The official synopsis for Netflix's latest documentary, "CHAOS: The Manson Murders," entices viewers to "delve into a tapestry of mind manipulation, CIA experiments, and murderous intrigue." The teaser trailer for this Errol Morris masterpiece-helmed film, rooted in Tom O’Neill and Dan Piepenbring’s 2019 tome "CHAOS: Charles Manson, the CIA, and the Secret History of the Sixties," hints at much the same, employing a flurry of dazzling edits and chilling glimpses of Manson. This formula seems poised to garner Morris his largest audience yet, for the Netflix algorithm often steers viewers towards sensationalized accounts of mass murderers with unerring precision.
I eagerly anticipate the audience's reception of "CHAOS" — whether some viewers will perceive the documentary as actually advocating for "a conspiracy of mind control, CIA experiments, and murder," which it unequivocally does not, or if others will grow frustrated because it fails to substantiate such claims, which it never intends to do. Morris, a filmmaker known for his pragmatism and meticulousness, is unlikely to deliver the documentary that "CHAOS" and Netflix's marketing suggest. Instead, "CHAOS" delves into our compulsion to weave narratives around the terrifying and unfathomable, how these narratives gain acceptance as "truth," and the hurdles in revising them once they become entrenched.
It’s a nuanced meta-commentary, loosely cloaked in the guise of a macabre conspiracy thriller, yet hastily presented to an audience eager for many more hours of such a ghoulish narrative — one that this film isn't. The documentary hinges on conversations with O’Neill, who masterfully connects Charles Manson, a newly paroled convict stealthily cultivating a cult in San Francisco during the late 1960s, with Louis "Jolly" West, a psychiatrist tied to the CIA's MKUltra project through the Haight-Ashbury Free Clinic. O’Neill establishes links between Manson and the clinic, West and the clinic, and ties the mission of MKUltra to Manson's brainwashing and mind-control techniques among his followers.
Yet, what O’Neill cannot — and admits he cannot — accomplish is drawing a direct line between Manson and West, or Manson and MKUltra, or to the CIA’s Operation CHAOS or the FBI’s COINTELPRO, two concurrent programs where the American intelligence apparatus scrutinized and often undermined domestic organizations. O’Neill embodies the kind of committed obsessive that Morris has dedicated his career to chronicling (not merely because the MKUltra saga was pivotal in Netflix's "Wormwood"). If Morris had aimed to bolster or debunk O’Neill’s thesis, as a seasoned researcher, he surely could have done so, or at least made an attempt. Instead, he listens intently, for while Morris remains unconvinced by any assertions, his curiosity remains undiminished throughout.
Instead of relying predominantly on the Interrotron, the Morris-invented gadget that facilitates a direct dialogue between O’Neill and both Morris himself and the viewing audience simultaneously, extensive segments of their conversations are captured with both men on camera, with O’Neill’s gaze fixated on Morris’s visage, rather than his own. This technique reveals the intended audience for O’Neill’s narratives: primarily an entranced listener, a director who refrains from granting O’Neill’s version of events the fullest visual prowess. O’Neill likely believes in the tales he spins. Morris, on the other hand, isn’t a disbeliever; he’s a skeptic. He’s shopping around for truth. Morris harbors skepticism towards the prevailing narrative surrounding the Manson Murders, which has been dominated for decades by prosecutor Vincent Bugliosi’s “Helter Skelter.” This bestselling tome, adapted numerous times for television, portrays the Tate-LaBianca murders as the inevitable low point of the counterculture, a cautionary tale of the repercussions of a decade marked by permissive attitudes towards sex, drugs, racial progressivism, and rock-n-roll.
Morris elucidates why this narrative is convenient, how it served Bugliosi’s interests, why it has been so alluring, and the agendas it has propelled. Yet, Morris has always been wary of monocultural narratives, and so he constructs this documentary around at least four distinct interpretations of the events.
There’s O’Neill’s conspiracy theory, which, though not fully coherent, aids in comprehending some of the profound questions surrounding Manson’s ability to sway his followers. That is, if you’re inclined to accept any of it. Then there’s Bugliosi’s version, exhaustively echoed here by prosecutor Stephen Kay, who has recounted these tales in courtrooms, books, and news reports since 1970. The documentary also features new audio interviews with Bobby Beausoleil, arrested for a separate Manson-related murder. Clearly weary of the mythology surrounding his former friend, Beausoleil offers his own “mundane” explanation for the events, a stark contrast to O’Neill’s wild speculations.
Somewhere amidst this cacophony of narratives, Morris delves into the stark basics of the case, relating the story of the murders through court transcripts and subsequent interviews with Manson and his followers. It’s during these dry basics that Morris and “CHAOS” stumble slightly, causing the documentary to lose some of its directness. I’m not a Manson aficionado, but having read Bugliosi’s book and consumed various podcasts and docuseries on the subject, this may be the first approach to the events that I found utterly unengaging. I respect Morris’s desire to avoid tawdriness in depicting the murders, and I suppose he’s correct in assuming that not every viewer will have a comprehensive awareness of a 55-year-old crime. Nevertheless, there’s about 45 minutes in the middle of the documentary that feels like a bland regurgitation of information.
It’s intentionally bland. It’s what emerges when you strip away our fascination with celebrity and victimhood, our voyeuristic appetite for brutality, and our quest to find a “story” within the Manson Murders that fits into a socially acceptable genre or theme through which to process the tragedy. Otherwise, Morris is an active and engaged presence in the documentary, embodying the audience’s own curiosity. He can be ghastly and grotesque, as when, regarding the discovery of Gary Hinman’s body, he remarks to Kay, “I read somewhere that they could hear the maggots eating him.” Kay remains unperturbed. He can be prurient, as when he prompts Gregg Jakobson to paint a picture of Dennis Wilson’s cabin, overrun with Manson groupies and music industry figures. And he can be incredulous, as he probes O’Neill for specifics he knows the author lacks.
“People are very fond of their fantasy,” Beausoleil remarks, aware that regardless of his choices, his own interpretation of events will likely be the least captivating. Morris refrains from revealing his own “fantasy” and doesn’t steer viewers in any particular direction. Therefore, beware of anyone who watches “CHAOS” and claims it’s a documentary about Manson’s connections to MKUltra or anything pertaining to “conspiracy of mind control, CIA experiments, and murder.”
Anyone who derives a definitive “answer” from “CHAOS” has missed the entire point of the documentary, which is a tale about the necessity of stories when it comes to explaining the inexplicable. If you leave thinking Morris has failed, it probably means he succeeded, an idea I find compelling, albeit not always effectively executed in this instance.
