TELEVISION

FT’s very own couch potato, STU NEVILLE, casts an eye over the small screen’s current fortean offerings

I tend to steer clear of conspiracy-themed TV programmes. Even fictional ones (looking at you, X-Files) can easily end up digging colossal holes that can only be repaired by digging even bigger holes; so series purporting to be factual often entangle themselves in evertightening knots. The ones that buy into the idea wholesale invariably become so excited that they abandon all pretence of a balanced view, while those that attempt to take a dispassionate view frequently come up wanting. Also of note is the sheer number of times cephalopods are associated with high-level secret and malign organisations – think Hydra or the Spectre logo – and American Conspiracy – The Octopus Murders (Netflix) is another entry in the already burgeoning pile.

Film-maker Zachary Treitz follows his friend, photojournalist Christian Hansen, as he investigates the death of fellow reporter Danny Casolaro, who appeared to have been on the verge of exposing a massive cover-up involving “The Octopus” (See? Those clever multilimbed critters again!), an

He had a theory about mysterious deaths and White House shenanigans

apparently overarching conglomerate dedicated to ruthlessly... something or other. Lots of establishing shots of Casolaro, clearly a fun-loving guy and not the sort of wild-eyed, driven journo we’ve come to expect. He did, however, have a theory about mysterious deaths, spyware, money laundering and White House shenanigans such as Iran-Contra and the sort of huge pay-offs the US intelligence machine seemed to make to unsavoury types in the name of “the greater good”; and the central driver of the series is a combination of examining whether or not this is an actual thing and, if so, whether Casolaro’s death was as a result of him getting too close to the truth.

After the preamble, the narrative takes us back to Virginia in August 1991 (establishing shots of lawn sprinklers, etc) as a hotel handyman explains that, having discovered Casolaro’s body in one of the rooms, he thought, “There’s something very wrong in here”, which could easily function as the strapline for the whole series. Casolaro’s death was ruled a suicide; however, there were enough inconsistencies to bring this into question. The resulting narrative – that, postWWII, former intelligence agents from a number of countries formed an alliance to blackmail those in positions of power and enrich themselves – does sound both plausible and familiar to anyone who’s ever watched any of these programmes or read a Marvel comic: however, the series is hampered by two things: a lot of suggestion, but a lack of strong evidence, and a soundtrack that distracts irritatingly from the narrative – and any programme with such labyrinthine plotting needs clarity. Casolaro may well have been on the verge of an exposé, but he deserves a better testament than this.