genre is here to stay. It will continue to evolve in line with the changing social concerns of its time. And perhaps given the sheer volume of formats and platforms available today, we can expect it to expand in different directions, serving a broad range of tastes. All things will find their fandom.
With that being said, the ethics of true crime remain up for debate and deeply subjective. We’ve seen how true crime can reflect biases in our society, and in turn, influence viewers’ perception of the issues it covers. Rather than focusing on the unattainable bar of “TRUTH”, perhaps the better measure here is honesty. Does the creator tell us the limits of their research? Does the content polarize characters into GOOD GUYS and BAD GUYS? Who are you made to identify with in the story? Then again, if you’re just along for the ride and want to enjoy a juicy mystery, that’s okay too. We’re all fans here.
But at the end of the day, it’s important to keep in mind that these ‘juicy mysteries’ were not just written to entertain us. They are the stories of real people, who lived through very real events. And they could happen to you too.
