Gone Girls Netflix Review: A Disjointed and Disappointing Retelling Disguised as “Victim-Centered

When I first heard about the release of Gone Girls, I wasn’t convinced it needed to exist. But for the sake of this Gone Girls Netflix review, I gave it a fair watch. The Long Island Serial Killer case has already been extensively dissected by Dateline, 48 Hours, Disappeared, People Magazine Investigates, and even Australia’s 60 Minutes. Plays, movie dramatizations (including a Lifetime special and a Netflix docudrama by Liz Garbus—who also directed this series), podcasts, books, and articles have saturated the narrative. Yet, the investigation remains ongoing, and the accused hasn’t stood trial. Could another portrayal sway public perception—or worse, the justice system? Repeatedly forcing families to relive trauma for the sake of entertainment feels ethically murky, bordering on exploitative.

Still, Netflix’s angle—framing the story through the perspectives of victims, their families, and the police—sparked enough curiosity to warrant a watch. I hoped for something different.

Episode One

Despite the "victim-centered" marketing, Gone Girls doesn’t deliver. It opens with Shannan Gilbert’s frantic 911 call and her mother Mari’s fierce advocacy—rightfully emphasized. But the other victims are unevenly portrayed. Some are given full backstories; others barely a name. Public records could’ve supplied basic information like age, hometown, or family ties, making the omissions feel careless and contradictory to the documentary’s stated purpose.

The lack of a formal narrator doesn’t help. Journalists Jaclyn Gallucci and Robert Kolker fill the void, but it’s unclear why they were chosen as our guides. Gallucci’s emotional commentary sometimes overshadows the victims’ families, while Kolker speaks with an intimacy that implies deeper involvement—context not provided until you dig online and find he authored a major book on the case. Without that context, their prominence feels arbitrary and off-mission.

The storytelling is disjointed, jumping between 2007, 2010, and 2011 without logical flow. Geography bounces too—from NYC to Long Island to Connecticut—with minimal explanation. New faces are introduced without proper setup, leaving the audience to play catch-up.

Stylistic choices only add to the chaos. Long audio pauses, paired with jarring violin-like screeches, feel like padding rather than suspense. Repetition abounds—journalists reiterate points already covered by news footage, turning emphasis into tedium.

By the end, the episode feels fragmented and frustrating. Rather than providing a cohesive, humanizing look at the victims, it leaves viewers sifting through disjointed scraps and empty space.

Episode Two

Episode two is a noticeable improvement. It adopts a linear structure and shifts focus to law enforcement, providing much-needed clarity. Had I not committed to reviewing it, I might have quit after episode one—but this installment redeems the format with a coherent, fact-driven approach.

The journalists feel more like narrators here, reporting rather than speculating and sharing their own experiences. The result is more informative, less emotionally chaotic. While police mismanagement is addressed, the discussion often feels rushed; an extended runtime could have allowed deeper exploration.

Future analyses will likely treat this department’s failures as textbook examples of investigative dysfunction. As a side note to all documentary film makers: please display each interviewee’s name and case connection every time they appear. Expecting viewers to remember each role without reminders only adds confusion.

Episode Three

Episode three pivots again, this time to the prime suspect. It's a logical shift for a chronological narrative—but one that exposes the cracks in the “victim-centered” branding. If the goal was to spotlight victims' lives and humanity, a separate series might have done that better. Instead, the suspect’s background—his childhood, lifestyle, family—is explored in far more detail than most of the victims ever receive.

That imbalance is glaring. Troubled childhoods are deemed relevant for suspects, yet irrelevant for the women whose lives were taken. Why?

The ethical tightrope wobbles further when you consider the accused hasn’t stood trial. Media exposure like this could influence public opinion—or worse, court outcomes. No documentary should risk compromising justice.

There’s an emotional undercurrent as the episode explores the impact on the suspect’s family, especially his adult children. While humanizing, it again shifts attention away from the victims. If the point was to say, “this could happen in any neighborhood,” it lands—but at a cost.

Stylistically, this episode is the most coherent. Familiar voices return, the narrative is clear, but the series never dives into the mechanics of the investigation. No deep breakdowns, no forensic walk-throughs—just a broad strokes summary, where real investigative details get one or two lines at best.

Overall Review

From the start, the documentary stumbles. Episode one is a confusing, repetitive mess of journalists and news clips rehashing the same information. For a series branded as "victim-centered," it pushes nearly all the victim stories into one front-loaded episode, then pivots toward the suspect.

No host guides the narrative. The journalists carry the weight, but speak primarily from their own lens. Law enforcement voices are limited—many key players declined or were unable to participate, and their absence is felt. Independent expert commentary is nonexistent: no criminologists, forensic professionals, or legal analysts provide context.

Though visually polished, the series leans heavily on B-roll. While well-executed, the screeching audio effects are more distracting than dramatic.

The result? A documentary that gestures toward meaning without ever digging deep. It hints at police corruption and systemic failure but doesn’t explore them. It promises victim advocacy, then sidelines the very people it claims to center. Most damning: it doesn’t bring anything new to the table. The case has been covered more thoroughly—and more respectfully—elsewhere.

If you're unfamiliar with this case, don't start here. If you're a true crime fan, you won’t find much insight. And if you’re hoping for a genuinely victim-focused story, you’ll walk away disappointed.

Final Thoughts: A Rushed Release in the Shadow of Justice

This series came too soon. Before justice had a chance to unfold, Netflix served it up as content. In our rush for closure, we risk obstructing it. Curiosity is human—but it shouldn’t upstage dignity.

Revisiting these events now, in this format, feels premature. Wounds still fresh are pried open, not for healing, but for spectacle. A “victim-centered” doc should never use victims as a pretext for sensationalism.

Let justice finish its course. Let the truth breathe. Then, and only then, should we package it for public consumption.

Final Rating: 2.5 / 5 – Straddling the Line Between Serviceable and Misjudged

What could have been powerful and purposeful ends up frustratingly mediocre. While technically sound and occasionally sincere, it suffers from narrative disarray, ethical missteps, and a recycled story told better elsewhere.

This case deserved better. And frankly—so did we.

Case closed.🔍 Verdict delivered.⚖️

Stay Hydrated.💧 Don’t join a cult.🚫👯‍♀️

🕵️‍♀️The Emerald Sleuth, calling it a night.💚