Tiger King: Murder, Mayhem, and Madness has become the world's new plaything as we flock to Netflix for the next binge or two. It's easy to see why the series has become a viral hit: on the surface it's a closer look into the world of big cat owners and all their eccentricities, before plunging us into a deeper pit of chaos, betrayal, and attempted murder. The first episode presents the three main zoo owners in Joe Exotic, who dubs himself the eponymous Tiger King, Carole Baskin, CEO of the Big Cat Rescue sanctuary, and Bhagavan Antle, who runs the Tigers wildlife preserve, ostensibly presenting a good-natured rivalry, before dangling us a key clue: Joe is currently in prison for a murder for hire plot against Carole. Oh, plot twist!
So what really is Tiger King about? Take a gander at the internet's responses and you'll pinpoint the appeal: Episodes 2-5 are where it really gets crazy; these people are insane, but I can't look away; it just keeps getting crazier and crazier; turns out real life is more unbelievable than any fictional story!; and I thought my life choices were bad. The docuseries leans hard on the mania and volatility of its characters (Joe, mostly) rather than any real sense of engagement with a narrative or a thesis. All you have to do is keep the cameras rolling, and the cast will do the rest. Rick Kirkham wasn't wrong when he bemoaned the loss of thousands of hours of Joe Exotic TV footage, because the zoo and its ruler is a veritable goldmine of drama and conflict. Who needs a script when Joe incriminates himself in his own recordings? Why plot out an arc when he's done the work for you; the next relationship and murder attempt is already in the pipeline of that addled brain of his.
So there's next to no plan, and it shows. There's seven 40 minute episodes plus a few bonus interviews, but little to no coherency amongst it all. The editing is all cobbled together; the final line of an episode will dangle a cliffhanger (Jeff stole the zoo. He stole it!) before the next veers completely in a different direction, and the series spends a good hour dipping its toes into true crime, but not with any real conviction or sense of diligence, let alone the authority of proper investigative journalism. Tiger King is exploitative and voyeuristic at best, parading around a carnival freak show of attractions for clicks and views; why else would a popular and recurring take be 'I just can't look away'? Representation is key here; if your show results in the public openly condemning a woman as a murderer, despite her not even being ruled as a suspect in a police investigation, there's an ethical quagmire.
These cases encourage internet detectives and armchair experts to dissect every sideways glance, every instance of avoiding eye contact, and every laugh and giggle, not realising that the material presented has already been carefully selected to generate a reaction in the first place. Even from an reasonably objective angle, the style is amateurish and transparent; slow-motion shots of a fiendish Carole, lingering close-ups of a fed's unrelenting gaze, openly provocative smash cuts. The series' addendum, in which Joel McHale attempts to insert awkward one-liners while exploring the very real trauma of the cast's experiences and how the show's boom in popularity has affected them, reveals further inaccuracies and perhaps deliberate omissions on the creators' part (the directors have also claimed that Joe is categorically racist, adding another piece of dirty laundry to the ever-growing list).
The endnote to this tale is a brief look into Eric Goode's background, which provides some answers, but raises further questions. He seems to be a dedicated animal conservationist, as the founder of the Turtle Conservancy, which lobbies for the protection and awareness of endangered turtles and tortoises. His past directing credits include seven nature documentaries filmed for the not-for-profit organisation. These are gentle, observational pieces no longer than thirty minutes each, intimate slices of life with with minimal directorial intrusion. Tiger King is his first long-form docuseries, and may as well be a completely different species, more reality television than documentary. Instead of exploring some of the more engrossing stories of this whole affair, like the lasting imprints (pawprints?) on the psyches of Saff or Barbara Fisher, it latches onto the charisma and shock value of its more 'colourful' characters, fueling sensationalism and misogyny, and lionising (pun intended) its protagonist. In the eighth episode, Joshua Dial surveys the aftermath of the clash of the Tiger Kings, and laments that all that time and money could have gone towards actual conservation efforts. But what a morally bankrupt stance for the creators to hoist this up as its finale, as its closing statement, when the series itself has done nothing to contribute to the cause? You cannot claim to speak for animal activism and simultaneously liken a legitimate accredited sanctuary to the personal zoo of a man who admitted to executing his fully-grown tigers for more living space. You cannot pretend that both sides are equally evil, and then simply lament the situation while throwing up sobering white text on black screen. How sad that a noble cause became so misguided, but we're all the audience is doing is just giggling at Joe's corny music videos and sending him fan mail.
So what really is Tiger King about? Take a gander at the internet's responses and you'll pinpoint the appeal: Episodes 2-5 are where it really gets crazy; these people are insane, but I can't look away; it just keeps getting crazier and crazier; turns out real life is more unbelievable than any fictional story!; and I thought my life choices were bad. The docuseries leans hard on the mania and volatility of its characters (Joe, mostly) rather than any real sense of engagement with a narrative or a thesis. All you have to do is keep the cameras rolling, and the cast will do the rest. Rick Kirkham wasn't wrong when he bemoaned the loss of thousands of hours of Joe Exotic TV footage, because the zoo and its ruler is a veritable goldmine of drama and conflict. Who needs a script when Joe incriminates himself in his own recordings? Why plot out an arc when he's done the work for you; the next relationship and murder attempt is already in the pipeline of that addled brain of his.
So there's next to no plan, and it shows. There's seven 40 minute episodes plus a few bonus interviews, but little to no coherency amongst it all. The editing is all cobbled together; the final line of an episode will dangle a cliffhanger (Jeff stole the zoo. He stole it!) before the next veers completely in a different direction, and the series spends a good hour dipping its toes into true crime, but not with any real conviction or sense of diligence, let alone the authority of proper investigative journalism. Tiger King is exploitative and voyeuristic at best, parading around a carnival freak show of attractions for clicks and views; why else would a popular and recurring take be 'I just can't look away'? Representation is key here; if your show results in the public openly condemning a woman as a murderer, despite her not even being ruled as a suspect in a police investigation, there's an ethical quagmire.
These cases encourage internet detectives and armchair experts to dissect every sideways glance, every instance of avoiding eye contact, and every laugh and giggle, not realising that the material presented has already been carefully selected to generate a reaction in the first place. Even from an reasonably objective angle, the style is amateurish and transparent; slow-motion shots of a fiendish Carole, lingering close-ups of a fed's unrelenting gaze, openly provocative smash cuts. The series' addendum, in which Joel McHale attempts to insert awkward one-liners while exploring the very real trauma of the cast's experiences and how the show's boom in popularity has affected them, reveals further inaccuracies and perhaps deliberate omissions on the creators' part (the directors have also claimed that Joe is categorically racist, adding another piece of dirty laundry to the ever-growing list).
The endnote to this tale is a brief look into Eric Goode's background, which provides some answers, but raises further questions. He seems to be a dedicated animal conservationist, as the founder of the Turtle Conservancy, which lobbies for the protection and awareness of endangered turtles and tortoises. His past directing credits include seven nature documentaries filmed for the not-for-profit organisation. These are gentle, observational pieces no longer than thirty minutes each, intimate slices of life with with minimal directorial intrusion. Tiger King is his first long-form docuseries, and may as well be a completely different species, more reality television than documentary. Instead of exploring some of the more engrossing stories of this whole affair, like the lasting imprints (pawprints?) on the psyches of Saff or Barbara Fisher, it latches onto the charisma and shock value of its more 'colourful' characters, fueling sensationalism and misogyny, and lionising (pun intended) its protagonist. In the eighth episode, Joshua Dial surveys the aftermath of the clash of the Tiger Kings, and laments that all that time and money could have gone towards actual conservation efforts. But what a morally bankrupt stance for the creators to hoist this up as its finale, as its closing statement, when the series itself has done nothing to contribute to the cause? You cannot claim to speak for animal activism and simultaneously liken a legitimate accredited sanctuary to the personal zoo of a man who admitted to executing his fully-grown tigers for more living space. You cannot pretend that both sides are equally evil, and then simply lament the situation while throwing up sobering white text on black screen. How sad that a noble cause became so misguided, but we're all the audience is doing is just giggling at Joe's corny music videos and sending him fan mail.