'Amanda Knox' Isn't About Guilt or Innocence, It's About What We Want to Believe

In a way, the trial of Amanda Knox can feel too cut-and-dry for the true crime documentary treatment. The murder of British student Meredith Kercher and its subsequent investigation is certainly complicated, but Knox's eventual exoneration last year provided a clear ending to the story. Unlike Serial or Making a Murderer, there are no appeal attempts or overzealous White House petitions; the case is over—but our fascination with it continues.

So Netflix's documentary Amanda Knox—which first screened at the Toronto International Film Festival earlier this year—faces the task of crafting a solid, compelling narrative that simultaneously informs those unfamiliar with the case and provides additional knowledge for those who have obsessively followed it. Those looking for the latter element might have to look elsewhere, since Amanda Knox mostly provides the basics of the story—but that's because the selling point for Amanda Knox isn't an attention to detail or the inclusion of grisly footage. It's Amanda Knox herself.

Filmmakers Brian McGinn and Rod Blackhurst were given unprecedented access to Knox, who appears throughout as the documentary's most prominently featured talking head. (Other main figures include Knox's then-boyfriend and suspected accomplice Raffaele Sollecito, prosecutor Giuliano Mignini, and delightfully sleazy journalist Nick Pisa.) Throughout Amanda Knox, its subject recounts her whole story—from the murder, to jail, to her initial release, to her eventual exoneration—in her own words, staring directly into the camera. Her presence makes the documentary seem masterful instead of merely bland: If you believe she's innocent, her on-screen presence only confirms that, and if you believe she's guilty—well, somehow it confirms that, too.

What's particularly fascinating about Amanda Knox is how the documentary's main focal points—the damnation of tabloid journalism, the dissection of Knox's "suspicious" behavior, and the irrelevant narrative surrounding her sexual past—are only heightened by Knox's presence. At times, the camera lingers on Knox's face as she sits quietly while audio plays of her crying, or as others discuss topics ranging from her basic personality traits to the false HIV diagnosis given to her by Italian authorities. The tabloids painted Knox as a sex-craved deviant participating in murderous orgies, essentially slut-shaming her to "prove" that she was capable of murder; Pisa is especially jubilant while talking about her (and Kercher's) looks and joking about girl-on-girl crime.

Amanda Knox rehashes all of this tabloid fodder but does so while continually cutting back to Knox herself, effectively hammering home how fucked up the situation really was. During the trial, much ado was made of her "odd" behavior—the short kisses between her and Sollecito (video clips of which the documentary replays many times) and her interactions with officers during questioning, including the alleged cartwheel she was accused of performing while waiting to be questioned (we now know the cartwheel never actually happened, but it proved infamous enough to inspire the title of a novel loosely drawing from Knox's saga). Depending on who you asked, Knox's behavior was that of a cold-blooded psychopath, or of a scared 20-year-old who was shocked to learn her roommate was murdered.

Similarly, the behavior she exhibits while appearing in Amanda Knoxwill result in similarly conflicting viewer reactions. Knox retells the account of coming home the day of the murder distantly and without too much emotion, an approach she takes throughout the documentary, and the juxtaposition between her calm speaking voice and brutal crime scene images is especially jarring. Amanda Knox constantly toys with the idea of viewer perception and pre-conceived notions, knowing that even the smallest glance or crack in one's voice can be interpreted to "prove" innocence or guilt—depending on what you want to believe.

And Knox herself plays into the viewer's fears and expectations, succinctly summarizing our ongoing fascination with her saga: "If I'm guilty, it means I am the ultimate figure to fear. On the other hand, if I'm innocent, it means everyone's vulnerable." It's a stealthy little monologue, and although Knox and the documentary itself insists on her innocence, it can't help but add an additional level to this twisted tale.

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