True crime as a genre is showing absolutely no sign of decreasing in popularity.

There have been many articles dedicated to picking apart the draw of these type of shows. Some argue that we are feeding a desire to learn about the darkest parts of the human psyche, while others say that we could be arming ourselves with survival tools in order to avoid becoming victims ourselves. There's even a theory that a penchant for true crime could be a tool for processing trauma.

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Related: What the response to The Ted Bundy Tapes says about our relationship with true crime

Whatever the motive, shows like Making a Murderer and The Ted Bundy Tapes are capturing the imaginations of internet sleuths everywhere and, as such, TV giants are working harder than ever before to satisfy that growing appetite. Left, right and centre it seems that cold cases are being given the documentary treatment and gruesome murders are being retold.

But when the on-screen twists and turns come at the expense of the series' real-life subjects, there's the obvious and fairly well debated dilemma of whether an interest in true crime is ethical.

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Making a Murderer, for example, documents the 2005 murder of Teresa Halbach and the subsequent trial and conviction of Steven Avery and his nephew Brendan Dassey.

The first 10 episodes, released in 2014, incorporated courtroom footage from the trial and testimonies from the defence team, the prosecution and Avery's family. What was missing, many argued, was attention to the victim (although it should be noted that the filmmakers did approach members of her family, and they declined).

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Avery and Dassey each maintain that they had no involvement in Halbach's death. And when you also factor in Avery's previous wrongful conviction (for a different crime) and the looming questions over the evidence, it soon becomes clear that the film has a different focus.

When Making a Murderer first hit Netflix there was an almost instantaneous outpouring of outrage from those who believed in Avery and Dassey's innocence. In fact, an internet petition requesting that the president (Obama at the time) pardon them got so many signatures that it sparked a response from the White House.

While the first season detailed the (sometimes murky) road to the conviction of its subjects, the second transcended the case in question to explore the workings of the American justice system as a whole.

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With post-conviction attorney Kathleen Zellner offering her no-nonsense approach to re-testing the prosecutions' original theories, the second batch of Making a Murderer episodes raised many more questions regarding the evidence in the case.

While rehashing and dissecting the details of the crime could be seen as disrespectful to the victim and their family, there's certainly an argument to be made for the fact that if a miscarriage of justice has occurred then it deserves our attention. What's more, with talk of prison reform never far away from the agenda in America, it's worth exploring possible weaknesses in the system through the eyes of specific cases – and you'd be hard pushed to get more high profile than a Netflix series.

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Filmed after the fact, Making a Murderer Part 2 also followed both Steven Avery and Brendan Dassey as they worked through their respective appeals – documenting the exhaustive and, at times, questionable process as it exists in the United States.

It's a common theme for true-crime shows. The 2016 documentary 13th, which was awarded a BAFTA and nominated for an Oscar, was 100 minutes of poignant reflection on the state of America's prisons. Explored through the ingrained history of racial inequality in the US, the focus was very much on the fact that there is a disproportionate number of incarcerated African-Americans.

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3 1/2 Minutes, 10 Bullets, released in 2015, reflected on the tragic story of 17-year-old Jordan Davis, an unarmed black teenager who died at the hands of a middle-aged white man in Florida. What had started as a disagreement over loud music soon escalated into the premature end of a life.

The documentary brought attention to Florida’s controversial Stand Your Ground law. Michael Dunn, the man that pulled the trigger, argued that he had acted in self-defence because he thought he saw a weapon in the teenager's car (investigators recovered no evidence of this).

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So true-crime documentaries and podcasts can offer commentary on both social issues and the intricate workings of criminal justice. In doing so they can tackle, educate and question complex systems in a palatable and engaging way, sparking conversation and debate.

The fact that a documentary series can leave such a lasting impression on its viewer, helping to shape opinion of not only the cases featured but the wider systems that seek justice for them, show them to be a powerful tool for change.

But this influence itself could open up an entirely different can of ethical worms.

No matter how balanced a series tries to be, there is always the issue of impartiality, particularly when the material is so emotive.

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In The Staircase, for example, the question of Michael Peterson's guilt is still up for debate for many viewers, despite the terms of his Alford plea (a guilty plea with which a defendant asserts his innocence but admits that sufficient evidence exists to convict him) and the fact he always protested his innocence.

Filmmaker Jean-Xavier de Lestrade had unprecedented access to Peterson's camp throughout the entire filming process. Spanning some 16 years, The Staircase followed every twist and turn in the case, from his initial arrest right through to his appeal for a retrial. The production team had constant access to Michael, his family and his defense team – which, of course, could raise questions around whether or not the result is something of a one-sided view.

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It's something that de Lestrade himself has acknowledged. Speaking to Digital Spy and other media, he conceded that Michael Peterson was both "very articulate" and "smart", while also accepting that "[Peterson] tried to seduce the camera".

"But I always try to keep the right distance between him and me," he said. "I never forgot that he was the subject."

Going a step further, de Lestrade even pointed out that the very presence of the camera crew may have had a subliminal influence on the key players of the court case as well.

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Related: The Staircase director reveals what he wasn't allowed to film

"Maybe they will work harder on the case because we're shooting everything," he said. "Maybe the judge will be more cautious about all the decisions, and the prosecution... Obviously we didn't change the decision of the jury, of course."

This undoubtedly brings about a new variable that must be considered by a true-crime viewer, particularly when drawing conclusions as weighty as someone's perceived innocence or guilt.

An audience should also be mindful of the fact that, above everything, true crime is still a form of entertainment. While half the intrigue might come from playing armchair detective and piecing together all of the evidence presented on screen, we can't possibly hope to have access to each and every piece of information (and even if we did, without law-enforcement experience and a law degree, we wouldn't necessarily know how to apply it all anyway).

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A perfect example of the damage that mishandling information can cause is present in the case of Madeleine McCann.

Netflix's recent series The Disappearance of Madeleine McCann was steeped in controversy from the get-go.

Although it had its flaws, the eight part series did serve to shine a spotlight on one key point: the level of inaccurate information that has circled the case, often perpetuated by exploitative media coverage and further fuelled by internet sleuths.

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When incomplete DNA information found its way into the press, unsubstantiated allegations started to circulate. Further fuelled by the rise of internet forums and, later, micro-blogging websites such as Twitter, uncorroborated information and personal opinion were able to spread even further.

At a time when 'fake news' is a buzz term and viewer engagement with the true-crime genre is at its peak, this perspective is particularly instructive.

By its very nature, true crime is always going to have moral implications. We'd argue that it has its place, but that it really comes down to how it is handled.

Does it fall into the trap of being gratuitous or exploitative? Or does it serve a wider purpose, such as investigating a perceived injustice or serving up new facts relating to a case that previously went unsolved?

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Related: Was Brendan Dassey's confession on Making a Murderer coerced?

Does it offer new insight or a deeper level of understanding to the viewer, whether relating to the mind of the person that committed the crime or the imprint of trauma on a victim?

These are all questions that we should be asking as we continue to consume this type of media. If we want to act as amateur detectives, it's time we bore some of the responsibilities too.

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