Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills
Although "Paradise Lost" deals with what looks like an open-and-shut case, you can't take your eyes off its horrifying details and its ripple-effect questions. Markedly different from the populism that marked Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky's "Brother's Keeper," this new documentary (which aired on HBO in June) details the trials of three teen-agers in West Memphis, Ark., accused of kidnapping, raping, sexually mutilating and murdering three 8-year-old schoolboys in what was held to be a satanic ritual. Of course, the film spirals outward from the grisly events beside a shallow creek alongside Interstate 40. "Paradise Lost" is as much a portrait of a culture as of a trio of murders. It's built on a remarkable degree of access. The filmmakers freely enter courtrooms, jails, homes and public places, and nobody tells them to go away. Indeed, one of the things "Paradise Lost" tells us is that people today expect camera crews to show up at lurid, draining events, and that they unquestioningly accept TV's right to ask them about anything and get a reply. Jessie Misskelley, 17, and Jason Baldwin, 16, clearly are the none-too-bright followers of Damien Echols, a smooth-talking, assured 18-year-old. For his part, Echols says that everything in West Memphis is blamed on the devil and that he is being unfairly singled out because he dressed in black, listened to heavy-metal music and practiced the "white witchcraft" known as Wicca. Tastes in pop culture reverberate throughout. It certainly didn't help Echols' case that his first name is that of the antichrist in "The Omen," a 1976 film that made an impression on the town. Feebly, and with unintended comic irony, Damien's father points out that Johnny Cash wore black, too. Such evidence as there is does little to support the claims of innocence, but neither does it demolish them. And the town reveals itself as anything but the cradle of God-fearing innocence it likes to think it is. The trigger-happy stepfather of one of the victims hams it up for the camera, vehemently blowing holes in pumpkins, talking to his targets as if they were the accused, then going off to sing in his church choir. At one point, a knife that may be the murder weapon is casually offered to the filmmakers as a gift. The boys do little to aid their defense. Damien makes the mistake of sneering smugly and arrogantly. The other two grin like fools, and one says he was only half paying attention in court. ("Maybe they'll only halfway kill you," his lawyer replies.) Although the film doesn't linger over the gruesome details of the crimes, they emerge shockingly enough -- as do the angry reactions to them and, later, the inevitable courtroom jockeyings. It's not a pretty tapestry, but what "Paradise Lost" unflinchingly exposes will stay with you
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