Can we kill our serial killer obsession?
By Mikaela Gabrielle de Castro
Content warning: Mentions of sexual violence, drugging, and cannibalism
When news got out that horror king Evan Peters would portray Jeffrey Dahmer in the new Netflix series, I immediately got déjà vu from Zac Efron’s Ted Bundy adaptation back in 2019. It’s almost as if Hollywood has a patterned ritual of casting white attractive men as serial killers to capitalize on our curiosity.
The newly released drama series of director Ryan Murphy, Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story, has been considered both a success and a controversy in recent months. Released on Sept. 21, it has been streamed for 300 million hours on the platform, an addition to the roster of the most-viewed shows on Netflix. Although there were previous Dahmer adaptations already by Jeremy Renner in 2002 and Ross Lynch in 2017, this 2022 version revived the case and sparked buzz surrounding the striking performances, graphic scenes, and uncanny accuracies the Evan Peters adaptation captured on-screen.
Instead of being narrated from the killer’s point of view, the true events are recounted by Glenda Cleveland, a Black woman who first suspected Dahmer’s killings, but unfortunately kept getting brushed off by the police. Had they trusted her knowledge earlier, Dahmer’s killing spree could have been prevented. Dahmer drugged, murdered, raped, dismembered, and consumed 17 men and boys from the 70s to 90s. He was convicted in 1992 and was murdered by an inmate two years later.
But despite this real-life tragedy and traumatic distress faced by the victims and their families, Hollywood and several serial killer enthusiasts reciprocate the gains and excitement, while the victims and families face another merry-go-round of their trauma being exploited.
Serial killers kill monotony (and other lies)
Not to sound high-and-mighty, but I’ve always avoided the true crime dramatization genre. So when I couldn’t seemingly rinse off my Tiktok feed from the influx of Dahmer content I wasn’t even deliberately looking up at all (prior to writing this), I was immensely concerned yet unsurprised.
For years, we’ve been discoursing the need to stop romanticizing serial killers. But this case hasn’t been fully romanticized per se but rather “Gen Z-fied.” For weeks, references, skits, and inside jokes about white blonde men with glasses dating black people and cannibalism have been thrown so casually. The algorithm swipes you to the same clip of Peters “hotly” drinking as Dahmer and dancing in clubs, edited into slow-mo edits with the song ‘Cannibal’ by Kesha. Hence, these clips entice people to satisfy their curiosity about what has everyone hooked.
In the beginning, editing Peters and not Dahmer became a common excuse made by people who want to fawn over the actor, without the ill intention of romanticizing the serial killer. But because intent significantly differs from impact, small fandoms and true crime enthusiasts dedicated towards the real Dahmer have been made. The problem in question is how a real-life killer’s acts of violence and conspiracy theories involving real and affected victims have been bottled for entertainment. A handful of people on the internet paint him as a misunderstood person who only lacked love and a man who deserved better. If Dahmer wasn’t a white attractive man, would he still be getting sympathetic edits and reviews from impressionable young teens and even adults?
Another out-of-touch instance is when true crime enthusiasts turn the series into a contest, othering those who were left disturbed and traumatized. Feeling disturbed and fazed about a man murdering and consuming queer men from minorities are the most normal reactions. But to others who are too engrossed by the lore of serial killers, it was apparently a flex to binge-watch, make merchandise out of the perpetrator, and boast about being bummed or untroubled by Dahmer’s polaroids of his victims. Some Dahmer stans also said the series is not for everyone and if we had problems with it, we should just let them enjoy things — appallingly placing themselves as the center and treating the case like food preference.
Comments such as: “Jeffrey is funny and handsome, not gonna lie,” “He and I would be good friends,” or “He’s just in a silly goofy mood,” are intended to be humorous and remove the sense of fright, which becomes disillusioning. Some reviews and comments by Filipinos even indicated that he was “sayang,” how they couldn’t help but fall in love with him, and cried to the deep message of the film; insinuating this murderer can be their close friend. Lots of users have left desensitizing remarks, even towards innocent white blonde men with glasses who expressed their discomfort and warned people of being more sensitive. Whether it’s satire or not, it’s important to read the room.
Some relatives of the victims have stated that the production didn’t ask them for consent prior to filming or knew their disfavor; but still proceeded. Hence, their traumatic experiences were used as bait. The Milwaukee gay community were also gravely affected by Dahmer’s misdeeds, finding the series retraumatizing. People and figures have also argued with Dahmer and crime enthusiasts, urging them to spread the names and remember Dahmer’s 17 victims instead of making skits and memes for clout.
Enough is enough
True crime and serial killer dramatizations ask us: how could someone do such a thing?
Sure, it reveals to us the insanity a person is capable of fully embracing. It warns us of our cultural and societal fears, and why the way we treat others can bring out the absolute best or worst in us. Others have said it’s helpful for the psychology and forensic sciences fields. But why do we need to keep producing more adaptations, if they have never been conducive?
To be fair, the redeeming aspects Monster encapsulated are racialized bias, particularly white privilege, and the police’s lack of urgency. Black and queer people have commented on their feelings of disturbance about the undeserved deaths of their people. Yet, a handful of white people have felt the need to say Monster was not that bad, in fact, it’s binge-worthy — even amidst cases of violence and school shootings. To indulge in the appeal of mystery and crime because we are simply unaffected spectators speaks volumes about privilege and what it means to have that.
Monster isn’t about us or whether we’ve seen worse. It’s precisely about the victims; even if the series wasn’t able to deliver that exactly. These killers are downright far from the harmless fictional red flag ideal types in books and films that some people reimagine them to be. By easing ourselves into thinking it’s fine to romanticize the behavior and crimes of these violent killers who are arrested or dead anyway, we enable microaggressions that sooner or later assemble into systems of violence in real life.
This genre shouldn’t be reduced to trivial psychological, sleuth, or horror amusement. If it’s achieved sensibly with more depth and empathy, it has the ability to address what needs to be heard and do justice to the victims. However, with the misappropriation of artistic freedom and empowerment of toxic masculinity, the same cycle will always ensue. The moment another killer story is salvaged for Hollywood or Netflix’s next blockbuster crime thriller, it predetermines that we stick to our guns: we go nuts over another cryptic, violent, and attractive white man while their victims’ wounds are bound to reopen.
