I remember where I was. Do you? On June 17, 1994, I was 15 and with my parents in a hotel room after playing in an off-season basketball tournament with my travel team earlier that afternoon. I was watching the NBA Finals matchup between the Rockets and the Knicks. Then weirdness broke out across television screens everywhere. A white Ford Bronco, containing one of the most famous athletes in the nation, was scurrying across Los Angeles. Where he was going and why, no one knew. But we all watched. And that was only the beginning of what would become the strangest and most socially revealing crime story in recent history.
Last night was the finale of the great mini-series on FX, American Crime Story: The People v. OJ Simpson. This show explores the case that divided a nation and confused it as well. The story didn't make sense. Maybe the greatest running back of all time, someone funny and charming and handsome and universally loved--he was charged with slaughtering two people? And one of them was the mother of his own children? And then he ran away? And he says he's innocent? Everyone struggled to comprehend the case's enormity, yet everyone was invested in the man's celebrity.
The series does a great job of representing the evolution of our culture in the 1990s. The nation was fresh off the Rodney King debacle, more media outlets meant famous people got even more famous, and there was no place that signified the clash of cultures--rich/poor, black/white, powerful/powerless--as much as Los Angeles. The series, though based on a legal case, becomes more of an examination of society itself beyond the courtroom walls.
I began watching the show almost as a lark, an odd curiosity that someone would try to present such a complicated spectacle on television. I assumed it would be campy, like a soap opera or other "true crime" movies of the week. Admittedly, there are obvious instances of melodrama and some pandering to younger folks (Kardashian references, anyone?) over the course of the ten episode run, but I was surprised at the intensity of the characters' portrayal and my investment in their circumstances. And when we all know how it ends, yet still hold our breath in anticipation, that says a lot about its production and authenticity.
There are exceptional performances to watch, particularly from Courtney B. Vance (as Johnnie Cochran), Sarah Paulson (as Marcia Clark), Sterling K. Brown (as Christopher Darden), and Bruce Greenwood (as District Attorney Gil Garcetti). And Ryan Murphy's well-honed directing skills from other powerful cable series highlight the chaos surrounding every participant.
Perhaps the most amazing element of the show is its portrayal of personal biases. Everyone has an opinion. But few are concerned with evidence. Everyone has a motive for achieving a particular outcome. But truth is secondary. Several of the jurors even say out loud that it doesn't matter what proof is shown, "I will never be convinced that OJ did it." For those that claim justice is impossible, this is a stark example of that view.
No one actually knows if Simpson is a murderer except Simpson himself. There were foul-ups in the prosecution, some errors in the evidence process, key pieces of information that were not submitted to the jury. Was there enough reasonable doubt? Maybe--I have no idea. And frankly I don't much care anymore. But the power of this series goes beyond the procedures of criminal trials. It is an examination of how we choose to live, regardless of our race, class, or any other group to which we feel a part. Can citizens in a constitutional republic force themselves to not only hold the scales, but more importantly, put on the blindfold as well? The D.A. says it best in a closing press conference as he describes the power of emotion over reason. When we allow feelings to override our objectivity, a system of law and justice cannot function. And when we prioritize assumptions over facts, we are all guilty.
Look for reruns of The People v. OJ Simpson on FX or check On-Demand to catch this fascinatingly strange and sad story. (Bonus: For even more context on the beginning of the case and the chaos of that fateful car chase, also watch the excellent 30 for 30 documentary "June 17, 1994" on Netflix.)
Last night was the finale of the great mini-series on FX, American Crime Story: The People v. OJ Simpson. This show explores the case that divided a nation and confused it as well. The story didn't make sense. Maybe the greatest running back of all time, someone funny and charming and handsome and universally loved--he was charged with slaughtering two people? And one of them was the mother of his own children? And then he ran away? And he says he's innocent? Everyone struggled to comprehend the case's enormity, yet everyone was invested in the man's celebrity.
The series does a great job of representing the evolution of our culture in the 1990s. The nation was fresh off the Rodney King debacle, more media outlets meant famous people got even more famous, and there was no place that signified the clash of cultures--rich/poor, black/white, powerful/powerless--as much as Los Angeles. The series, though based on a legal case, becomes more of an examination of society itself beyond the courtroom walls.
I began watching the show almost as a lark, an odd curiosity that someone would try to present such a complicated spectacle on television. I assumed it would be campy, like a soap opera or other "true crime" movies of the week. Admittedly, there are obvious instances of melodrama and some pandering to younger folks (Kardashian references, anyone?) over the course of the ten episode run, but I was surprised at the intensity of the characters' portrayal and my investment in their circumstances. And when we all know how it ends, yet still hold our breath in anticipation, that says a lot about its production and authenticity.
There are exceptional performances to watch, particularly from Courtney B. Vance (as Johnnie Cochran), Sarah Paulson (as Marcia Clark), Sterling K. Brown (as Christopher Darden), and Bruce Greenwood (as District Attorney Gil Garcetti). And Ryan Murphy's well-honed directing skills from other powerful cable series highlight the chaos surrounding every participant.
Perhaps the most amazing element of the show is its portrayal of personal biases. Everyone has an opinion. But few are concerned with evidence. Everyone has a motive for achieving a particular outcome. But truth is secondary. Several of the jurors even say out loud that it doesn't matter what proof is shown, "I will never be convinced that OJ did it." For those that claim justice is impossible, this is a stark example of that view.
No one actually knows if Simpson is a murderer except Simpson himself. There were foul-ups in the prosecution, some errors in the evidence process, key pieces of information that were not submitted to the jury. Was there enough reasonable doubt? Maybe--I have no idea. And frankly I don't much care anymore. But the power of this series goes beyond the procedures of criminal trials. It is an examination of how we choose to live, regardless of our race, class, or any other group to which we feel a part. Can citizens in a constitutional republic force themselves to not only hold the scales, but more importantly, put on the blindfold as well? The D.A. says it best in a closing press conference as he describes the power of emotion over reason. When we allow feelings to override our objectivity, a system of law and justice cannot function. And when we prioritize assumptions over facts, we are all guilty.
Look for reruns of The People v. OJ Simpson on FX or check On-Demand to catch this fascinatingly strange and sad story. (Bonus: For even more context on the beginning of the case and the chaos of that fateful car chase, also watch the excellent 30 for 30 documentary "June 17, 1994" on Netflix.)