Killer Sally, Netflix's latest dive into the true crime genre, is like ordering a mystery meat sandwich and finding out it's just turkey-safe, predictable, but somehow still manages to keep you at the table. The series, spanning over three episodes, chronicles the life and trials of Sally McNeil, a bodybuilder who was convicted of killing her husband on Valentine's Day. It's a story that has all the ingredients for a gripping tale: love, steroids, bodybuilding, and a murder mystery. However, the execution is as graceful as a bodybuilder pirouetting in a ballet. It's intriguing, yes, but you can't shake off the feeling that something's not quite right.
The documentary does an admirable job of laying out the facts, like a well-organized gym routine, but forgets to wipe down the equipment afterward. The pacing feels akin to a treadmill session that's set too slow; you're moving, but are you really getting anywhere? Interviews with Sally McNeil herself, alongside a slew of other characters from the bodybuilding world, provide a kaleidoscope of perspectives that are as colorful as spandex at a fitness competition. Yet, the series struggles to flex its narrative muscle, often getting lost in its own repetitions without adding new insights or depth to the story.
In the realm of true crime documentaries, Killer Sally is the gym buddy who has the potential to bench press the weight of a compelling story but settles for light cardio. It's okay, like a protein shake that promises more muscle gain than it can deliver. You'll drink it, you might even enjoy it, but you won't help but wonder what it's really made of. If you're in for a light workout for your brain, where you don't have to think too hard or feel too much, then this series might just be your next pick. Just don't expect to break a mental sweat or to be too sore from any groundbreaking revelations.
The documentary does an admirable job of laying out the facts, like a well-organized gym routine, but forgets to wipe down the equipment afterward. The pacing feels akin to a treadmill session that's set too slow; you're moving, but are you really getting anywhere? Interviews with Sally McNeil herself, alongside a slew of other characters from the bodybuilding world, provide a kaleidoscope of perspectives that are as colorful as spandex at a fitness competition. Yet, the series struggles to flex its narrative muscle, often getting lost in its own repetitions without adding new insights or depth to the story.
In the realm of true crime documentaries, Killer Sally is the gym buddy who has the potential to bench press the weight of a compelling story but settles for light cardio. It's okay, like a protein shake that promises more muscle gain than it can deliver. You'll drink it, you might even enjoy it, but you won't help but wonder what it's really made of. If you're in for a light workout for your brain, where you don't have to think too hard or feel too much, then this series might just be your next pick. Just don't expect to break a mental sweat or to be too sore from any groundbreaking revelations.