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It would be necessary to clarify the perception that we are having of
Netflix
lately , a generalized assumption (promoted by people like me, mea culpa) that the catalog of that platform is a
sindiose made of series that do not contribute anything
more than frustration, colors and emptiness.
With the noise plus (another common place) that follows from having been promoted to the beast.
The reality of Netflix is not exactly that
.
In its offer, full of filler linters, there are also
very interesting productions
.
There still are.
Dahmer
is one of those productions.
The last fruit of the very expensive contract that Reed Hastings' platform signed with
Ryan Murphy
has been released without promotion.
Perhaps this has to do with the fact that Hastings is already aware that Murphy will never be associated only with Netflix and does not want to make the fat broth.
Or perhaps they have seen the series on the platform and have not known how to sell it.
I wouldn't know either.
Because in a catalog full of
fast food
,
Dahmer
tastes like those
delicatessens
that have to be explained to you so that you value them.
You know: eels, caviar, Chinese macerated eggs, fugu... or human meat.
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Much has been written
about
Jeffrey Dahmer
, better known as "
the butcher of Milwakee ".
Like the great psychopaths of history (read this with the intonation of an advertisement for collectible fascicles), this
cannibalistic murderer
put a lot of his part into talking about him.
He admitted both his crimes and the delusional fantasies that led him to commit them.
Film, television, and literature soon placed him on the same (and questionable) altar that unites real monsters like Charles Manson with fictional villains like Hannibal Lecter.
He is precisely one of the characters in Lecter's novels, written by Thomas Harris, one of
Dahmer 's greatest influences.
.
Audiovisual versions of Francis Dolarhyde (the red dragon), a being as photogenic as he is creepy, permeate many of the images in the series.
But so do a few almost cursed films in which the sordidness of certain homosexual environments is treated in an exemplary manner: a miserable and free, autonomous and outlawed, perverse and necessary underworld.
That's where Jeffrey Dahmer circulates in the 80s, that's where he gets his victims.
Ryan Murphy, in collaboration with Ian Brennan, enters his universe unapologetically.
He has time: Dahmer is made up of
ten long episodes
with a deliberately desperate rhythm.
Ten chapters as unpleasant as they are stimulating.
A Dexter who doesn't want to like us, a Mindhunter told from the other side.
With a huge Evan Peters at the helm,
Dahmer
is that series that shouldn't be on Netflix and that's precisely why we have to celebrate that it's on Netflix.
Seeing her is an
experience and a surprise
.
And a question: Will the inevitable adaptation of
The City of the Living
also end on Netflix?
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