Intersections between journalistic documentary and true crime in the context of VOD platforms: The Alcàsser Murders as a Spanish case study

1 Intersections between journalistic documentary and true crime in the context of VOD platforms: The Alcàsser Murders as a Spanish case study Lorena R. Romero-Domínguez Abstract Purpose: We explore the current hybridization between true crime with non-fiction investigative documentaries in the Video on Demand (VOD) platforms. It would seem necessary to distinguish true crime productions from long-form journalistic documentaries in order to avoid confusion between different products that do not pursue the same ends: audio-visual product with highly emotive and engaging components versus a journalistic approach to the truth about what happened. Methodology/approach: The analysis is based on the specific theory of true crime developed by Punnett, who provides genuine narrative codes (Justice, Subversive, Geographic, Forensic, Vocative, and Folkloric) for true crime to distinguish it from the formal conventions and social objectives of journalistic documentaries. The case study (“El crimen de Alcàsser”) is selected because of its potential to drive a detailed and indepth study on one of the most traumatic crimes in the country’s recent history: the kidnapping, rape, torture and killing of three teenagers in 1992. Findings: Several scholars have identified journalistic elements in true crime productions in the digital context, adopted in an attempt to distance them from the true crime tradition of appealing to primitive instincts. Although it has been perceived also as a renewed formula for journalism to reach a wide audience and mainstream success, it banishes journalism from its origin and goals: to guarantee the citizenship’s right to be truly informed about crime. In this way journalistic documentaries inspired in real crimes may play a crucial role in a democratic society, while true crime only exploits the empathy of viewers and place them in the active participatory of determining the suspectprotagonist’s guilt as a mode of “clickable” entertainment in the digital culture. Research limitations: This is the first in a series of studies within a broad research on true crime documentaries released on the VOD platforms in Spain. Our findings are, in this case, preliminary. The analysis needs additional testing before its utility can be reasonably determined and a theory about true crime made in Spain could be developed. Originality: First, there is no specific researches on the field of true crime in Spain, although crime stories already enjoyed a prominent place in Spain’s conventional TV programming. Second, the Punnett analysis model introduces an interesting via to complement existing theoretical references about the connections between true crime and journalism. Keywords: True crime, Journalism, streaming, quality television, non-fiction, sensationalism 2 1. True crime in the binge-watching era The public fascination with crime is not a new phenomenon. For centuries, stories about violent events have appealed to all kinds of audiences. This appeal has become even more pronounced in contemporary society, as Redmon points out (2017:358). The result is a saturation of images of crime that invite the spectator to (re-)experience real events that constitute a violation of the social order. To refer to this fascination for traumatic episodes, Seltzer uses the term “wound culture” (2004:557), which he defines as an insatiable appetite for the gory images that have invaded popular Western culture, especially among the millennial generation (Jarvis, 2007:343). Punnett also discusses this phenomenon, categorizing it as “crime porn”, referring to “explicit bloody crime scene images (real or manufactured) purely for the shock value” (2018:104). Along with the voyeuristic and escapist tendencies traditionally cited as factors to explain the consumption of these kinds of stories (Nabi, Biely, Morgan & Stitt, 2009; Boling & Hull, 2018), narratives about crime also serve an important social function. Thanks to such stories, individuals who have limited contact with these kinds of events (Mason, 2003:4) can satisfy their most primitive instincts, quench their desires for justice, or endorse/question the dominant system of moral values after being confronted with a heinous crime. Such stories also help integrate the transgressions that disturb the social order into a framework of collective meaning. This categorization has traditionally been underpinned by a conservative ideology (Rowe, 2013:30) that stirs up social panic in order to steer public opinion towards acceptance of greater state control and a harsher, more punitive justice system. Moral panic, as Boda and Szabó suggest (2011:331), contains a clear symbolic message: evil invades the established order, but goodness always prevails. This convention, as Cavender argues, proposes a model of “order and control behind a style so realistic that its ideology seems natural and appropriate” (1998:81). As a result, stories about violent events provide a vehicle for our fears and anxieties (Biressi, 2004), “chronicizing” crime, i.e., understanding it as a phenomenon inherent in our society, documented in official statistics and subject to the constant attention of government authorities. The information and entertainment industry has not been immune to this phenomenon, as it has capitalized on the public interest in violent crimes with the true crime genre (Golob, 2018:137). As a result, human depravity has been turned into a manufactured product (Eschholz, 20013:10), ready for consumption by mass audiences in books, in the press, on conventional television and, more recently, on VOD platforms. In this new medium the genre has experienced significant growth, with hours and hours of content that can be consumed in a single sitting thanks to the phenomenon of “binge-watching”. This new habit has turned true crime into one of the most profitable genres of the streaming era (Warmedal, 2018). Binge-watching is an addictive experience for spectators, who can view episodes over and over in search of elements that had gone unnoticed the first time round and share their findings with others through online communities and forums (Partridge, 2018). In this respect, Brinker (2015) highlights the capacity of the information and entertainment industry to engage audiences by offering, together with the story of the crime itself, all manner of controversies, critical reactions, references and objections, in order to hold the attention of consumers in a highly competitive environment. Netflix, for example, has been adding new true crime own products to its catalogue ever since releasing Making a Murderer in 2015. In 2019, for example, it released Don’t F*** with Cats: Hunting an Internet Killer; The Disappearance of Madeleine McCann; Remastered: The Two Killings of Sam Cooke; and Confessions with a Killer: The Ted Bundy Tapes. Indeed, the platform has established a special space for series, documentaries, drama, fiction, non-fiction, etc., inspired by true crime stories. Its slogan is: “Cops. Killers. Gangsters. Heists. These true-crime movies and series, all based on a true story, must be seen to be believed—and even then it might be tough.” 3 The final episode of The Jinx (HBO) had a viewing audience of more than 1 million (Jeffries, 2017). Since then, the platform has released titles like Tickled and Mommy Dead and Dearest, both in 2017, and Leaving Neverland in 2019. The success of this kind of content has also led to renewed popularity for classic series like Paradise Lost or Capturing the Friedmans. In the realm of radio broadcasting, Serial, hosted by the journalist Sarah Koenig, holds the record for reaching 5 million downloads on iTunes faster than any other podcast (Dredge, 2014). In 2019 it inspired a series, The Case against Adnan Syed (HBO), which offered a reassessment of the famous case. Following the huge success of Serial, as Nelson (2018) notes, hundreds of true crimes have appeared on music streaming platforms, online radio-on-demand services and apps like Apple, Spotify, Podchaser, Stitcher, and PlayerFM: “S-Town”, “Morbid”, “Atlanta Monster”, “West Cork, Criminal”, “Crimetown”, “In the dark”, “Dirty John”, “Someone knows something”, “Sword and Scale”, “Casefile”, “Finding Cleo”, “The doorstep murder”, “Death in ice valley”, “Barbrook”, “Bundyville”, “Alibi”, “Undisclosed”, “The Lost”, “Curtain”, “They killed Dulcie”, “74 seconds”, “Uncover: The village”, “A killing on the Cape”, “Up and vanished”, “Accused”, “Serial Killers”, “Cults”, “Generation Why”, etc. 2. True crime is not bad journalism In contrast with the criticism of sensationalism levelled at reality crime shows on conventional television (Fishman & Cavender, 1998), crime narratives on VOD platforms have achieved a certain level of prestige, thanks to their longer and more complex plots, requiring a level of intellectual commitment from the audience. Moving beyond the bloodthirstiness and tidy resolution typical of the “one-case-per-episode” format that dominated the crime shows of the 1980s and 1990s (Mumford, 2016), true crime today is an experience that is apparently “more intellectually engaging, sophisticated, and respectable in both content and form” (Punnett, 2018:78), bringing it closer to the standards of quality television (Balanzategui, 2019; Dawes, Ganser & Poppenhagen, 2015). Several scholars have identified journalistic elements in true crime productions in the digital context, adopted in an attempt to distance them from the true crime tradition of appealing to emotions and primitive instincts. Along these lines, Buozis refers to “‘upmarket’ true crime producers [who] distance themselves from sensationalism, insisting that their own work is grounded in the evidentiary truth claims of mainstream journalism” (2017: 255). Similarly, MacCay (2019) identifies journalism as the means of escaping the explosive imagery traditionally associated with true crime stories. The overlap between true crime and journalism, however, is not a new phenomenon introduced by the digital environment. It is not unusual to find studies that identify true crime as a subgenre or even a degeneration of journalism (Browder, 2010). This connection stems from their common source: real events occurring in a specific time and place, and the realities of the individuals involved in the case. Like journalism, true crime relies on what Zelizer calls the “status of fact, truth, and reality” (2004:103-104). It is for this reason that it can be promoted using the term “non-fiction crime narrative”. The claims to authenticity of true crime stories establish a privileged relationship with the truth, rendering their content indisputable for the audience (Fuhs, 2018:183). Some authors go even further, arguing that in an era of fake news, when spectators view a true crime story, they know they are experiencing an aspect of the social reality in which they live (D’Addario, 2019). However, although true crime may offer information on real events, its objective is very different from that of journalism: while the latter reports on events with the ultimate aim of revealing the truth, the intention of the former is to tell a story in order “to create emotional sensations […] and transport moral messages and social truths through entertaining narratives rich in detail and color” (Punnett, 2018:93). What is basic to this 4 genre is thus the persuasive nature of its storylines, which have a factual basis but are also characterized by large doses of emotion and sensationalism (Ishiura, 2015; Kort- Butler & Sittner Hartshorn, 2011; Doyle, 2006). Indeed, despite the contemporary association of true crime with high-quality television productions, its classification as mere entertainment continues to dominate much of the discussion about the genre in the digital environment. Horeck, for example, refers to it “as a form of clickable entertainment in a 24/7 media culture” (2019), an experience created solely and exclusively for the enjoyment of audiences in their free time. This perception has meant that acceptance of the claimed veracity of journalistic facts has given way to skepticism and incredulity as the dominant interpretive approach to contemporary true crime (Yar, 2010:75; Boda & Szabó, 2011:337). Associated with this perspective are two fundamental changes in the true crime genre in the age of streaming: the leading role given to the accused in the construction of the factual description of the crime, whereby they become authorized sources of truth (Young, 2019; Buozis, 2017; Doughty, 2019; Hernández, 2019); and the active participation of the audience (Pâquet, 2018; Golob, 2018). The need to do away with the monolithic good guy/villain opposition, especially in view of the confirmed cases of innocent people who have been wrongfully convicted (Young, 2010:85), is a defining feature of the streaming era (Golob, 2018; Hodo, 2019). Titles like Serial and Making a Murderer have been responsible for giving a voice to the accused, who have traditionally been relegated to the background in official discourses. The criminal (the Other) is no longer depicted as an isolated monster lurking in the system (Wiltneburg, 2004:1403) with a biological predisposition towards crime (Haggerty, 2009:271), instead becoming “a key source in the truth-producing process of the true crime” (Buozis, 2017:258). It is important to stress the critical value of this new narrative approach, as criminals can now tell their stories in their own words, sharing their memories and life experiences, rather than being portrayed in a depersonalized manner through statistics and administrative reports. This new approach has the effect of stripping the authority of the official voices (police officers, judges, forensic experts, criminologists, etc.) that have been so privileged in journalistic discourse as constructors of our understanding of what happened. With the incorporation of the point of view of the suspect/protagonist, the new true crime encourages spectators to question the judicial system and the punitive measures established by governments (Doughty, 2018:19). This is where the audiences come in. Nobody could deny that the spectator’s role in traditional media has always been a passive one, but it is evident that viewer activism has become a prominent feature of the digital context. Horeck (2019) analyses the creation of hyperconnected digital communities whose members, like amateur detectives, work to solve crimes or join forces to call for cases to be re-opened when mistakes committed by the police or the courts have been detected. Hernández (2019) defines this phenomenon as “crowdsolving”: once they have watched/heard the crime narrative, some members of the audience continue the experience in virtual space— Hodo (2019) refers to these spectators as “crime junkies”—with the objective of uncovering new evidence and drawing their own conclusions about the innocence or guilt of the accused. The true crime experience thus becomes an ongoing process that does not end with the viewing of the documentary or series, but is subject to constant construction (Yardley, Wilson & Kennedy, 2017: 469) in the hope of the finding another clue or another case to solve. Clearly, the two changes described above have shifted the focus from objectivity, as a guiding principle of journalism, towards the transparency that characterizes true crime. Objectivity in true crime narratives is illusory (Bizovská, 2018:27), “mere speculation” according to Gregoriou (2010:66), for whom the depiction of the crime is an “unsatisfactory” imitation of reality—Rowe describes it as a “pseudo-verité style imitative of factual reporting” (2013:23)—using techniques drawn from creative fiction to keep 5 consumers intrigued. In contrast with the impartial nature of the facts reported by the journalist, what we see on screen in true crime is a process of story construction carried out by the creator. We are thus given the creator’s inner history (background, personality, motivations, etc.) and how this influences their conception of the story. These factors, previously private and now made public, shift the filter of objectivity that characterizes journalism to the sincerity expressed in the course of the investigation and subsequent creation of the story. Boling even suggests that “[h]onest, accurate and thorough reporting are […] more important than objectivity” (2019:172). In view of the above, it would seem necessary to distinguish between genuine true crime productions and long-form journalistic documentaries in order to avoid confusion between different products that do not pursue the same ends. Although hybridization between both genres are perceived by some academics, producers and film’s screenwriters as a renewed formula for investigative journalism to reach a wide audience and mainstream success in the context of VOD platforms, it banishes journalism documentaries, with an in-depth focus on what happened and possible resolution of the case, from its origin and goals (MacCay, 2019; Hodo, 2019). In this way, documentaries may play a crucial role in a democratic society, as they act in defense of the public interest and the right to be truly informed about crime in the contemporary society (Rodríguez-Blanco & Mastrogiovanni, 2018). 3. True crime made in Spain Spain has been no exception to the boom experienced by true crime on VOD platforms around the world. In September 2019, María José Rodríguez, the content manager for the Spanish VOD platform Movistar+, presented the platform’s new programming for 2020. The original production of non-fiction series would receive 20% of the 30 million euros allocated to the company’s entertainment production (Marcos, 2019). However, the Spanish media’s interest in crime stories is far from new. Decades before the advent of streaming, crime stories already enjoyed a prominent place in Spain’s conventional TV programming. The establishment of new public and private networks in the 1980s expanded the range of TV programming on offer, with formats focusing on unsolved mysteries, crimes, and disappearances. This trend continued in the 1990s, with largely unoriginal programming aimed at shock and sensationalism through spectacular hybrid formats. These programs (Al filo de la ley, Código uno, Alerta 112, El Buscador, GPS testigo directo, Se enciende la noche, La diana de…, Unidad de Análisis Policial, Detrás de la verdad, among others) featured stories that offered shocking themes and visual spectacle through recreations of sexual assaults, terrorist attacks, or serial killings. Some included teams of specialists (police officers, forensic scientists, criminologists, etc.) in the interests of offering an exhaustive interpretation of the events from different perspectives (Frost, 2015:105). Others appealed for the assistance of the public to help capture the criminal. Adding to the true crime programming of the free-to-air TV networks in 2011 was the cable network Crimen+Investigación, with programming that focused on forensic, judicial and police investigations, and profiles of criminals. These historical developments take us to 2016, when the British director Justin Webster presented Muerte en León on Movistar+. This non-fiction series in four episodes told the story of the murder of Isabel Carrasco, head of the provincial government of León, and the trial of the two main defendants in the case, Montserrat González and her daughter Triana. Five years later, HBO broadcast the feature-length documentary Death in León: Case Closed, in which the same British director, scriptwriter and journalist explored one of the main questions left unresolved in the series: the absence of a judicial or police investigation into the more than 2,000 calls made to a senior politician by one of the defendants. In 2017, Antena3 premièred Lo que la verdad esconde: el caso Asunta (Operación Nenúfar), in which Elías León Siminiani narrates the story of the killing of a 13-year-old 6 girl, Asunta Basterra. The main suspects were her parents, Rosario Porto and Alfonso Basterra, who were found guilty on 30 October 2015. In November of that same year, the network DMAX released Yo fui un asesino: el crimen de la catana, featuring José Rabadán, who murdered his family when he was 16 years old, speaking for the first time about what happened. A year later the same network broadcast Yo fui un narco, telling the story of the infamous Spanish drug lord Laureano Oubiña, who was arrested in 1990. 2019 was a key year for the true crime genre on VOD platforms in Spain. In January, Netflix released Albert Solé’s Examen de conciencia, exploring sexual abuse in Catholic institutions in Spain. Thanks to the testimony of Miguel Ángel Hurtado, who had kept quiet about his case for 18 years, this series gave a voice to victims, clergy and investigators to expose cases of pedophilia in the Spanish church. Then in June appeared Netflix Spain’s first original true crime documentary: The Alcàsser Murders (original Spanish title: El caso Alcàsser), directed by Elías León and produced by Bambú Producciones. El caso Alcàsser revisits a triple murder that has been studied in-depth by Spanish criminologists. In November 1992, three teenage girls from the Valencian village of Alcàsser – Miriam García, Toñi Gómez and Desirée Hernández – were abducted, raped, tortured and killed after hitching a ride to a nearby nightclub. Their bodies were found 75 days later, and two men were suspected of committing the crimes: Miguel Ricart, who served 21 years in prison, and Antonio Anglés, who became a fugitive from justice and has never been located. The case was covered extensively on prime-time television, and gruesome details of the crime were discussed at length, leading to a debate over the boundaries between journalism and reality TV. In October, Movistar+ announced the release of Isaki Lacuesta’s Bajo escucha: el acusado, a series about the deaths in 2013 of Miguel Ángel Domínguez and his daughter María, who were found stabbed to death in their home in Almonte in the province of Huelva. Following the police investigation, in 2014 the Civil Guard detained Francisco Javier Medina, the romantic partner of the murdered girl’s mother. In October 2017, Medina was acquitted after spending more than three years in prison. The jury determined by a majority vote that there was no evidence that he was guilty of the double murder. The series ended up being cancelled after Miguel Ángel Domínguez’s family threatened to bring legal action against the platform for what they described as an affront to the memory of the victims (García, 2019). In January 2020, Movistar+ released El fiscal, la presidenta y el espía, a documentary series directed by Justin Webster about the death of Alberto Nisman, the federal prosecutor who had accused the president of Argentina, Cristina Fernández, of engaging in a cover-up in relation to the Asociación Mutual Israelita Argentina (AMIA) bomb attack that killed 85 people in 1994. A month later, the regional television network TV3 released Crims, a documentary on unsolved crimes inspired by Radio Catalunya 1’s podcast Crònica negra. Indeed, Spanish radio has also joined the global true crime trend, with titles like Le llamaban padre, Dondequiera que estés: Marta del Castillo, La búsqueda, and Crónica en negro (Momentos magazine). 4. True crime elements in The Alcàsser Murders The docuseries The Alcàsser Murders has been chosen as the case study for this analysis. This series was the first original production by Netflix Spain, examining one of the most traumatic crimes in the country’s recent history: the kidnapping, rape, torture and killing of Toñi Gómez, Desiré Hernández and Miriam García. Its release in June 2019 reopened one of the most controversial episodes of the twentieth century. It is no exaggeration to suggest that it was the first major media trial in the history of Spanish television, with hundreds of hours of coverage and all manner of morbid speculations on TV talk shows (Arroyo Cabello, Hernández, Villegas, 2009). 7 El caso Alcàsser Directed by León Siminiani Written by Ramón Campos and León Siminiani Music by Music by Federico Jusid and Adrian Foulkes Production company Bambú Producciones Distribution Netflix España Release date June, 14, 2019 Running time 1 Season Episode 1: Missing (66 minutes) Episode 2: A crime (59 minutes) Episode 3: Theories (65 minutes) Episode 4: The trial (52 minutes) Episode 5: The end (61 minutes) Country Spain Language Spanish Official website https://www.netflix.com/title/80213115 Source: Compiled by authors based on the official site and the database Filmaffinity. This analysis is based on a specific theory of true crime developed by Punnett (2018:96), who defines the genre as a differentiated space for information, creation and entertainment, with its own codes that distance it from the narrative conventions and social objectives of journalism. The Justice Code (JUS COD) places the victim who has suffered the traumatic event at the center of the story. It is important to bear in mind, however, that in contemporary narratives the wrongfully convicted accused is also turned into a victim, with a new role in the discourse. When considering the Subversive Code (SUB COD), it is important to examine the editorial position of the creator which, in this genre, translates into a call to the audience to reassess the details of the case. To this end, true crime show introduces new evidence and clues that compel spectators to reconsider their position on the case in view of their “real” knowledge of the events. This should result in a new awareness that either endorses or questions the dominant system of moral values. In reality, the intention behind this is not to correct an error of public opinion detected after revisiting the case, but to experience a collective apotheosis through the discovery, as highlighted by Wiltenburg, who suggests that the newly revealed moral truth is placed above merely factual truth (2004:1384). The spectator’s moral indignation takes the form of a call to action on the part of the creators of the true crime production, who demand civic activism in response to the social causes advocated in their work. The Geographic Code (GEO COD) elevates the scene setting to a symbolic frame for understanding the true crime narrative. The local nature of the crimes is a key factor for understanding the intimate relationship established between these productions and the audiences that consume them (Rowe, 2013:26). Beyond the journalistic consideration of “where” the story takes place, this element gives the spaces presented a meaning of their own. The landscape, its shapes, its details, both natural and artificial, offer a topographic experience (Redmon, 2015:433) that connects the audience with the sounds, movements, tensions and desires of the people, animals and objects in these geographically unsettled spaces. It is also important to highlight the contributions of local residents as primary sources, given that they are the ones who determine what is normal and what is not in the community where the event has taken place (Hibbet: 2018:67). The Forensic Code (FOR COD) is the one that has the closest connection with journalism, especially its factual dimension. The depiction of the crime becomes a detailed narrative, almost a forensic report, thanks to the scientific rigor offered by journalistic techniques. This is reflected in work dynamics like exhaustive documentation, accessing all manner of archives related to the case, the integration of experts and 8 institutionally authorized sources, the contributions of a large cast of interviewees, the inclusion of original, previously unreleased recordings from the period, and, most importantly, signals of credibility through the non-intervention of director or producer. In the Vocative Code (VOC COD) the journalistic objectivity and impartiality moves to an advocacy position. Instead of maintaining an independent posture, true crime narratives move audiences to determine the suspect-protagonist’s guilt or innocence. The Folkloric Code (FOLK COD) is tied with the popular moral tale, where some great truth is explained to the audience, but without the need for the whole story to be true (Punnett, 2018:98). 4.1. The Justice Code and the victim-centric narrative In The Alcàsser Murders, there is not just one victim; in fact, there are various characters that could be placed in this category. First of all, there are the three murdered girls, whose youthful innocence is conveyed through the presentation of a series of photographs, as well as images of their bedrooms in their family homes (Horeck, 2014:44). The sympathetic portrait is rounded out with footage from news programs from the era that include testimonies of their friends and schoolmates, and an interview in the present with Rosa, a childhood friend of Toñi’s. The depiction of the girls evokes the ideal of innocence and vulnerability associated with the purity of the victim in contrast with the heinous character of the criminal (Fishman & Cavender, 1998:82; Gregoriou, 2010:67). But Toñi, Miriam and Desiré are not the only victims identified in the story. Rosa Ricart, the daughter of the only person actually charged for the Alcàsser murders, appears in two of the five episodes to share her personal experience as a relative of one of the most hated killers in Spain’s collective imagination. Her lack of contact with her father (at the time of his arrest Rosa was only three years old) underpins her whole story, as does her awareness that her father is viewed as a monster by Spanish society. Despite the emotive portrayal of all these girls, the call for justice as a specific code of the true crime genre (the arrest and trial of all suspects; moral and social reparation for Ricart’s daughter) is shifted to the background due to the focus in the series on the media circus that sprung up around the case. In fact, the first episode closes with the song “El límite” by the Spanish rock band La Frontera, which speaks of the hazy line between good and evil, a point that is easily identifiable in the Alcàsser case in the morbid fascination with the killings fed by the TV talk shows. This situation was partly due to the modus operandi of Fernando García, the father of one of the murdered girls, who is always presented on camera in an overhead shot, conveying an idea of helplessness, distress and instability that encourages a certain degree of sympathy for the subject. Moreover, in his interviews he always speaks with a sorrowful tone of voice and with tears in his eyes. In terms of the integration of the accused into the legitimate space of the call for justice and moral restoration, Miguel Ricart is not effectively represented as a victim of the system: the excerpts selected from his testimony at the trial (in clear conflict with the prosecutor and with a constantly changing story over the course of the hearings), his statements to journalists after his sentence is announced (accusing the reporters themselves of having promoted the perception of his guilt) and his sensational flight from the media on the day he was released from prison after serving 21 years behind bars (declaring himself innocent and claiming he had been a scapegoat) fail to arouse the sympathy of the audience for him. This suggests a conventional depiction of the criminal, where personal pathological conditions and individual desires are foregrounded as factors behind the crime. Gregoriou, for example, makes reference in this sense to the archetypal notion of being “born evil” (2010:73), while Vronsky describes such criminals 9 as “depraved monsters” or “freaks of nature” (quoted in Wiest, 2009:23), eliding the social and systemic factors that contribute to these kinds of behaviors. Finally, in a broader sense, the whole of Spanish society was a victim of the excesses committed by the media of the day. In a context of incipient competition, the new TV networks embarked on an unprecedented battle for audience share that ultimately commodified the victims, the criminals, and even the public fear of personally experiencing such a heinous crime (Hibbet, 2018:93). 4.2. The Subversive Code and the moral crusade “Everyone thinks they know what happened in the Alcàsser case […]” (Ramón Campos) “Today the time has come to revisit what happened […]” (Elías León) Reviewing the evidence is one of the essential tasks of this documentary’s creators. Contrasting different versions of the events to raise doubts and invite the audience to review the case in detail is a hallmark of a true crime production integrated into the participatory culture of social networks, forums and wikis (Horeck, 2019). Elías León and Ramón Campos, who participate actively in front of the camera in this series, offer their own reconstruction of certain elements contained in the case file and indicate their doubts about them. One example of this is the testimony of the neighbor Dolores Badal and the probability that she had been able to identify the three girls in a white car together with Anglés and Ricart from her window. Elías León, with the witness statement to police in hand, walks up to Badal’s house and presents camera views of the different combinations of angles from which she might have seen the car allegedly containing the three Alcàsser girls. The juxtaposition of the different versions of events reveals the discrepancies between the testimonies of the protagonists. These divergences, made explicit for the audience, are not synonymous with impartiality or objectivity by showing both sides of the story. They don’t even clarify what actually happened, as spectators are constantly encouraged to change their opinion based on the inconclusive information presented to them. Indeed, the fourth episode in the series is titled “Theories”, in plural, and raises a number of potential controversies related to the case: the involvement of the Anglés family and the quick arrest of Miguel Ricart, the mistakes made in the exhumation of the corpses, the contradictory results of the autopsies, the tape allegedly showing the victims being tortured, the allegation that the father of one of the victims had made himself rich off his appearances on TV talk shows, etc. Bizovská (2018:12) refers to this succession of conflicting stories as an “artificial” strategy to give shape to the portrait of the past, in a model that abandons journalistic conventions. The series director himself, Elías León, confirms as much in Episode 1 when he makes the following observation: “It doesn’t matter whether it was real or not, because it was handled as if it was.” For Bizovská, these kinds of assertions constitute a clear example of the self-reflexive nature of these productions, with the active participation of the creators in the investigation itself and in the decisions—conscious and unconscious—made in relation to choosing who will appear on camera and the questions they will be asked. The editorial position of both creators comes to the fore at the end of the docuseries, when, after relating the events, they make a “call to action” against misogynist violence. In an unexpected twist, León and Campos abandon the narration of the Alcàsser murders and the conspiracy theories circulating on websites and social networks to take a view of this crime from the perspective of gender inequality. 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