It’s also structured in that familiarly manipulative way, spending generous amounts of time reiterating already known facts before dropping colossal twists at the end of each episode. It spends significant time with the families of the dead women, as if to preempt criticism that true-crime series can end up obscuring the female victims in favor of the men behind bars. ![]() Like Wormwood, it re-creates snippets of the two murders in moody, shadowy footage, imbuing The Innocent Man with a jarring kind of creepiness. Like Making a Murderer, it investigates a series of heinous attempts on the part of police to secure convictions. In making the case for Ward and Fontenot’s wrongful conviction, The Innocent Man seems of a piece with some of Netflix’s previous true-crime hits. The other two, Tommy Ward and Karl Fontenot, remain in prison, despite a preponderance of evidence suggesting that they’re innocent. Two of those men, Ron Williamson and Dennis Fritz, have since been exonerated by DNA evidence. In each case, two men were arrested and convicted for the crime. Two years later, 24-year-old Denice Haraway disappeared while working a shift at a convenience store. (Grisham, an executive producer for the show, also appears in interviews.) In 1982, a young woman named Debbie Carter was brutally raped and murdered in her home. There are a thousand fascinating component threads making up The Innocent Man, a six-episode series based in part on Grisham’s 2006 nonfiction book about two wrongful murder convictions in Ada, Oklahoma. It’s a setup for a series that suggests it will think deeply about not just crime and punishment, but also circumstance and history. The implication of Nin’s quote, though, is clear: The Innocent Man wants viewers to think about the unique biases-formed through a knotty tangle of life experiences-that each person inevitably brings to a situation, whether watching a TV show or serving on a jury. ![]() That leads to, like the title suggests, not only her agency but everyone in the hitman industry angling to do the same thing: Kill Boksoon.The opening scene of The Innocent Man, a new Netflix true-crime series hitting streaming shelves just in time for the holidays, features a television, a prominently displayed copy of The Innocent Man by John Grisham, and a quote from Anaïs Nin: “We see things as we are, not as they are.” That Anaïs Nin? The novelist, diarist, and pioneer of female erotica? It’s hard not to feel as if she’s cited a little arbitrarily here, positioned right next to Grisham, the undisputed king of legal thrillers, at the beginning of a true-crime series that seems tailored by algorithm for fans of existing shows about miscarriages of justice. ![]() That’s why I hope viewers will closely follow the emotional arc of each character.”īefore notifying the agency of her decision, however, she’s on one last assignment, discovers a secret, and decides to break the agency’s rules because of it. “I consider the emotional aspects of this film to be the core themes. “Although it’s about killers, I wanted to unravel a story about a family,” Byun said in a Netflix interview. Long story short, when it’s time to renew her contract with the agency, she decides to retire and put it all behind her so she can focus on fixing her relationship with her daughter. Gil Boksoon (whose name - again, no accident - even sounds like the order to “Kill Boksoon”) is a seasoned professional killer working at an agency that hires out its assassins for jobs. The protagonist of Kill Boksoon is a woman, played by Jeon Do-yeon, who’s both a mother of a teenage daughter as well as a hired killer with a 100% success rate.
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