Love & Death

Although it’s skillfully shot and exquisitely acted, it presents the facts as they were laid out by those involved with very little editorialization beyond the basic dramatization required of the medium. This may deter viewers who are more used to the salacious tone in which these kinds of stories are often told. It comes down to whether you like your true crime with or without the pulp.

It’s so far the fine acting that elevates this above shlock.

Aside from a layered performance by Olsen that easily surpasses the wig-forward acting of Candy’s miscast Jessica Biel, what sets Love & Death apart from its predecessor, and so many other superficial, ripped-from-the-headlines murder shows (Dahmer—Monster, The Thing About Pam, The Serpent), is Kelley’s refusal to reduce real people to cartoon killers or weirdos or fools.

Olsen becomes increasingly riveting as “Love & Death” unfolds, forcing us to question how much we should like, forgive, or understand her. I’m not sure we ever will. But we’ll clearly continue to be fascinated by her.

However odd the case, the series starts to assume the shape of a procedural. It remains compelling, but it loses the interest in the details of its story's time and place that sets the earlier episodes apart. Still, Olsen alone provides a reason to watch.

“Love & Death” works as well as it does thanks to Olsen’s controlled performance.

At seven episodes, the HBO Max series overstays its own welcome but its two aces in the hole are Elizabeth Olsen as the to-the-point Montgomery, who has it all but desires to spice up her life, and Tom Pelphrey as flashy attorney/church member Don Crowder.

Elizabeth Olsen’s measured performance as Candy makes it difficult to penetrate her psyche, though we see glimpses of her tightly wound persona from time to time. Still, “Love & Death” rarely goes beyond a filmed timeline of events that are all too familiar to us by now.