Television’s recent love affair with serial killers — The Following, Dexter, and sadly Wicked City, for example — was obsessed with the gory details and process of chopping up bodies, dissolving corpses and whatever it was Hannibal‘s demented murder artists were up to. The concepts of many of these shows went something like this: a charming, brooding man seduces victims, often women, and a pair of mismatched cops chase him around town, always one step behind.
House of Cards’ David Fincher brings Mindhunter, a beautiful and intellectual addition to the genre, to Netflix with a different approach to the depravity of these killers: let their own demented thinking be all the terror you need to double-lock your doors. Mindhunter is surprisingly lacking in violence and blood, at least in the two episodes screened in advance to critics, as it tells the story of the development of modern criminology in 1977
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