This two part TV drama which entered the public consciousness over 40 years ago is an officially unsolved case but evidence points to another direction even if the case remains a mystery. It took four years after the trial for it to be dramatized with a carefully written teleplay by the legendary Abby Mann ("Judgment at Nuremberg") and focusing on the characters played by James Earl Jones and Morgan Freeman, working together to solve the case, having different ideas along the way which causes conflict.
The first part focuses on the body count of the unfortunate victims and the buildup of anger and grief in the community, particularly from the perspective of the families, some ruthlessly and cruelly badgered by the press. There's also how the case impacts city government with paranoia that the killer could actually be a member of the police force and how the public demands answers that nobody can give. By the time the trial begins in part two (which alludes to the fact that he may be gay), you are gripped, because the themes of the film vary from poignant social drama to the character study of a complex possible killer to the political turmoil it causes. But more than anything, it's a tragedy because of the many lives taken.
Performances by Jones, Freeman, Martin Sheen, Jason Robards (as the defense attorney), Rip Torn (prosecuting attorney) and especially Calvin Levels as suspect Wayne Williams, presented here as a charming sociopath, are excellent, and the ensemble of minor players including some very famous names, obviously wanting to be in the film for personal reasons, not only professional. Ruby Dee, as Wayne's mother, is particularly touching.
So the question regarding Williams becomes is he a clever liar, victim of a split personality as one of the witnesses suggests (which could indicate why he denies being homosexual, possibly not remembering certain experiences and freaking out when he finds himself in that situation), or the victim of a bigger conspiracy? Evidence is presented here that certainly makes him look guilty, the script all so cleverly indicates that some of that evidence could have been fabricated. That's the power of a brilliant script that makes you think, questioning our justice system yet remembering the poor kids whose lives ended before they had a chance to begin. Try not to have tears when Bruce Scott sing the moving anthem "On the Nickel" over the credits of both parts and briefly at the end.
The first part focuses on the body count of the unfortunate victims and the buildup of anger and grief in the community, particularly from the perspective of the families, some ruthlessly and cruelly badgered by the press. There's also how the case impacts city government with paranoia that the killer could actually be a member of the police force and how the public demands answers that nobody can give. By the time the trial begins in part two (which alludes to the fact that he may be gay), you are gripped, because the themes of the film vary from poignant social drama to the character study of a complex possible killer to the political turmoil it causes. But more than anything, it's a tragedy because of the many lives taken.
Performances by Jones, Freeman, Martin Sheen, Jason Robards (as the defense attorney), Rip Torn (prosecuting attorney) and especially Calvin Levels as suspect Wayne Williams, presented here as a charming sociopath, are excellent, and the ensemble of minor players including some very famous names, obviously wanting to be in the film for personal reasons, not only professional. Ruby Dee, as Wayne's mother, is particularly touching.
So the question regarding Williams becomes is he a clever liar, victim of a split personality as one of the witnesses suggests (which could indicate why he denies being homosexual, possibly not remembering certain experiences and freaking out when he finds himself in that situation), or the victim of a bigger conspiracy? Evidence is presented here that certainly makes him look guilty, the script all so cleverly indicates that some of that evidence could have been fabricated. That's the power of a brilliant script that makes you think, questioning our justice system yet remembering the poor kids whose lives ended before they had a chance to begin. Try not to have tears when Bruce Scott sing the moving anthem "On the Nickel" over the credits of both parts and briefly at the end.