It might seem odd to suggest that Grotesquerie, the latest show from the ubiquitous, never knowingly understated Ryan Murphy (who co-creates and co-writes here), is more downbeat than his usual horror fodder. There are four highly theatrical massacres in the first two episodes alone, and a body count so vast that the number of corpses might outweigh the members of the living, breathing cast. Yet it is different to many of his other projects, which tend to err on the side of spectacle for spectacle’s sake. This is clearly grappling for a grander narrative in the gothic horrors on display.
Those horrors are plentiful. Niecy Nash is Lois Tryon, a no-nonsense, hard-drinking detective with a complicated family life, all of which are the basic entry requirements for a female TV cop. You can practically see “she sighs wearily” written into the script, though Nash shoulders her well-worn cynicism with poise. Lois thinks she has seen it all, until she is called to the scene of the first crime. A radiologist and nutritionist from the local university and their three children have been horribly – and I do mean horribly – massacred by a mysterious killer who has left no trace of his or her identity, but has left plenty of symbolic matter lying around. “If this isn’t a hate crime, I don’t know what is,” explains a lower-ranking police officer. “Hate against what?” asks Lois. “Everything,” he solemnly replies.
This isn’t subtle, then, but Murphy rarely opts for subtlety. This is a state-of-the-nation story in which doomsday thinking is front and centre. There is a sense of impending societal collapse, a theme which has fed previous seasons of American Horror Story, but here it is given theological and philosophical reinforcement. It explores fatalism, and asks whether evil and vice are inherently human. A local homeless man in robes preaches that “the end is near”. A journalist nun and true-crime enthusiast, Sister Megan (Micaela Diamond), who explains that cults are once again big business, guides Lois towards the religious themes that link all the crimes together. She is, notes Lois, “a cross between a sparrow and a Manson girl”, and she also offers an overarching authorial voice. Amid “horrible news and cataclysms at every turn, everything now feels personal to everybody,” Sister Megan says, noting the decline of logic as a force for good.
Whether the show can get away with balancing its simultaneous disdain for the hysteria of murder as clickbait and true-crime voyeurism, and the fact that this is a Murphy-led show about an intelligent, creative mass-murderer with flair, remains to be seen. One awful method of despatch brings to mind recent war crimes; this turns out not to have been accidental, as Sister Megan links the “atrocity” to “something that happens in places where this is no more hope and no more order”. Such hyperbole is tasteless, and I’m not sure a divided modern-day America warrants comparison to a real war zone. But its manifestation of fear and terror, in a world that feels unstable and embattled, is effective. The fact that it opts for slow creeping dread over jump scares – though there are a couple of those thrown in – makes it all the more chilling.
Grotesquerie looks eerily beautiful, in its gothic gloom. Onlookers are often paralysed by the gruesomely staged crime scenes, struck dumb with horror, which is a more effective metaphor. Its weakness is in not trusting this strong visual sense of itself, instead falling back on clumsy exposition that undermines it. “Great. A religious psychopath,” says Lois, as if the nun, the presence of brimstone and the scripture scrawled behind the dead bodies hung up on a wall like photographs hasn’t made that clear.
One of the big pre-release talking points of Grotesquerie has been the acting debut of American footballer and famous boyfriend Travis Kelce, but they’re obviously keeping their powder dry, as there’s no sign of him in the first two episodes. There is, however, a hot, Elvis-like priest (Monsters’ Nicholas Chavez) and Lesley Manville as Nurse Redd, an acidic, Ratched-esque nurse who cares for, and then some, Lois’ husband Marshall, who is in a coma. Watching Manville pull off some of the lines here is a masterclass in keeping a straight face while tasked with conveying the truly absurd.
Grotesquerie is a slow burn, but it is intriguing. Elsewhere, it touches on reality TV, addiction, guns, faith and the mundanity of marriage. It may be too much, all at once, and as is often the case with Murphy shows, it strives to find a balance between genuine provocation and being shocking just because he can be. Even so, these opening episodes suggest it is worth persevering with. This ambitious horror may well find its feet.
Grotesquerie is on Disney+ now and on Hulu in the US
