In December 2001, Christian Longo murdered his wife and three
children. The two oldest, four year-old
Zachary and three year-old Sadie, were thrown into the freezing waters of Lint
Slough in Waldport, Oregon, a waterway that leads to the Pacific Ocean. His wife Mary Jane had been stuffed into a
suitcase, her neck broken so that she might fit, and dumped into a harbor
closer to where they lived. Two year-old
Sadie was placed in a smaller bag along with her favorite teddy bear and other
items before following her mother to an icy grave. Upon examining the young girl’s body, the
coroner concluded the little girl was still alive when this happened and
ultimately drowned to death.
This heinous crime looms large in the background of Rupert
Goold’s fascinating, chilling film True
Story, a film that ultimately focuses on the relationship between Longo and
journalist Mike Finkel, a former writer for the New York Times whose identity the killer assumed while on the run
in Mexico. The relationship that springs
between them is one that initially defies reason, yet develops into a symbiotic
connection that both men become dependent on, both to their peril.
Finkel (Jonah Hill) was one of the Times most reliable writers, going into hot spots around the world
to shine a light on travesties that otherwise would have gone unnoticed or
taking on hot button topics that others feared to touch. What with landing 10 cover stories on the
newspaper’s venerable magazine, his arrogance was nearly justified. However, his world came crashing down around
him when inconsistencies were found in a story he wrote about childhood poverty
in Africa. When he admitted he’d manipulated the facts in the story, the
“Times” let him go, with the writer returning home to Bozeman, Montana with his
tail between his legs.
Not long after, he finds out about Longo’s (James Franco)
story and begins visiting him in prison in order to find out why he assumed his
identity. Not knowing what to expect, Finkel finds a soft-spoken man who, while
never admitting guilt or proclaiming innocence, simply wants his side of the
story told. The writer, sensing a book
might be written about the killer, as well as a chance at journalistic
redemption, agrees to hear Longo’s story and publish it for the world to judge.
What develops is a game of cat-and-mouse in which Finkel
becomes far too close to his subject to be objective and begins to think that
perhaps there’s another side to Longo’s tale.
In playing this out, Goold takes what seems to be a far too languid
approach to the material but this is as deceptive as are the motives of its
characters. The conversations between
the two principals are low-key in nature and Hill and Franco anchor them with
turns that are equally understated. This
effectively puts the viewer in Finkel’s shoes as we too are beguiled by Longo’s
unassuming nature, becoming open to the notion that extenuating circumstances
must have been at play where these killings are concerned. With our defenses
down, the final reveal is all the more effective.
The film stumbles in the way it handles the relationship
between Finkel and his girlfriend Jill (a wasted Felicity Jones) and by
extension, Longo. We’re led to believe the writer’s dedication (obsession?) to
the case has left her feeling neglected and fearful of the killer’s intrusion
in their lives. However, far too few
scenes are devoted to this, leaving what otherwise would have been an effective
moment between Franco and Jones, feeling as though it were simply tacked
on.
Despite this, True
Story proves to be a chilling, horrific story not simply about the monsters
that lurk in our midst but about the lies we willingly accept as truth if doing
so will serve us in the end. Once this is done, the sin compounds itself and
we’re no longer able to recognize ourselves or resist the temptation to lie
once more. Finkel knew better than to go
down this rabbit hole and only after entering it did he realize there was no
escape.
This article appears in Apr 16-22, 2015.
