There’s so much true crime content out there that it’s sometimes hard to tell one sordid exposé from the other. Most of them tend to apply the same formula and aesthetic: plots twists and reversals galore; reams of archive images; interviews with experts or so-called experts; cheesy re-enactments and b-roll footage; and lots of thriller music to up the suspense.
Rachel Mason’s My Brother’s Killer checks most of the above boxes, and at first blush it feels like yet another gory cold case doc meant to shock us in front of our screens. But as the story unfolds, and some truly surprising characters and facts emerge, the film transforms into a probing account of a gay community devastated by bigotry, AIDS and one gruesome murder that haunted people for decades.
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