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You're probably familiar with Psycho, the iconic thriller, and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Maybe you've even read the original novels that inspired the first two films. Now it's time to encounter the individual who inspired Norman Bates, Buffalo Bill, and the chainsaw-wielding villain. The one and only Ed Gein!

The initial installments of the series in question centered around the Milwaukee monster – a name with strong recognition. This was followed by the sibling duo – a more niche case for dedicated true crime fans. Attention now shifts to the Butcher of Plainfield. While he may lack the household name status of Dahmer, Bundy, or Gacy, and his confirmed victims number just two, his postmortem violations and gruesome creativity with the deceased have left a lasting mark. To this day, any film or show featuring mutilated bodies, flayed skin, or items crafted from human tissue probably owes a debt to his actions from over 70 years ago.

A Dismissive Approach

Is my tone too casual? This appears to be the intended style of the creators. Rarely have I seen a drama that lingers so gleefully on the worst depredations an individual – and mankind – can commit. This extends to a significant plotline devoted to Nazi atrocities, presented with minimal moral context.

Structural and Stylistic Strengths

Structurally and stylistically, the series excels. The rhythm is well-maintained, and the clever interweaving of different timelines is executed brilliantly. Viewers witness the actor as the killer in action – the murders, grave robberies, and curating his gruesome trophies. In parallel, the contemporary storyline follows Alfred Hitchcock, Robert Bloch, and Anthony Perkins as they develop Psycho from the literary source. The integration of the real – his devout parent and his obsession with female doppelgangers – and fictionalized scenes – fetishistic depictions of Ilse Koch and Nazi party scenes – is executed proficiently.

A Critical Shortcoming

What it lacks, and unforgivably so, is any moral dimension or deeper insight to offset the lingering, loving shots of his immoral deeds. The show presents his rich inner world and frames him as a helpless individual of his domineering mother and an accomplice with dark interests. The underlying suggestion seems to be: How could a mentally ill man resist? During a key moment, Robert Bloch theorizes that without exposure to photographs, Gein would have remained an unremarkable local.

Breaking from Past Success

You could argue that a Ryan Murphy production – renowned for sleek, exaggerated aesthetics – is an unlikely source for profound human insight. But previous works like the OJ Simpson trial drama offered sharp analysis on media and justice. The Assassination of Gianni Versace explored celebrity and society. The Clinton scandal series scrutinized systemic sexism. So it can be done, and the producer has succeeded before.

The Final Verdict

But not here. This installment feels like a commercialization of an underexploited true crime story. It asks for empathy for the individual responsible without providing understanding into his transformation. Aside from the reductive "devout parent" explanation, there is no attempt to comprehend the origins or prevent future cases. It is nothing but voyeuristic pandering to the basest instincts of the audience. The wartime sequences do have lovely lighting, admittedly.