Joe Penhall
Mindhunter

Like the song, «Troppo cerebrale…», initially this TV series may seem distant, icy, more of a psychological treatise than a truly captivating story. The narrative features two FBI agents, the young and agile Holden Ford and the experienced, cynical Bill Tench, interrogating some of the most notorious killers of the time (it's 1977) to dismantle their impenetrable madness, to find the internal logic in actions that would normally be dismissed as «pure madness».

The subject is incredibly interesting, no doubt about it, but it might initially appear too intellectual, academic. The characters aren’t inherently irresistible, almost a rarefied re-edition of the two polar opposite colleagues from True Detective. However, the series' high quality reveals itself gradually as the episodes progress, when the finely nuanced personalities of Holden, Tench, and others emerge from the background. Only then can one appreciate the series as a first-rate work.

It’s not enough to merely visually reproduce interesting interrogations to create great television (or cinema). Words aren’t enough, the power of staging, the identification with the characters, the aesthetic allure are needed. And in such a verbally structured (and at times burdensome) context, these elements risk being overshadowed. Instead, it's just a matter of graduality: like in the shrewd interrogations by the two colleagues, the series slowly develops its plotlines, lets them blossom in slow motion, while managing a considerable amount of content, secondary characters, and narrative digressions.

In the end, these initially dominant offshoots make way for the main trunk of the story: the protagonists and their lives, the internal conflicts within the FBI, the ethical boundaries that should exist even when interrogating a serial killer. It is here that the strength of the scriptwriters’ writing, the actors' talent, the directors' attention to detail emerge. David Fincher’s hand is quite noticeable in the first and last two episodes: the composure and icy strength of his vision are clear. Yet this remains a non-“visual” work. And it’s a bold choice, deserving of respect: it would have been easy to overuse flashbacks when the killers recount their atrocities, but this would have betrayed the series' and the book's ultimate meaning: the subject matter isn’t about the murders themselves, but about how the agents manage to extract fragments of psyche from the words of prisoners or suspects. And from how this practice alters their behavior, leaves an indelible mark on their lives, for better or far worse.

Another significant risk is the almost total lack of suspense: there are no great mysteries, the culprits are almost always clear. Everything plays out in the ways they are unmasked or stripped in their deviant psychology. A distracted viewer might complain that the perpetrators’ guilt is obvious from the onset. Admittedly, but understanding it intuitively is one thing, proving it, bending the interrogated until they spit out the much-coveted confession, is another. Such a confession is rarely the focus, because what matters is the interrogation, the modus operandi.

Particularly well-executed is the profile of the protagonist Holden, who makes a full crescendo of boldness to become a true beast in interrogations. The supporting characters are also well done, such as the psychologist Wendy, who forces herself into austere solitude, or Holden's girlfriend, Debbie, who consistently counterpoints the agent's triumphalism with demystifying insights.

Series like this make one reflect on the potential for TV series to do justice to particularly complex books. It would have been indeed difficult to give adequate depth to Holden and Tench’s interrogations within a film’s runtime. However, it would have all been wasted without a solid central framework, typically provided by the protagonists, empathy, and the expressive power of the scenes. Which, in this case, is less than other works for the small screen, by necessity, but manages to find more delicate, almost imperceptible esthetic channels. Yet, in such a context, details are everything.

7.5/10