9 Signs a True Crime Doc Is About to Waste Your Time

There’s a unique kind of betrayal that comes from a bad true crime documentary. You start with hope. You clear your schedule. You sit down, snacks in hand, ready to uncover something wild and unhinged. Instead? You get foggy landscapes, a narrator whispering like it’s ASMR, and a slow zoom on a coffee mug.

You’ve just been hit with true crime filler—a crime in itself.

Some documentaries are brilliant: sharp, tight, revelatory. But others feel like a group project from someone who read one article and decided they were born to direct. If you've ever found yourself checking the runtime more than the story, you know the pain.

To save you from another evening lost to overproduced nothingness, here are nine warning signs a documentary’s about to waste your time. If one shows up, be wary. If three show up? Hit eject and warn the group chat.

1. Dramatic Coffee B-Roll Syndrome

If the first thing you see is a slow-motion pour of coffee, a faucet drip, or a shot of someone staring out a window while sad piano music plays—you’re not watching a documentary. You’re watching a crime-themed art film.

This is Dramatic Coffee B-Roll Syndrome: when moody shots are used as filler because the doc has no actual content. Shadows on a wall. Rain on a windshield. Birds minding their own business being filmed like suspects.

Used sparingly, this kind of visual flair can add depth. But when the B-roll has more screentime than the victim? That’s not atmosphere. That’s distraction.

Now add reenactments. You know the ones—actors in trench coats walking slowly, whispering in kitchens, dramatic glances with no audio. If I wanted community theater, I’d go support my local playhouse.

And look, I do enjoy a few reenactment-heavy shows... but I’m watching them for the laughs. I Almost Got Away With It? That’s not true crime. That’s crime-themed improv. I queue those up when I want to see a guy in a fake mustache run through a field like he’s auditioning for community theater. But if your serious doc veers into that territory? That’s not a vibe. That’s a problem.

2. The Music Thinks It’s the Star

Here’s the rule: if the music is more intense than the moment, something’s off.

A string section swells as someone walks into a courtroom. A bassline thumps while a neighbor recalls hearing a noise. If you stripped away the score, would you still feel suspense—or would you realize you’re watching someone close a garage door?

Too many documentaries crank up the soundtrack to manufacture tension that the story can’t earn. And when paired with that moody desaturation (where everything’s grey to remind you it’s serious), it becomes clear: they’re decorating, not documenting.

If the emotional punch is coming from the music or sound effects and not the material, they’re not showing you the truth. They’re scoring it like a Netflix original drama. And that’s not storytelling. That’s manipulation with a Spotify playlist.

3. One Talking Head, Three Wardrobe Changes

If you keep seeing the same detective or journalist pop up in different outfits and lighting setups, congrats—you’ve met the documentary’s entire cast.

Rotating shirts don’t equal rotating perspectives. When one person carries the whole narrative, you're not watching a multifaceted investigation. You’re watching one guy monologue with costume changes.

On the flip side, if the only people they could find were someone’s ex-stepdad or a neighbor who once waved at the victim, that’s not depth—that’s desperation.

It makes you wonder: did no one else want to talk, or did the filmmakers just not try very hard? Good documentaries show a range of voices. Bad ones recycle the same source until even they sound bored of hearing themselves.

4. Timelines That Feel Like a Concussion

If your doc keeps jumping between decades like it’s trying to win a time-travel award—with no on-screen dates, no context, and a new name every five minutes—you’ve officially entered narrative purgatory.

Half the time, I’m sitting there wondering: Who is this person? Are they a cop? A cousin? A suspect? Why are they in a fishing boat? And unless you're giving me "Mindhunter" levels of buildup, I'm not here to play Guess Who: Homicide Edition.

And please, for the love of all things holy, use a map. If you're throwing around city names like Gatlinburg, Macon, and Duluth—show me where they are in relation to what you're talking about. If I’m pausing your doc to pull up Google Maps, you’ve already lost me.

If the timeline isn’t clear, the story doesn’t land. And if I’m confused, that’s not on me. That’s on you.

5. The Trailer Was the Best Part

You were promised “never-before-seen footage” and “bombshell revelations.” What you got was a repackaged 48 Hours segment from 2006 and a slow zoom on a blurry photo of a dog.

If the most exciting part of the doc was the trailer, that wasn’t a preview—it was a trap. These are the documentaries that front-load every twist, then leave you with recycled quotes and the feeling that you’ve been had.

You know it’s bad when the only new information was in the teaser. If your doc hinges on marketing buzzwords like “twist,” “exclusive,” or “explosive,” lower your expectations. Or better yet—watch something else.

6. It’s Been Three Hours—Say Something New

If you're on episode three and they’re still repeating the same information from episode one, the doc isn’t unraveling a mystery—it’s dragging its feet.

This is the stalling tactic: slow pacing, long pauses, and repetition disguised as drama. And you can’t tell me some of these shows didn’t stretch two hours of content into four just to hit a contractually obligated episode count.

Yes, some stories deserve depth. But if five different people are saying the same thing five different ways, that’s not depth. That’s delay. When the runtime is longer than the case timeline, something's gone very wrong.

If you feel like you could sum up the whole doc in one sentence and still have time for a nap, trust that instinct. Your time’s being padded—just like the script.

7. It’s More About the Filmmaker Than the Crime

Ah yes, the “This Case Changed Me” doc. You came for the crime—what you got was the director’s origin story.

Every shot is filtered through their personal journey, their emotional connection, or that one time they rode their bike past the house and felt something dark. Sir. You were seven. Eat your cereal.

When the filmmaker becomes the main character, the victim becomes an afterthought. You’ll know it’s one of these when half the runtime is foggy forest footage while the narrator whispers about memory and grief like they’re auditioning for a TED Talk.

This isn’t insight. This is therapy—on your screen, on your time, and without your consent.

8. “We’ll Let You Decide” Is Code for “We Have No Ending”

There’s a difference between unsolved and unfinished. A vague “We’ll let you decide…” is usually documentary-speak for we had nothing new to add but really wanted to make something anyway.

If you're going to present the case without resolution, fine—just be honest about it. But don’t bait me with the promise of a breakthrough only to drop a shrug and cut to credits.

Too many of these docs pretend they’re letting you be “part of the process,” when really, they just didn’t want to take a stance. That’s not empowering. That’s lazy.

Put “UNSOLVED” in the title if that’s what it is. Let me know up front so I can manage my expectations—and save myself from yelling ‘That’s it?!’ at a screen.

9. The “Twist” Was Never a Twist

You know the drill: They introduce a happy couple. The neighbors say things like, “They seemed so in love.” The narrator goes quiet. And you immediately whisper to the empty room “The husband did it.”

Then you sit through an hour of filler until—shocker—he did it.

If the reveal doesn’t reframe the story, offer new insight, or genuinely surprise anyone besides the dog in the background, it’s not a twist. It’s a detour on the way to something you already knew.

Don’t treat the obvious like it’s earth-shattering. Give us the why, the how, or the aftermath. That’s where the real story lives.

There you have it: the red flags, the warning signs, the documentary sins. True crime is too good, too rich, too important to be handed over to lazy editing and ego projects in trench coats.

So if you spot a true crime doc that’s leaning on vibes instead of facts, save your time—and save someone else’s too. Drop the title in the comments. Warn the group. Protect the popcorn.

And remember: the real twist is realizing you don’t have to finish something just because you started it.

Case closed.🔍 Verdict delivered. ⚖️

Stay hydrated.💧 Not every case deserves a doc. Not every doc deserves your time. ⌛🚫

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