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In a genre increasingly plagued by overproduced, sensationalist fluff, One Night in Idaho: The College Murders on Amazon Prime is a breath of (mostly) fresh air. It doesn't try to dazzle viewers with dramatic reenactments or tabloid-style commentary. Instead, it attempts-and largely succeeds-at telling a difficult story with a level of care and clarity that's been sorely missing in other portrayals of this case (looking directly at you, Hulu).

This four-part docuseries gives the viewer something that so many true crime productions fail to deliver: context, compassion, and a coherent timeline. The writers and producers smartly prioritize the voices of those closest to the victims-friends, family members, professors-who help ground the story in something human and real. These aren't just names or headlines. The series paints a portrait of each of the four students as individuals with ambition, warmth, quirks, and deep connections to their communities.

One of the biggest strengths here is the production's restraint. There are no tacky sound effects, no dark-and-stormy editing tricks, and no overuse of "experts" trying to one-up each other in dramatic flair. Instead, the creators allow the story to unfold at a steady, even somber pace. When law enforcement officials appear, they're not treated like celebrities or saviors-they're presented as public servants doing difficult work under immense pressure. It's refreshingly earnest.

The structure of the series is deliberate and well-paced, especially in episodes two and three, which focus on the investigative timeline. It avoids the mistake of jumping around or needlessly confusing the viewer just to create artificial suspense. Instead, it trusts that the audience is capable of engaging with the material without constant manipulation. That's a rare thing in true crime these days.

That said, it's not perfect. Some critics have pointed out, and I agree, that the final episode veers a little too heavily into speculative territory. While the series had, until that point, avoided sensationalism, the final chapter occasionally treads dangerously close to the kind of "armchair detective" energy that it had otherwise worked hard to avoid. It's not egregious, but it's noticeable-and a little disappointing given the high bar the rest of the series set for itself.

Visually, the series is clean and polished without being flashy. The interview setups are tasteful and intimate. Archival footage and still images are used sparingly and appropriately, never overstaying their welcome. The music is subtle and moody, underscoring the gravity of the subject matter without melodrama. The entire production team clearly made intentional decisions to maintain tone and integrity, and it pays off.

Compared to Hulu's The Idaho College Murders, this is simply in another league. Where Hulu went for spectacle, Amazon's production focused on substance. Where Hulu leaned into conspiracy and performative drama, One Night in Idaho treated its subjects with decency and clarity. And that's why this series works-even if it isn't flawless, it's guided by the right instincts.

In the end, I give One Night in Idaho: The College Murders a strong 7 out of 10. It's not a game-changer in the true crime world, but it's one of the more thoughtful and well-executed entries we've seen in recent years. It treats its victims as people, not props. It asks smart questions. And it never forgets what this case is really about-not the killer's ego, but the lives that were taken.

Hulu's The Idaho College Murders is not just disappointing-it's a masterclass in how to exploit a tragedy under the guise of "true crime storytelling." What could've been a measured, respectful look at the lives lost and the investigation that followed instead feels like a bad YouTube rabbit hole-written, directed, and edited by people who seem more obsessed with clickbait than truth. This wasn't produced by documentarians. It was assembled by clout-chasers masquerading as filmmakers.

The documentary is offensively sensationalistic from the first five minutes. The music swells in all the wrong places, the reenactments are grotesquely tone-deaf, and the so-called "experts" interviewed throughout? Half of them speak like they're auditioning for a network crime show, delivering overly dramatic lines with all the subtlety of a teenager on TikTok. Their commentary isn't insightful-it's performative. You can practically hear the script notes in the background: "Make it sound more ominous."

What's worse is the blatant misreporting and conflation of facts. Multiple key details are either manipulated or presented out of order, intentionally muddying the timeline in favor of cheap suspense. The editing stitches together unrelated footage, quotes, and soundbites as if the truth is just a secondary concern. The writers and producers aren't trying to inform; they're trying to entertain-and in doing so, they betray both the victims and the viewer.

This isn't investigative journalism. It's emotional exploitation wrapped in dramatic lighting and overproduced voiceovers. The entire production reeks of amateurism and self-importance. It leans hard on regurgitating publicly available information while pretending to offer something revelatory. It ultimately offers nothing new-just a theatrical rehash of details that are already widely known.

In many ways, it feels like a documentary made by Reddit sleuths who stumbled into a production budget. Rather than acknowledge the exhaustive and often thankless work done by real detectives, The Idaho College Murders lifts from that labor, then warps it for shock value. The final product isn't just lazy-it's grotesquely opportunistic.

If you want a real documentary that treats the victims with dignity and presents the facts clearly, skip this Hulu travesty and head over to Amazon Prime. The four-part series One Day in Idaho: The College Murders is everything Hulu's version is not: thoughtful, respectful, well-researched, and grounded in reality. It tells the story without relying on dramatic voiceovers or manipulative edits. It honors the memory of the students instead of mining their deaths for dramatic effect.

To call The Idaho College Murders a documentary is to insult the genre itself. It's not journalism. It's exploitation-thinly veiled and poorly executed. Hulu should be ashamed.

You know that awkward feeling when you're watching a high school theater production, and someone's mom just knows their kid is destined for Broadway... but it's painfully clear to everyone else this is a one-way ticket to regional dinner theater obscurity? That's The Lost Holliday, except it's wrapped in faux prestige and somehow directed by Jussie Smollett, who seems determined to prove that not only can he not act - he can't direct or write, either. This isn't a comeback; it's a cry for help.

Let's talk direction - or rather, the erratic mess that passes for it. The movie feels like it was pieced together during someone's unpaid lunch breaks. Scenes meander without purpose, blocking is unintentionally comical, and the tone whiplashes between maudlin soap opera and artsy Instagram reel. Smollett clearly believes he's crafting something profound, but it's just a muddled, overlit vanity project that wouldn't make it past freshman film class.

The writing? Absolutely brutal. Every line sounds like it was run through a cliché generator powered by half-baked trauma and fake-deep Pinterest quotes. The dialogue is so unnatural it makes the actors look like they're reading ransom notes - especially poor Jabari Redd, who tried to breathe life into a character that feels like it was written by ChatGPT on Ambien. Vivica A. Fox is here too, and frankly deserves hazard pay for showing up and pretending this dreck matters.

Fox delivers each line with that hollow gravitas actors use when they're suppressing the urge to fire their agent. You can see the awareness in their eyes: they know this isn't a movie - it's Jussie's self-financed rehab-my-PR tour. Unfortunately, not even their commitment can salvage a script this contrived, or direction this clueless.

Which brings us back to Smollett. Look, if this is what Hollywood exile looks like, I guess we're all being punished. It's hard not to feel like The Lost Holliday is a metaphor for his own career - desperate, disjointed, and somehow convinced it's saying something important. It's not. And neither is he.

By the time the credits rolled, I wasn't just bored - I was offended that everyone involved thought this deserved my attention. The Lost Holliday isn't art. It's damage control in slow motion. And just like the infamous hoax that tanked Jussie's credibility, this film is an elaborate fiction nobody asked for - and fewer people believe.