Errol Morris Has Been Sucked Into the Gaping Maw of True Crime

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Although Chaos: The Manson Murders, directed by Errol Morris, is only 96 minutes long, it seems overly extended, suggesting a need to validate its existence within the current trend of bloated true-crime documentaries on streaming platforms. However, despite Morris’s involvement, the film doesn’t truly embody his signature style until about halfway through. Initially, it focuses on the Tate-LaBianca murders, but later shifts to the story of Tom O’Neill, author of the 2019 book upon which it is based. Morris’s voice can be heard throughout, and occasionally he appears on screen for an interview with O’Neill. The film also includes archival material, reenactments, and dreamlike close-ups that are characteristic of Morris’s work. However, a considerable portion of the film is merely a recounting of the gruesome details surrounding one of America’s most notorious murder cases. Interviewees such as O’Neill, prosecutor Stephen Kay, and Bobby Beausoleil, who remains imprisoned for the murder of Gary Hinman, may differ in their interpretations of what motivated the killings. Yet, the fundamental facts – the charismatic cult leader, the commune at Spahn Ranch, the carnage at Cielo and Waverly Drive – are so ingrained in popular culture that even casual viewers will likely have some prior knowledge.

As a film enthusiast, I’ve always been captivated by the Tate-LaBianca murders, and the journey of O’Neill, an entertainment reporter who delved deep into this tragic event for his Premiere assignment, has become more than just a professional project for me. Over two decades, he transformed into a character reminiscent of Morris, relentlessly pursuing his unique perspective on the world, even if it’s not yet fully defined. He confides, “I still can’t decipher what truly transpired, but I know the account we were given isn’t accurate.”

O’Neill doubts the narrative presented during Manson’s trial and popularized in Vincent Bugliosi’s Helter Skelter, which suggested that Charles Manson aimed to ignite a race war by orchestrating the killings of Sharon Tate and the other residents of her house, followed by the LaBianca murders the next day. Instead, he believes there may have been something far more complex at play – perhaps a covert operation connected to the CIA’s infamous MKUltra program and psychiatrist Louis “Jolly” West, who was not only involved but also conducted mind-altering experiments in Haight-Ashbury around the same time that Manson was gathering his followers.

Though I can’t quite piece together all the fragments, O’Neill is convinced that Manson’s extraordinary control over others, extending to ordering them to commit murder, could not have been self-taught but must have stemmed from West in some way.

In the documentary “Chaos: The Manson Murders,” it seems that the director, Morris, could have chosen to center O’Neill as the primary focus from the outset, much like he did with Fred A. Leuchter in “Mr. Death” and Joyce McKinney in “Tabloid.” This approach would have allowed for Beausoleil and Kay’s interviews to serve as a contrast. A 2019 talk at the Los Angeles Press Club suggests that creative differences may explain why O’Neill stepped away from Morris’s project, which could account for some of the film’s unique characteristics.

Despite his involvement in the film, O’Neill remains somewhat detached, both visually and thematically. Instead of using the Interrotron technique, he is frequently shot from multiple angles simultaneously, mirroring the double-vision motif Morris uses throughout “Chaos: The Manson Murders.” This gives the impression of flipping through film negatives or microfiche.

It’s possible that O’Neill was concerned about being portrayed as a madman or preferred to avoid a more contentious dialogue, leading to his theories not being clearly articulated. To drive home the movie’s thesis, Morris instead relies heavily on Beausoleil, who suggests that people prefer to believe Manson was a mastermind rather than accepting that the murders were orchestrated by a paranoid blunderer: “People are very fond of their fantasies.

In essence, Morris’ 1988 documentary, “The Thin Blue Line,” significantly shaped the visual style of the burgeoning true-crime genre, though this influence can be seen in a distorted manner today. It’s ironic and somewhat amusing that a groundbreaking film like “The Thin Blue Line,” which aimed for more depth than much of today’s formulaic and often hastily produced content on streaming services, has unintentionally contributed to the proliferation of such content. Interestingly, a documentary at this year’s Sundance, titled “The Zodiac Killer Project,” even satirized and critiqued these common storytelling devices in true-crime productions. However, when revisiting the Manson details in his work, Morris has produced something that seems more akin to the ubiquitous slop than to the innovative work that inspired it, possibly due to limitations in access or creative control over his material.

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2025-03-08 00:04