Courtesy of People.com |
I noticed it for the first time a few years back when I brought up 9/11 during a class discussion, only to have my students remind me they were too young to fully understand the ramifications of that horrific day when it occurred. Now I have students who were toddlers and don’t remember it at all. Soon, I’ll be teaching freshmen who weren’t even alive in 2001.
The most recent pop culture phenomenon that made me contemplate the passage of time was last year’s competing O.J. Simpson projects: ESPN’s documentary O.J.: Made in America and FX’s miniseries The People v. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story. When the verdict was announced in October 1995, I was a high school freshman; I vividly remember sitting in my performing arts class and watching it unfold live on television.
I also remember the year-long media circus surrounding the trial, in which troubling aspects of fame, race and class took center stage. They served as shiny objects that distracted Americans, most of whom viewed the trial as a combination of freak show and soap opera, from the tragedy at the heart of the entire fiasco: the brutal murders of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman.
But the trial’s ramifications didn’t stop there. It served as ground zero for two decades of cultural transformation, reshaping the media landscape, changing the motives of cable news and launching reality television as a dominant force – arguably ushering our current president into the White House. It might be the most striking example of pop culture evolving into history since The Beatles made their American debut on The Ed Sullivan Show back in 1964.
Courtesy of ESPN Films |
Viewers certainly feel that historical weight in Ezra Edelman’s O.J.: Made in America, which won the Oscar for Best Documentary back in February. The eight-hour epic doesn’t just cover the trial; instead, it’s a masterpiece of journalistic storytelling that spans decades.
The filmmaker takes his time laying the groundwork that explains Simpson’s defense team’s shrewd decision to shift the jury’s focus to racism. An odd choice at first, considering the former football hero spent most of the 1960s distancing himself from the Civil Rights Movement and making statements like, “I’m not black. I’m O.J.” In doing so, his lawyers capitalized on generations of injustice within the Los Angeles Police Department and the city as a whole.
The documentary’s scope is astonishing. It doesn’t get to the infamous murders until Part 3, but it never feels like Edelman is spinning his wheels. There’s far too much story for that and he tells it in skilled, compelling fashion.
While it’s initially puzzling that the director spends so much time focusing on seemingly unrelated aspects of racism in America, once all the pieces click into place, you realize how brilliantly crafted this sprawling narrative has been from the start. Through astonishing archival footage and insightful interviews with key characters in the Simpson story, Edelman makes viewers forget about the current incarnation of Simpson and reminds them why he used to be a revered public figure.
The result of this gradually unfolding narrative structure is that when we learn the details of his disturbing marriage to Nicole – particularly the years of domestic abuse she endured – it almost comes as a shock. After that, the momentum picks up with Part 3 and Part 4, which take viewers through the murder investigation, the trial and posit that generations of racist police officers and politicians in Los Angeles ultimately paved the way for a logic-defying verdict.
Finally, Part 5 focuses on two decades worth of aftermath, including the less-publicized civil trial that found Simpson “liable” in the deaths of Nicole and Ron. Everything wraps up with a baffling epilogue chronicling the fallen hero’s later years in Miami, surrounding himself with yes-men and fame junkies, and eventually receiving a length prison sentence for his role in a stupid memorabilia robbery in Las Vegas.
O.J.: Made in America is equally infuriating, horrifying and tragic. Edelman makes it abundantly clear that he believes Simpson is guilty (interviews with his former manager and an old cop friend are particularly damning) and that the brutal murders of two people were overshadowed by grandstanding lawyers and a news media more interested in entertaining viewers than informing them.
Strangely enough, four months before Edelman’s film aired, another O.J. project premiered on FX. The People v. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story is a 10-part miniseries that has different narrative intentions but manages to be equally compelling and – judging by the slew of Emmys it won back in September – just as acclaimed. Surprisingly, the two works complement each other well, working together to paint a bigger picture than either can do on its own.
Created by Hollywood screenwriters Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski, the drama focuses solely on the trial and how it affects the lives of the key figures. The series somehow manages to shed new light on a spectacle that most people thought had been covered from every angle. That includes the inevitable outcome, which the story manages to wring huge drama from by forcing viewers to anticipate the “not guilty” verdict like they’re the only ones who see a car crash coming.
The narrative also shapes prominent players in ways you might not expect. Marcia Clark (Sarah Paulson) and Robert Kardashian (David Schwimmer) are painted as flawed, tragic heroes. There’s even a mostly successful attempt to portray Johnnie Cochran (Courtney B. Vance) as a real person instead of the cartoon character that pop culture eventually turned him into.
More interesting are the roles that don’t quite work but still contribute interesting elements to the story. Cuba Gooding Jr. is profoundly miscast as Simpson – he’s far shorter and less muscular, and there’s no bass in his voice whatsoever. But that actually ends up working in the show’s favor, because it reflects how the sports legend becomes smaller in the public eye as the trial progresses. Not to mention how repugnantly he’s viewed after the verdict.
John Travolta’s work as Robert Shapiro follows a similar path. His performance is far campier than everyone else in the cast (they play it mostly straight), but that starts to make sense later in the season as he alienates the rest of the legal team and becomes an outcast from the group he cultivated.
Each episode charts an intriguing path, devoting its attention to a different player in the “Trial of the Century” – there’s even an hour devoted to the jury, which begins to buckle under the stress of being sequestered for several months. It might be the most fascinating and darkly hilarious episode of the season.
For those who remember the real trial, I understand the inclination to avoid diving into that never-ending train wreck again. But both of these extraordinary projects prove there’s still plenty of drama and intrigue left to explore in a bizarre situation where the paths of fame, racism and the collapse of the media industry all intersected in a toxic and devastating manner.
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