Black Bird: nerve-wracking prison thriller

Not so much ‘set a thief, to catch a thief’, as the old saying goes – more a matter of setting a drug dealer to catch a suspected serial killer. Such is the stranger-than-fiction scenario behind Jimmy Keene’s 2010 true-crime memoir In With the Devil, which sounded from the get-go like potential movie material, was first snapped up by Brad Pitt’s Plan B outfit, then moved to HBO as possible miniseries fare. There the execs eventually passed, leaving screenwriter Dennis Lehane, who’d shepherded it throughout, to finally get it into production at Apple TV+.

The show intrigues because of our enduring fascination with the warped psychology of a murderer, and because the damaged protagonist also teeters between redemption or damnation depending on his unlocking of the slayer’s secrets. Moreover, the vivid contrast between the two men behind bars – socially mobile, womanising peacock vs rage-filled incel outsider – presents an opportunity to survey the whole spectrum of toxic masculinity.

Black Bird perhaps falls slightly short of making good on all the material’s thematic potential, but at its core is a sustained, nerve-wracking two-hander, very ably performed, and characterised by piquant writing, a spot-on supporting cast, and focused direction – all set against a tellingly ominous soundtrack undertow by Scots post-rock kingpins Mogwai. A buffed-up Taron Egerton cuts a confident figure as Jimmy Keene, former high-school football star who takes a plea to avoid a longer sentence for narcotics offences, but still faces a ten-year stretch. The FBI, however, have noticed his charming social skills, and he’s their only hope of getting to Larry DeWayne Hall (a remarkable Paul Walter Hauser), currently in a Missouri high-security prison while his conviction for strangling and raping a teenage girl faces appeal. They believe Hall has perpetrated a string of unsolved killings, but need to locate the victims’ remains to keep him inside. ‘No bodies, no release’ is their conditional offer of freedom for Jimmy.

Tellingly, his first response when seeing Hall’s grisly case file is ‘I don’t know these girls,’ suggesting the notion of empathy is itself central to the story. Can Jimmy get outside his own masculine bubble to connect with the female victims, and thus be motivated by justice, rather than the mere expediency of saving himself from a longer prison term? That’s the core issue Lehane puts in place, though as soon as we encounter Hall, we begin to realise the immensity of the task at hand. A burly, distracted man-child with a piping high-pitched voice and formidable lamb-chop sideburns befitting a Civil War re-enactment hobbyist, he might well be a teller of tall tales to gain attention. Yet a veiled element of threat lends his lengthy exchanges with Egerton’s Jimmy the sweaty-palmed anxiety of watching a bomb disposal expert at work. Hall would love to believe that a ‘cool’ guy like Jimmy would be a friend to him, but Jimmy must tread carefully in feigning that friendship – if he pushes too hard, Hall’s suspicions could be aroused, and the whole thing explodes in his face.

Unfolding in quiet corners in and around the Missouri institution, this showcases Lehane’s gift for heightened, perhaps even florid dialogue, and indeed his fascination with the corrosive legacy of childhood as Jimmy plays up his parents’ fractious marriage as a gambit to arouse Hall’s sympathies. Egerton adeptly delineates the careful manner in which this alpha male inches his guard down, though his work is inevitably overshadowed by co-star Hauser – best-known to date in the title role as the put-upon Atlanta security guard in Clint Eastwood’s Richard Jewell – whose volatile, unpredictable Hall is suitably difficult to read, yet both terrifying and pitiful, which Lehane’s writing conveys without neglecting the sufferings of the victims and their families.

Elsewhere in the prison, the jeopardy Jimmy faces from corrupt staff members and scary senior inmates proves somewhat sketchy in the telling, while the ongoing procedural element as authorities continue to search for evidence is enlivened by Greg Kinnear’s solid work as a dogged but thwarted detective. Disappointingly, the overriding question of empathy is allowed to fizzle out somewhat: Jimmy’s character arc turns opaque around his fall from adolescent grace, and the lasting psychological effects of his interaction with the murderer on his manly self-worth remain unexplored. It leaves the series feeling not quite finished, though unquestionably there’s still much to admire here, not least an emotive turn from the late Ray Liotta as Keene senior, an ailing father ravaged by guilt that his son has strayed so far.

► Black Bird is available to stream on Apple TV+ now.