Fiction has the power to portray reality and, when it suits it, to write and produce representations of those passages in history surrounded by mystery, assumptions and rumors. In Hollywood, aware of the public’s obsession with crime, two parallel studies decided to shed light on the same corner of American criminal history: what happened at Betty Gore’s house on the morning of June 13, 1980. The only person who could give direct testimony was Candy Montgomery, her neighbor and fellow church member, who went there to ask her permission so that Betty’s eldest daughter could go with her family to the movies and, when she left the Gore home, told her he had given 41 ax blows to the woman.
In October, Candy showed Jessica Biel as the murderer, entering Betty’s house with a very typical South American “hey y’all†from the town of Wylie, Texas. The camera showed the door and then the house from the outside, letting the viewer’s imagination run wild. Seconds later, the fictionalized Candy was in the car with a wound on her forehead, wet hair and a shocked face. She went about her day as normal that day as Betty lay dead in her home with her youngest daughter, Bethany, crying in her unattended crib.
Screenwriters Nick Antosca and Robin Veith, who had already covered another media case from television with The act (and a Munchausen case by proxy that led to a premeditated murder), needed five episodes, available on Disney, to explain the circumstances that they had gotten to that point. One piece of information was of vital importance: the extramarital affair that Candy Montgomery and Allan Gore, Betty’s husband, had had. On the other hand, there are seven episodes that David E. Kelley, the television boss behind titles like Ally McBeal, Big little lies or The undoing, needs to expose this same case to the public with Love
The murder of Betty Gore has the ideal elements to fascinate the audience. For example, a murderer and a victim who shared the same image: that of housewives dedicated to their families, involved in their religious environment and leading the quintessential American lifestyle. Then there was Candy’s affair with Allan. And, finally, the conclusion that the judicial process led to (and that, whoever prefers to arrive virgin to viewing, may not read).
Candy was acquitted because the jury bought her version of events, which was that she had acted in self-defense because Betty had threatened her life with an axe. If her testimony was credible with the 41 ax blows that the victim’s body exhibited, it is what made the murderer a myth in the country’s black chronicle. To this day, the woman is still living at large at 73, having redefined herself after the trial, moving to Georgia and becoming a family therapist under the name Candace Wheeler.
This unexpected conclusion and the profile of the protagonists leads, curiously, to two productions of opposite tones. While Antosca and Veith with the help of director Michael Uppendahl chose to portray a disturbing 1980, emphasizing all the dissatisfaction of the female characters through framing, light and the recreation of the time, David E. Kelley offers a more lighthearted script, with an almost comical approach to the character of Candy Montgomery, especially for her way of looking for an idyll with another parishioner from the parish, which could well be a plot from Desperate Housewives.
Those who seek true crime that exposes the moral hypocrisy of society have duties. And, since seeing the same fictional story twice can be excessive, depending on your preferences you have a choice.
