Did Paula Banisewski bribe someone to make this film? Welcome to the least truthful "based on a true story" motion picture since The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, which is a six-foot-under bar under which this film somehow manages to go, with low-effort acting, plot holes that could eclipse the sun, dialogue of a regrettable quality, and - most egregiously - a portrayal of characters that simply bears no resemblance to reality. There is a way to make a crime drama that portrays multi-faceted characters and does justice to the victim. This was, unfortunately, not it. Before watching this film, I urge people to read the facts of the case, because you won't see them on screen.
First things first: This movie deals in the currency of what we now know as alternative facts. The film leads with the guarantee that the testimony comes from the case "Banisewski vs. The State of Indiana," which, if you were unaware, was the trial of five persons charged with and found guilty of the torture-slaying of Sylvia Likens, a 16-year-old girl placed in the case of Mrs. Gertrude Banisewski by her financially-struggling parents while they traveled for work with the circus. I include this explanation not to be pedantic but because it is actually possible to watch the entire film and still be unclear about the facts of the case which it claims to portray. Perhaps the testimony comes directly from the trial, but the rest of the movie sure doesn't: the film's great contribution is conducting a thorough whitewashing of Sylvia's torturers, an odd and fruitless quest that renders them less - not more - complex than their namesakes from reality. From most egregious to comparatively-less egregious, and selecting only the top four amongst a long list:
Paula. Who read about Paula's role in Sylvia's murder and decided she was a good candidate for public reputation rehabilitation? This film doesn't just minimize Paula's role in the crime, it erases it entirely: instead of being Sylvia's primary tormentor, who in actuality was so proud of her role in the girl's death that she boasted about it publicly, Paula is a sensitive, well-meaning wayward daughter who initially lies about Sylvia like your average high schooler with beef, but soon begs her mother for Sylvia's forgiveness and helps her escape. Re-entering reality entails learning that Paula was an unrepentant monster who dealt Sylvia more blows than anyone else - her own mother admitted in court that she "did most of the damage." This - like all of this film's character rewriting - would be a much more forgivable "artistic choice" if the names had been changed, but now the most widely-viewed recounting of Paula Banisewski's crime has drawn her a halo. How fortuitous for her!
Gertrude. This film would have Gertrude be a downtrodden, hard-up-for-cash mother who is mindlessly driven to torture by - drumroll - 1960s asthma medication and an overflow of love for her children. Instead of rendering Gertrude a complex characters whose motives could be eventually understood (if never empathized with), it makes her a weird caricature of a desperate Midwestern housewife, which seems unfair to desperate Midwestern housewives who don't torture children to death. I imagine that the goal of over-simplifying Gertrude to the point of near-humor was intended to make her more accessible to the audience, which is ultimately left feeling less moved by Gertrude's actions than curious about what kind of weird asthma meds she's taking, anyway. At any rate: movie Gertrude and real Gertrude wouldn't recognize each other in a two-person prison lineup. Examples abound, the worst perhaps taking place at the end, when Sylvia lays on the floor, dead, with the Banisewski dolt children having suddenly developed overwhelming concern about her safety. Gertrude sits on the couch, saying Sylvia is faking and will wake up in this pathetic, almost prayerful way, like she's willing it to be true and speaking it into existence. This scene - like all of the rest of them - is devoid of the bitterness, the hatefulness, the all-consuming anger that the real Gertrude possessed - the anger that, in what would be Sylvia's final moments of life, caused her to beat the girl with a curtain rod and, in the moments after her death, led her to beat the girl's lifeless body with a book, shouting "Faker! Faker!" I'm not sure what anyone gained from this weird character rethink, but "the truth" or "a poignant moment" or "a glimpse of a tortured antagonist's soul that enlightens the audience and ties the story together" are not candidates.
Ricky Hobbs. Hoo-ha. In the film, poor old Ricky is a motherless wayfaring stranger who crushes on Sylvia and simultaneously either wants Gertrude to be his surrogate mother or is the object of Gertrude's weirdly predatory affections. An attempt to make Ricky "complex" (or something) has made him an absolute mess of a character, and this walking amalgamation of pitiful traits bears - again - no resemblance to the monster that he was. He shows remorse in the film that he never showed in reality: yes, this thoughtful, sensitive, devoid-of-motherly-love boy even tries to save Sylvia's life, just two short days after branding her with a hot needle - but who remembers. If Ted Bundy was in this film he probably would've tried to save Sylvia's life too.
John Banisewski. Typing the name "John Banisewski" makes me angry for reasons you'll understand if you read about Sylvia's full ordeal and his role in it, so I'll be brief: this film would make him out to be a nice youngin' whose misdeeds are limited to occasionally holding Sylvia's arms. That is - and this is going to shock you - not the truth. Like the rest of his delightful family, John lived out the remainder of his life devoid of remorse and avoiding responsibility like the plague. In his own retelling, his crime was singular, only having ever "hit Sylvia once." (What was that Voltaire quote about no snowflake in an avalanche ever feeling responsible?) In this film, he doesn't even do this one measly crime, so there's another character effectively written out of the story while still inexplicably being occasionally physically present. Seriously, if they'd paid one less actor and pretended John never existed, this movie wouldn't have drifted any further from reality.
The Likens parents. Sorry for the pedantry, but I can't let this one go: this film portrays Lester and Betty as back country carnies who would leave their kids at a roadside fruit stand if conditions were favorable, when the facts of the case - and the testimonies of their surviving children - don't support this interpretation at all. Using the at-the-end-of-the-rope trope to smear the Likens parents while simultaneously using it to exonerate Gertrude is just one of the more disturbing inconsistencies in this film's admirable commitment to reality-bending.
Second things second: I won't harp on these (overly much) as they goes hand in hand with my previous gripe: characters make or break a movie, but the strange dialogue and underdeveloped plot really beat it to death here. Some lines stand out as real head-scratchers. The biggest offender (chosen again among many) is the moment in which Gertrude descends into the basement to clean Sylvia's face and provide an explanation for her actions. Gertrude, according to Gertrude, is a loving mother with a lot of kids and a deadbeat husband and also asthma, and Sylvia, according to Gertrude, is "all I have." Come again? She's what, exactly? "You're all I have" is something you say to a spouse who's about to leave you, not a teenager you're actively killing who is tied to a pole in the basement. (The cleaning part is also a big scam - Gertrude actually gave Sylvia scalding hot baths, during which she rubbed salt into her wounds.)
Rammed unceremoniously into the film and then abandoned is the gendered and sexual elements of the crime, which led it to be described as a "sexless sex crime" by contemporary observers, among them Kate Millett. One need not adopt Millett's explanation for the crime to be struck by what an odd omission this is from he story. I won't go into the scene with the bottle, which was probably added to grab at whatever miniscule thread of factuality from the real case might be salvaged and comes off gratuitous and shocking for shock's sake. This movie plays off Sylvia's torture as something Gertrude subjects her to in order to rehabilitate Paula's reputation (a service the film itself graciously provides), but it was actually - as observed by every contemporary that ever wrote about it - a crime borne out of a jealous woman's rage at a pretty young woman and promising young life.
In sum: We do have to grant filmmakers the artistic freedom to interpret events to suit a fictional portrayal, and in fairness, no one marketed this as a documentary. But anyone who takes the time to read the very basic facts about the case will know just how much truth this film has omitted - and how much untruth it has added - unnecessarily. In my view, it is unfair to expect everyone who watches the film to read court transcripts to get an even remotely realistic retelling of the story, and if a film purportedly "based on a true story" leaves the audience with a perspective that resembles reality not at all, the film has failed to do the story any justice. Here, the injustice is compounded by the use of real names (Paula Baniszewski thanks you for the good PR!) If the real story is movie-worthy, then tell it honestly; if it's not, skip the movie. This film served as the introduction to a heinous and famous crime for millions of people, and it portrays too much too inaccurately to have done any justice to Sylvia's life or memory.
Kudos, at least, to Eliot (then Ellen) Page for carrying the whole film on their back. When they don't give you any character development, I guess you have to make your own.
First things first: This movie deals in the currency of what we now know as alternative facts. The film leads with the guarantee that the testimony comes from the case "Banisewski vs. The State of Indiana," which, if you were unaware, was the trial of five persons charged with and found guilty of the torture-slaying of Sylvia Likens, a 16-year-old girl placed in the case of Mrs. Gertrude Banisewski by her financially-struggling parents while they traveled for work with the circus. I include this explanation not to be pedantic but because it is actually possible to watch the entire film and still be unclear about the facts of the case which it claims to portray. Perhaps the testimony comes directly from the trial, but the rest of the movie sure doesn't: the film's great contribution is conducting a thorough whitewashing of Sylvia's torturers, an odd and fruitless quest that renders them less - not more - complex than their namesakes from reality. From most egregious to comparatively-less egregious, and selecting only the top four amongst a long list:
Paula. Who read about Paula's role in Sylvia's murder and decided she was a good candidate for public reputation rehabilitation? This film doesn't just minimize Paula's role in the crime, it erases it entirely: instead of being Sylvia's primary tormentor, who in actuality was so proud of her role in the girl's death that she boasted about it publicly, Paula is a sensitive, well-meaning wayward daughter who initially lies about Sylvia like your average high schooler with beef, but soon begs her mother for Sylvia's forgiveness and helps her escape. Re-entering reality entails learning that Paula was an unrepentant monster who dealt Sylvia more blows than anyone else - her own mother admitted in court that she "did most of the damage." This - like all of this film's character rewriting - would be a much more forgivable "artistic choice" if the names had been changed, but now the most widely-viewed recounting of Paula Banisewski's crime has drawn her a halo. How fortuitous for her!
Gertrude. This film would have Gertrude be a downtrodden, hard-up-for-cash mother who is mindlessly driven to torture by - drumroll - 1960s asthma medication and an overflow of love for her children. Instead of rendering Gertrude a complex characters whose motives could be eventually understood (if never empathized with), it makes her a weird caricature of a desperate Midwestern housewife, which seems unfair to desperate Midwestern housewives who don't torture children to death. I imagine that the goal of over-simplifying Gertrude to the point of near-humor was intended to make her more accessible to the audience, which is ultimately left feeling less moved by Gertrude's actions than curious about what kind of weird asthma meds she's taking, anyway. At any rate: movie Gertrude and real Gertrude wouldn't recognize each other in a two-person prison lineup. Examples abound, the worst perhaps taking place at the end, when Sylvia lays on the floor, dead, with the Banisewski dolt children having suddenly developed overwhelming concern about her safety. Gertrude sits on the couch, saying Sylvia is faking and will wake up in this pathetic, almost prayerful way, like she's willing it to be true and speaking it into existence. This scene - like all of the rest of them - is devoid of the bitterness, the hatefulness, the all-consuming anger that the real Gertrude possessed - the anger that, in what would be Sylvia's final moments of life, caused her to beat the girl with a curtain rod and, in the moments after her death, led her to beat the girl's lifeless body with a book, shouting "Faker! Faker!" I'm not sure what anyone gained from this weird character rethink, but "the truth" or "a poignant moment" or "a glimpse of a tortured antagonist's soul that enlightens the audience and ties the story together" are not candidates.
Ricky Hobbs. Hoo-ha. In the film, poor old Ricky is a motherless wayfaring stranger who crushes on Sylvia and simultaneously either wants Gertrude to be his surrogate mother or is the object of Gertrude's weirdly predatory affections. An attempt to make Ricky "complex" (or something) has made him an absolute mess of a character, and this walking amalgamation of pitiful traits bears - again - no resemblance to the monster that he was. He shows remorse in the film that he never showed in reality: yes, this thoughtful, sensitive, devoid-of-motherly-love boy even tries to save Sylvia's life, just two short days after branding her with a hot needle - but who remembers. If Ted Bundy was in this film he probably would've tried to save Sylvia's life too.
John Banisewski. Typing the name "John Banisewski" makes me angry for reasons you'll understand if you read about Sylvia's full ordeal and his role in it, so I'll be brief: this film would make him out to be a nice youngin' whose misdeeds are limited to occasionally holding Sylvia's arms. That is - and this is going to shock you - not the truth. Like the rest of his delightful family, John lived out the remainder of his life devoid of remorse and avoiding responsibility like the plague. In his own retelling, his crime was singular, only having ever "hit Sylvia once." (What was that Voltaire quote about no snowflake in an avalanche ever feeling responsible?) In this film, he doesn't even do this one measly crime, so there's another character effectively written out of the story while still inexplicably being occasionally physically present. Seriously, if they'd paid one less actor and pretended John never existed, this movie wouldn't have drifted any further from reality.
The Likens parents. Sorry for the pedantry, but I can't let this one go: this film portrays Lester and Betty as back country carnies who would leave their kids at a roadside fruit stand if conditions were favorable, when the facts of the case - and the testimonies of their surviving children - don't support this interpretation at all. Using the at-the-end-of-the-rope trope to smear the Likens parents while simultaneously using it to exonerate Gertrude is just one of the more disturbing inconsistencies in this film's admirable commitment to reality-bending.
Second things second: I won't harp on these (overly much) as they goes hand in hand with my previous gripe: characters make or break a movie, but the strange dialogue and underdeveloped plot really beat it to death here. Some lines stand out as real head-scratchers. The biggest offender (chosen again among many) is the moment in which Gertrude descends into the basement to clean Sylvia's face and provide an explanation for her actions. Gertrude, according to Gertrude, is a loving mother with a lot of kids and a deadbeat husband and also asthma, and Sylvia, according to Gertrude, is "all I have." Come again? She's what, exactly? "You're all I have" is something you say to a spouse who's about to leave you, not a teenager you're actively killing who is tied to a pole in the basement. (The cleaning part is also a big scam - Gertrude actually gave Sylvia scalding hot baths, during which she rubbed salt into her wounds.)
Rammed unceremoniously into the film and then abandoned is the gendered and sexual elements of the crime, which led it to be described as a "sexless sex crime" by contemporary observers, among them Kate Millett. One need not adopt Millett's explanation for the crime to be struck by what an odd omission this is from he story. I won't go into the scene with the bottle, which was probably added to grab at whatever miniscule thread of factuality from the real case might be salvaged and comes off gratuitous and shocking for shock's sake. This movie plays off Sylvia's torture as something Gertrude subjects her to in order to rehabilitate Paula's reputation (a service the film itself graciously provides), but it was actually - as observed by every contemporary that ever wrote about it - a crime borne out of a jealous woman's rage at a pretty young woman and promising young life.
In sum: We do have to grant filmmakers the artistic freedom to interpret events to suit a fictional portrayal, and in fairness, no one marketed this as a documentary. But anyone who takes the time to read the very basic facts about the case will know just how much truth this film has omitted - and how much untruth it has added - unnecessarily. In my view, it is unfair to expect everyone who watches the film to read court transcripts to get an even remotely realistic retelling of the story, and if a film purportedly "based on a true story" leaves the audience with a perspective that resembles reality not at all, the film has failed to do the story any justice. Here, the injustice is compounded by the use of real names (Paula Baniszewski thanks you for the good PR!) If the real story is movie-worthy, then tell it honestly; if it's not, skip the movie. This film served as the introduction to a heinous and famous crime for millions of people, and it portrays too much too inaccurately to have done any justice to Sylvia's life or memory.
Kudos, at least, to Eliot (then Ellen) Page for carrying the whole film on their back. When they don't give you any character development, I guess you have to make your own.