“If the devil’s alive, he lived here.” — Quote in the Chicago Tribune, attributed to a worker who was involved in the demolition of John Wayne Gacy’s house.
While working as a news columnist in the 1990s, I had one of the most macabre experiences of my life when I was granted access to the Cook County records facility that housed the evidence against John Wayne Gacy.
A square-shaped piece of lumber that was the hatchway to the crawlspace in Gacy’s house. Gacy’ hand-drawn diagram of the crawlspace, indicating where some of the bodies were buried. A piece of rope Gacy used to strangle one of his victims. Handcuffs and keys. Gacy’s appointment book for 1978-79. The jacket worn by Gacy’s final victim, Rob Piest, and a receipt from the pharmacy where the 15-year-old Piest worked—the receipt that became a crucial piece of evidence in the case against Gacy.
I was just 20 years old when Gacy was arrested in December of 1979, but down the road I wrote a number of columns connected to the case, including an interview with the mother of one of his victims, and over the years I’ve met a number of the real-life investigators and attorneys who are portrayed in the Peacock series “Devil in Disguise: John Wayne Gacy.” It’s not that I claim some special connection to the case, but it’s very real to me. To its credit, “Devil in Disguise” is a somber procedural that focuses at least as much on the victims and their families, and the cops and lawyers, as it does on Gacy. Every episode save the first one ends with news archival photos and film, pictures of some of the real-life figures depicted in the series, courtroom sketches, or snapshots of pieces of evidence. (A photo of Gacy’s crudely drawn map—the map I saw in that evidence room some 30 years ago—is shown at the end of Episode 2.) This particular series resonated with me because there wasn’t a hint of exploitation, nor was Gacy depicted as some kind of mysterious and powerful entity. Of course, he was a monster—but a monster in the form of a wannabe cop, a low-level political operative, a grotesque clown, a crude and grunting predator. He was the rancid embodiment of what the political theorist Hannah Arendt famously called “the banality of evil.”
Still, while there are standout supporting performances in “Devil in Disguise,” the awards buzz is centered on Michael Chernus and his chillingly effective portrayal of Gacy. When we consider the ever-expanding library of fictional films and streaming series about serial killers, it’s the star turns we remember. Darren Criss won an Emmy for his portrayal of Andrew Cunanan in “The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story.” Jeremy Renner was the title character in the 2002 film “Dahmer,” and Evan Peters was nominated for an Emmy and won a Golden Globe for Best Actor for “Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story.” Charlize Theron won an Oscar for playing Aileen Wournos in the feature film “Monster.” John Cusack was menacing and unnerving as Robert Hansen, aka “The Butcher Baker,” in the theatrical release “Frozen Ground.” Just this month, in addition to the Gacy series, the great Jason Clarke underwent a major physical transformation to play Alex Murdaugh in the solid albeit sordid “Murdaugh: Death in the Family,” and the talented Charlie Hunnam was the title character in the execrable “Monster: The Ed Gein Story.” Our appetite for all things true crime is voracious.
At least 10 actors, from Mark Harmon to Chad Michael Murray to Zac Efron, have portrayed Ted Bundy. TEN. The most notorious serial killers of the 20th century have been analyzed, fictionalized, and scrutinized in so many true-crime podcasts, so many documentaries, so many dramatic interpretations, that they have essentially been transformed into modern-day boogeymen that fascinate, terrify and repel us on a visceral level that carries far greater impact than the old urban legends about the “Hook Handed Killer” or the intruder who scribbles “Aren’t You Glad You Didn’t Turn on the Light?” in blood on the bathroom mirror.
Even fictional cinematic constructs are overshadowed by the mythology of the real-life monsters. Sure, Ethan Hawke’s “The Grabber” from “The Black Phone” and Amy Madigan’s Aunt Gladys in “Weapons” are memorable modern monsters—but it’s the long-dead Gacys and Dahmers who carry generational impact in our nightmares, who continue to intrigue us decades after their heinous crime sprees. Michael Myers and Jason and Ghostface have become borderline cartoonish caricatures over the decades, but when we see graphic and blood-soaked depictions of the crimes committed by the likes of Ed Gein and Ted Bundy, it affects us—and yes, fascinates us—on a deeper level. The shocking nature of these crimes are almost too horrible to behold; almost.
Why are we so obsessed with true-crime entertainment, in all its forms? It’s a kind of psychological combo platter. Many of us are wired to seek out the bleak but undeniable thrill of embracing dread and terror. We love to be frightened, whether it’s riding mega-roller coasters with names such as Hades 360, Full Throttle and Shivering Timbers, or paying to be scared via one of the more than 4,000 haunted house experiences that pop up every fall, or taking the plunge into a binge-worthy limited series about real-life murderers who have become the stuff of legend. We also like to play amateur sleuth when taking a dive deep into unsolved cases such as Zodiac and the Tylenol Killer. And, with the dramatizations of the likes of Manson, Bundy, Dahmer, and Gacy, there’s the satisfaction of seeing them caught, put behind bars—and in some cases, executed.
As one of the millions and millions of fans of the true-crime genre, I don’t usually feel guilty or uncomfortable consuming this material—but when I watched “Monster: The Ed Gein Story,” I did find myself wondering: What are we even doing here? In the final episode, there’s an insanely tasteless musical fantasy number in which Hunnan’s Ed Gein imagines himself taking a victory lap to the sound of “Owner of a Lonely Heart” by Yes, with gyrating nurses and orderlies dancing, and the likes of Richard Speck, Ed Kemper and Charles Manson celebrating him; it plays like a nauseating take on the “Bye Bye Love” climax in “All That Jazz.” By that point, I felt the need to take a deep scrub, to wash off the stink of this cynical and exploitative garbage. Articles such as “What ‘Monster: The Ed Gein Story’ Gets Right and Wrong” (Rolling Stone) and “10 Details ‘Monster: The Ed Gein Story’ Got Wrong” (Entertainment Weekly) seemed to miss the point. The showrunners were never trying to get it right. The fabricated, implausible elements were deliberate—and often offensive. Maybe they thought they were holding up a funhouse mirror to the genre, but it comes across as an insult to the audience, as if we should feel guilty for even watching. Ed Gein aiding investigators in tracking down Ted Bundy, à la Hannibal Lecter helping Clarice Starling, is art imitating art inspired by real life. It’s dizzying—and troubling.
Most of these series do a far better job of empathizing with the victims than “Monster: The Ed Gein Story.” Still, even the best of them, even the ones (like “Devil in Disguise”) that refrain from sensationalizing the story and devote much of the attention to the victims and the investigators, come with an element of exploitation. You can’t tell the story of a monster without giving the devil his due. And we can’t stop watching.