Kuenne's Making A Murderer

accusing the prosecution, in the way that Kuenne mocks them with his rapid explanations of their misdoings, Making a Murderer is able to establish the conflict with the justice system by portraying the unethical law enforcement by purposefully using few minutes of trial footage to show how ignorant and threatening they are. These subtleties and other improvements could make the mini series appear more refined and could probably enhance Kuenne’s message without all of simple mishaps. Instead of being distracted by the editing issues, the viewer can focus on the immense pain that both the murderer and the Canadian Justice system had inflicted upon a wide group of people who cared deeply for Andrew Bagby.
However, Kuenne’s singlehanded effort
and unrefined quality of the documentary plays a large role in the film’s appeal. While a large production could create calculated scenes that clearly but not blatantly demonstrate the interviewee’s anger and emotional shock, the somewhat unorganized and chaotic scenes are more representative of actual life as opposed to a potentially fabricated story. When Kuenne describes the scene of Andrew’s or Zachary’s murder and incorporates as many childhood-made movies of Andrew as possible, the audience experiences the same eruption emotion and pandemonium that Andrew’s loved ones do. Traumatic events are not simply sad or shocking, they are a rupture of emotions and memories that are suppressed in everyday life. The sometimes awkward and heart-wrenching scenes that encapsulate the horrible unprecedented events may not carry over into a mini-series. Instead of being sent on an emotional roller coaster of uncertainty, a viewer will be subjected to a carefully placed and structured show that purposefully ends episodes with careful organization. Being able see the entire story as opposed to a broken up version may not generate the same suspenseful curiosity that comes with the end of an episode, but it forces the viewer to be present through every scene.
Many would argue that having structured episodes “gives audiences a space to react, offering—from a scholarly perspective—insight into how reception shifts over the course of a series’ run” (McNutt).
The audience has time to process the show and the scenes can potentially create a longer-lasting impression, as the viewer is able to space out the episodes at their leisure. However, as McNutt had mentioned, having multiple episodes where multiple reviews can accompany them, the audience becomes more critical of the shows motives and cinematographic strategies that are at play. Although this may seem natural, considering there is more material to analyze and the breaks in the episodes tend to create suspense or conclusions, this may detract from Kuenne’s original motives. Instead of being a large-scale home movie that describes all of the great values of his dear friend and also serves as a plea to correct the Canadian Bail system because of the transpired events, the mini-series may be more inviting to viewer scrutiny. Using the case of Making a Murderer, the directors had used many techniques that enhance the audience’s ideas of the accused men while also demonizing the Manitowoc County law enforcement. However, after the release and much discussion of the Netflix series, many articles had appeared that criticize the many purposeful omissions of the Avery case. Crucial evidence that was presented during the trial and further incriminates Steven Avery is left out and further
demonizes the prosecutor Ken Kratz (Victor). That is not to say that Kuenne’s original documentary does not force viewers to question his omissions, but his personal biases are upfront and understandable considering his relation to Bagby. The issue that is raised with his documentary being transformed into a mini series is that audiences are keener on these strategies and potential misinformation. Dear Zachary may be relegated to another “interactive type of crime story, with its own distractions and satisfactions (Marsh),” that mitigates its effectiveness.
That being said, the ability to measure effectiveness of a documentary is difficult to quantify.
The original documentary with its strong appeal was able to achieve its goal of changing the Canadian bail policy with the Zachary bill. One can say that the documentary was successful because of the social change it brought to a “flawed” system. The immense support from the ones who had viewed the film made sure that bail can not be posted for people who are a danger to those under the age of 18, thus preventing future crimes of a similar nature from happening again (Kuenne). However, even though many debate over the metrics of social change that documentaries bring, “what may be at the base of the discussion is what a documentary filmmaker is and does” (Aufderheide 37). Aufderheide argues that both the expectations of filmmakers and their perceived impact can almost detract from the motive of the documentary and tools such as the Participant Index cannot quantify certain works of art (Aufderheide 35). Dear Zachary takes the liberty of painting a portrait of the Bagby family to show the impact that Andrew had left, and moreover, the devastation that had overwhelmed them because of the ensuing events. Kuenne’s motivation to turn his home movie into a public object meant for circulation was to correct the many legal injustices that had been inflicted upon lovable characters such as Bagby’s parents, who had received many support letters following the films release. One of the most
common messages from Andrew’s friends to his parents was “you still have children” and “we love you” (Kuenne 2008). As the audience is forcefully drawn into the ninety-three minute story of struggle, endless tears, and outrage, it is difficult not to want the parents to experience justice. Dear Zachary’s appeal to change was not simply because there was a flaw in the justice system, but that this flaw damaged people that the audience cares immensely for. Kuenne’s amateur film brings together the emotional strain and unadulterated view of the harm that the Canadian justice system had inflicted. Had he had an entire production team by his side, his finished product may have been more refined and able to achieve the same goal. However, there is a haunting honesty that Kuenne delivers in his one-man documentary that makes the viewer care about those that had to live through the indiscriminate yet oddly personal events.
By the end of the documentary, the audience experiences a chaotic mix of emotions that are generated from the unspeakable double murderer. It can leave the viewer empty and speechless, almost desensitized to the horrible violence that a large group of friends and family had unfairly been subjected to. Dear Zachary reminds the audience of the fragility of life and the amateur home movie format transforms the viewer from a voyeur to someone who had known and been affected by Andrew Bagby. Just like the many people in the documentary, the audience is faced with the same issue of what to do in order to prevent others from having to be tortured by the same justice system that had failed someone that they come to love. In the words of Kurt Kuenne, “when bad things happen, good people have to take what they’ve learned and make the world a better place, and that is precisely what I hope this film will do – make the world a better place”