Candy

There’s a more pragmatic approach here that still finds room to live in the psychological margins while trying to make sense of a senseless death. There’s a bit of messiness on the way to its ultimate conclusions, but given the nature of why this show exists in the first place, tidiness wouldn’t suit “Candy” anyway.

The strength of Candy rests in this being an old crime that we know very little about. Being first out of the gate works greatly to Candy’s advantage. The series will leave you with more questions than answers, right down to the kicker of a final line.

Candy is intelligently scripted and directed. It also has two phenomenal performances. ... Female rage is an under-explored topic – whether or not it culminates in murder. If Candy concentrates on that, rather than the 41 Lizzie Borden-esque blows, it could add something to the sum of human knowledge, if not exactly happiness.

There is also the reasons why the seemingly put-together Candy managed to snap to begin with. Going back to reconstruct all of that will be interesting to watch, especially given the performances of Biel and Lynskey. ... Candy makes a good case that more true-crime dramas should be about the lead up and the aftermath of an event, not the event itself.

“Candy” becomes a courtroom procedural in the later episodes, but it remains a fascinating psychological character study throughout.

Odd and tense, Candy burnishes Jessica Biel's crime-based limited series credentials, following her star-producer turn in "The Sinner." Here, those two hats come in the service of an understated "whydunit" true crime yarn with all the trappings of a "Dateline" episode, which happily doesn't overstay its welcome at five episodes.

Biel’s stuck playing too many conflicting notes: jealous housewife, traumatized child, Ryan Murphy-level camp queen. And really, it’s that disconnect between the low-wattage horror movie and the John Waters-y camp trappings of the story that keeps Candy from feeling consistent or all that complete.