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The true crime category has an innovative format, or perhaps even a whole new language and grammar: police body cam footage. Faces of victims, witnesses and possible perpetrators appear suddenly to the cameras, at times in the intense brightness of vehicle beams or torches as the officers approach, their faces and voices expressing caution or fear or indignation or dubiously feigned naivety. And we often catch sight of the expressions of the law enforcement personnel, one waiting impassively while the other conducts the inquiry with what sometimes seems like extraordinary diffidence – though perhaps this is because they know they are being recorded.

An Emerging Pattern in Non-Fiction Cinema

We have previously seen the Netflix real-life crime film American Murder: Gabby Petito, about the killing of an social media personality by her boyfriend, whose main point of interest was body cam footage and in which, as in this film, the law enforcement seemed extraordinarily lax with the suspect. There is also the acclaimed short film Incident by Bill Morrison, made exclusively of officer footage. Now comes Geeta Gandbhir’s documentary about the tragic incident of a Florida mother in Ocala, Florida, a African American woman whose four young kids reportedly bothered and tormented her neighbor, Susan Lorincz. In 2023, after an escalating series of neighborhood conflicts in which the police were repeatedly called, Lorincz shot Owens dead through her locked door, when Owens went to Lorincz’s house to address her about hurling items at her children.

The Police Inquiry and Legal Context

The investigating authorities found evidence that Lorincz had done online research into Florida’s “stand your ground” laws, which allow residents and others to shoot if there is a significant presumption of threat. The movie constructs its narrative with the officer recordings captured during the repeated police visits to the location before the shooting, and then at the disturbing and disordered crime scene itself – introduced by 911 audio material of the caller calling the police in a melodramatically shaky voice. There is also jail video of Lorincz which has a chilly, queasy fascination.

Portrayal of the Accused

The documentary does not really suggest anything too complicated about the neighbor, or any mitigating factors. She is obviously disturbed, although the children are heard calling her a derogatory term, an ugly jibe. The film is presented as an example of how self-defense regulations lead to senseless and tragic violence. But the reality of firearm possession and the constitutional right (that longstanding U.S. legal right that a late commentator notoriously said made firearm fatalities a necessary cost) is not much highlighted.

Officer Questioning and Gun Culture

It is possible to watch the police interrogation scenes here and feel surprised at how little interest the officers took in this aspect. When did she buy her gun? Did she receive any instruction on handling it? Was this the first time she discharged the weapon? Where did she store it in the house? Could it have been easily accessible and prepared? The police aren’t shown asking any of these surely relevant questions (though they may have done in footage that didn’t make the edit). Or is possessing a firearm so commonplace it would be like asking about microwaves or bread heaters?

Arrest and Aftermath

For what appeared to her local residents a extended period, the suspect was not even arrested and charged, only held and even provided accommodation away from home for the night (another parallel, by the way, with the Gabby Petito case). And when she was ultimately officially taken into custody in the detention area, there is an remarkable scene in which Lorincz simply refuses to stand, refuses to put her wrists out for the cuffs, not aggressively, but with the politely self-pitying air of someone whose psychological state means that she just can’t do it. Did the gentle handling up until that point led her to think that this could be effective?

Conclusion and Verdict

It didn’t; and the panel's decision is saved for the closing credits. A deeply sobering portrayal of American crime and punishment.