‘The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story’ Episode 1 Recap: This Man, This Monster

Can Ryan Murphy return to the scene of the crime and get away with it?

At least as much as any mystery behind the titular slaying, this creative question is what The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story must solve. The Glee mastermind and workaholic TV creator/producer/director’s work is as wide-ranging as it is prolific, with ACS in production at the same time as his other series American Horror Story, FEUD, 9-1-1, the now-canceled Scream Queens, and the forthcoming Pose, Ratched, and ACS‘s third season, Katrina, which may as well be a whole different series.

But however you feel about his other projects, ACS‘s debut season, The People v. O.J. Simpson, is unquestionably his apotheosis. In conjunction with writer-creators Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski, Murphy revisited a media-circus murder case nearly everyone thought had been exhausted of any creative or sociopolitical potential, and the result was a kaleidoscopic, knockout-powerful examination of racism, sexism, celebrity culture, journalism, the judicial system, the rise of reality TV, domestic violence, police misconduct, and the whole goddamn human condition. It was one of the best television shows of all time, full stop. Can Murphy, now working with writer Tom Rob Smith and adapting journalist Maureen Orth’s book on the case Vulgar Favors, draw water from that same dark well a second time?

Yes.

“The Man Who Would Be Vogue,” the premiere episode of ACS Versace, is every bit as gripping and impressive as its predecessor, but with two major structural differences. The first is that there’s not even a shadow of a doubt as to whodunnit, and no trial to determine the suspect’s guilt on the horizon. Andrew Cunanan, a handsome young social-climbing sociopath who’d crossed paths with Versace and become obsessed, killed the great Italian fashion designer at the tail-end of a cross-country murder spree; it’s his story as much as the title character’s, if not more so. From the start, this gives Versace a tighter focus, with a tone more in keeping with a serial-killer biopic or a dark Coen Brothers murder-morality play (I honestly catch major Barton Fink/Fargo/No Country/Blood Simple vibes from this thing) than O.J.‘s sprawling canvas.

The second structural change is that while Versace, too, centers on a high-profile crime involving a wealthy ’90s celebrity, it appears poised to tackle virtually the only hot-button issue O.J. didn’t: homophobia. From Cunanan’s quasi-closeted status and resentment of a man able to live more freely on his own terms, to the culture clash between Miami’s thriving gay scene and its reflexively bigoted cops, the era’s prejudices come across like unindicted co-conspirators.

This gives the assassination a truly tragic air. After all, the show’s approach to Versace himself, per writer Smith’s own characterization of it, is one of straight-up celebration. In this episode he emerges as the opposite of what you might expect from his almost grotesquely lavish, Young Pope-esque taste in furnishings and home design: a real man of the people, a guy who’s kind to his employees, who’s friendly to the neighbors, who (as he tells Andrew) wants nothing more than for his “love for life” to shine through in the clothes he designs. He and his partner Antonio (Ricky Martin, restrained and heartbreaking) have an open relationship, but it’s an openness they share together — an “if you’re happy and feeling good, I’m happy and feeling good” kind of deal that the tawdry imaginings of the local cops can’t even begin to encompass.

He’s also a family man. To the extent that there’s any strife in Versaceland at all, it’s because his partner Antonio and his sister-slash-heir apparent, Donatella, are basically locked in a contest over who loves the guy more. As he tells Andrew, his sister is his muse, and their childhood adventures together exploring the local ancient ruins inspired the Versace brand’s legendary Medusa logo. (“I know that many people call it pretentious, but I don’t care. How could my childhood be pretentious?”) For pete’s sake, the thing that wins him over to Andrew is when the young man tells a story about his beloved Italian mother! More than a fashion designer or a gay icon, the Gianni Versace of ACS is a secular saint.

And if you’re going to kill an angel, you need a demon. That role falls to Darren Criss as Andrew Cunanan, a performance that in this hour alone looks headed for cinematic serial-killer hall of fame. It’s not too soon, I think, to compare Criss’s work as Cunanan — a straight man playing a gay predator — to Psycho‘s Anthony Perkins as Norman Bates — a gay man playing a straight predator. Physically and verbally they’re not so far apart: lean physiques, softly handsome features, gentle voices, a tone of good cheer that sits atop a wellspring of hatred, resentment, self-loathing, and violence like the lid of a pressure cooker. Cunanan’s love of the finer things, his ability to convincingly portray himself as a “normal” young upper-class up-and-comer, and his penchant for creeping around bare-chested and bikini-briefed will also call to mind Christian Bale’s iconic Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. Indeed there are several times throughout the episode — most notably the moment where Andrew sees a news report on the murder he’s just committed and literally mimics the shocked reaction of a nearby onlooker — where you can see Cunanan physically applying Bateman’s “mask of sanity.”

The difference between this killer that one, the thing that makes him closer to the original Psycho than its American descendent, is the sense that underneath that mask of sanity there really is something, someone. The show isn’t above portraying Andrew’s personality in a comical way to make that point, either. With his hoity-toity manner of speech, his compulsive social climbing, and his constant stream of impressive names to drop, places he’s gone, things he’s done, et cetera an ad nauseam, he often comes across like David Hyde Pierce on Frasier, if Dr. Niles Crane had happened to be a murderer.

But there’s pain in Andrew, too. Recall how he screams into the ocean water during his pre-slaying swim, how he vomits into a public toilet as he works up the nerve to pull the trigger. When he bullshits his way into Versace’s presence and winds up attending the opera for which he’s the costume designer, the music moves him to tears. After the show, he clearly wants to believe all the kind, supportive things Gianni is saying about him as they hang out on stage together. (And there’s every reason to believe Gianni means every word, him being such a mensch.) Andrew sucks people in with lies and sucks life out of his resulting proximity to wealth, glamour, sex, and power to fill a hole in his heart, yes, but his heart really does exist. He’s a vacuum, not a void. It’s a subtle distinction, but so far it seems to be a crucial one.

There’s so much more to talk about here: the gauzily gaudy cinematography by Nelson Cragg, capturing the splendor of Versace’s Miami mansion with a lens so wide it’s almost fish-eyed; memorable cameos by Mad Men‘s Jay R. Ferguson and Raging Bull‘s Cathy Moriarty; Edgar Ramírez’s instant likability as the powerful but kindly designer; Penelope Cruz’s appropriately mush-mouthed but resolutely non-caricatured turn as the larger-than-life Donatella; all the stranger-than-fiction touches, like Antonio’s blood-spattered tennis whites, the wannabe model striking poses in front of news cameras at the crime scene, the cops and FBI’s multiple blown chances and near misses in their pursuit of the killer, the bird that got caught in the crossfire when Cunanan made his move. Between the subject matter’s milieu and the swirlingly stylized approach the show takes to it, you may be tempted to describe the result as camp. To do so is to deny the depth of what’s happening here, and the moral seriousness with which Murphy, Smith, Criss, and company are depicting it. Until it all wraps up eight weeks from now, a killer walks among us.

Sean T. Collins (@theseantcollins) writes about TV for Rolling Stone, Vulture, the Observer, and anyplace that will have him, really. He and his family live on Long Island.

Watch The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story on FX