As the homicidal Cunanan, Darren Criss dominates the show.
‘American Crime Story,’ FXIt doesn’t take long for The Assassination of Gianni Versace to get to the point. When the neo-couture designer is shot in the face outside his Miami Beach mansion, perhaps five minutes into the show, one riff-raff-ista snaps a quick Polaroid of his dying body, then begins soliciting business at the top of his voice: “I have the only photo of Versace! The bidding starts at 30 thousand!” A few feet away, tourists are soaking napkins in his puddled blood, then sealing them in plastic bags, artifacts of the True Cross for the 20th century’s most heartfelt religion, the cult of celebrity.
If Federico Fellini had ever visited South Beach, the result might have been something like The Assassination Of Gianni Versace—a long, horrified gaze at the corrupting effect ofThis post was originally published on this site