Helter Skelter (2004)

There have already been a number of films made about the atrocities committed by Charlie Manson and his “Family”, some of them far more memorable than others. Yet the Manson murders and the sensational trial that followed were such extraordinary events that they continue to fascinate decades later. Looking back, the entire ghastly episode has come to symbolise the souring of the 1960s dream — the collapse of an era of optimism into one of paranoia, violence and disillusionment. This made-for-television remake is well performed, well orchestrated and thoroughly researched, making for compelling, if deeply disturbing, viewing.

The murders themselves remain extraordinary for several reasons. They were carried out by a band of fanatical disciples acting on the orders of a twisted manipulator who had convinced himself that the hidden messages contained within a Beatles album foretold an imminent apocalyptic race war he called “Helter Skelter”. Few crimes have been as bizarre, as savage or as utterly senseless. That one of the victims was the heavily pregnant Hollywood actress Sharon Tate only amplified the horror. The brutality of the killings, the warped ideology behind them and the circus that unfolded during the subsequent trial virtually guarantee that filmmakers will continue returning to Charlie Manson long after everyone directly connected with the case has passed into history.

The original television adaptation, Helter Skelter, was already a highly commendable production, boasting excellent performances and concentrating as much on the trial itself as on the murders. This remake broadens the scope somewhat, attempting to explore how Manson’s followers gradually descended into murder long before the Tate-LaBianca killings. Greater emphasis is placed on Manson’s wounded ego after his failure to secure a recording contract and on the manner in which his increasingly bizarre delusions tightened their grip over his followers. Whether these incidents genuinely shaped subsequent events to the extent suggested is open to debate, but they certainly provide useful dramatic context.

The murder scenes themselves are grimly effective and recreated with considerable attention to detail, although much of the dialogue can only be speculative. The film also spends considerably more time examining the frightening logic — or complete lack of it — that governed Manson’s thought processes and devotes greater attention to the earlier murders committed by members of the Family before the Tate-LaBianca massacres thrust them into world headlines.

Jeremy Davies delivers an exceptionally convincing performance as Manson, capturing both his unnerving charisma and his simmering insanity while bearing a striking physical resemblance to the real man. Clea DuVall is equally impressive as Linda Kasabian, the prosecution’s key witness through whose eyes much of the story unfolds. The supporting cast acquit themselves well, and the direction is confident without resorting to unnecessary sensationalism.

Ultimately, this is a perfectly respectable dramatisation of one of the twentieth century’s most notorious crimes. Ironically though, every new film made about Charlie Manson serves only to reinforce his mythology, adding yet another layer to the dark legend he spent his life cultivating. One begins to wonder whether Manson may eventually challenge Ed Gein as the criminal whose crimes have provided Hollywood with its richest and most enduring source of inspiration.