A series of grossly obese Dallas detectives give their version of interviews of a murder suspect. The style is amateur and uninspiring presumably filmed as an information film for local detectives. If the pace were any slower it would be funny.
Justice on film is hard to capture, and The Thin Blue Line was once the gold standard. Errol Morris’s documentary about Randall Adams, wrongly convicted of murder in Texas, broke ground with stylised re-enactments and a probing eye for contradictions.
At the time, it was revolutionary: a film that didn’t just observe a miscarriage of justice but played a decisive role in exposing it. Seen today, though, its impact feels dulled. The proliferation of podcasts and docu-series on wrongful convictions has made its innovations look familiar, even routine. What once seemed dangerous and urgent now plays like an extended true-crime episode. It’s still slick and persuasive, but the thrill of discovery has gone, leaving something a little mundane.
The Thin Blue Line remains historically important, but importance doesn’t always equal excitement. Sometimes a pioneer ends up looking like the first draft of everything that followed.
Nothing more involving than a miscarriage of justice. Hard to believe this went to court let alone condemning an innocent man . The real killer has that dead behind the eyes look which is always unsettling. Rather it was more than mainly talking heads but I suppose this was an early version of its kind. A minor quibble about a very good film