Do violent criminals need more views?

The news is all bad – terrible governments, a climate crisis, capitalism rapidly driving society into decline and little regard for human life are all we see, all the time. 

Entertainment follows suit, with production houses churning out film, music, television and books that focus on the many kinds of violence present in daily life. 

This is the social atmosphere that creates the ideas and audience for shows like Based On A True Story. 

In this eight-episode comedic drama, a big secret lands on the doorstep of a married couple in the suburbs, Ava and Nate, (played by Kaley Cuoco and Chris Messina,) and in it they see a chance to become stars.

It’s a natural response for a husband and wife whose careers are deeply dissatisfying and whose personal lives revolve mostly around being jealous of what everyone else has. 

Based On A True Story introduces its murderous villain early, showing how a young woman, alone in her flat, projecting an exercise video onto a blank wall (hello, 4IR), meets a violent end. 

The episode then swiftly shifts back to the boring life of Ava, who is at home with her friends, discussing the details of the latest episode of their favourite true crime podcast. 

Immediately, murder is cast as nothing out of the ordinary. It is something that exists around every corner and, the show says, it’s a game that everyone can get in on. 

Ordinary people have become fascinated with why and how criminals do what they do; they have started to think of themselves as experts on crime. Everything has “nuance” now and a killer, with enough clever PR from the public, can be elevated to a celebrity savant. 

Tom Bateman, who plays Matt Pierce (a serial killer with his very own catchy moniker, “the Westside Ripper”), has the kind of even voice and dark eyes that draw victims in before they even realise that a stranger is right up in their personal space. It is this spell that Ava and Nate fall under, and it is this easy familiarity with a dangerous stranger that gives them the audacity to carry on a ridiculous scheme: starting a podcast with an active serial killer. 

It’s absolutely terrifying to think that Matt could now have the opportunity to kill people and then report back on it to a large, captive audience. 

Who are the people that would tune in? Why would they care? Do they fully realise that they are supporting an active killer’s dream of becoming famous?

And this is where Based On A True Story starts to lose its direction. 

The podcast is getting more downloads each day (because Matt is also a marketing genius) and Ava and Nate are riding high after pulling off the biggest show of their lives. But they are also failing to keep their podcasting life from seeping into their relationships with friends and family, and while they try to keep things together on the home front, Matt does what he does best and kills someone close to the couple – someone who knew too much, and whose own ambitions would have blown up the whole project. 

Ava and Nate now have two choices: take another risk and report Matt after all, and possibly put themselves in line to be arrested, or surrender completely to the dark side, becoming the killer’s ally and throwing away the last shreds of morality. 

This is the dilemma that the true-crime-as-entertainment leaves us in: at which point is enough, enough? How many more violent criminals polished to look clever and exciting? How much more terror can we sublimate? And what happens when the gate crashes open and we are buried under the weight of our questionable viewing choices?