Netflix’s sharp look at the murder of Meredith Kercher has no big revelations, but is an expansive and detailed account

Thanks to her extreme representation within the media, Amanda Knox – the former US student twice convicted and twice acquitted for the murder of British roommate Meredith Kercher in Italy – has sometimes seemed like a villain invented by a screenwriter. The sexually deviant femme fatale with an appetite for blood.

Knox has even been the subject of a Lifetime movie, with Hayden Panettiere in the lead role. But in this sharply directed Netflix documentary, one of the key aims is exploring behind the headlines, the accusations and the slut-shaming.

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To achieve this, film-makers Brian McGinn and Rod Blackhurst have a fairly impressive arsenal at their disposal, including impressive access to all of the key players, including Knox. The film, which often plays out like a narrative thriller, takes us back to the murder of Kercher in 2007 and does so with remarkable, and uncomfortable, use of police footage of the bloodied bedroom. It takes us through the ensuing media outrage, the false accusations, the trial and appeal, with contributions from those who were there, whether as witnesses or participants.

Through tireless research and a patchwork of audio and video footage, obtained with extraordinary determination, McGinn and Blackhurst have tried to assemble the ultimate account of a familiar and persistent story. But it is more than just a true crime documentary – the pair are keen to explore the role that the media, and wider societal stereotypes, had in affecting the case. They are handed something of a pre-wrapped Christmas gift in Nick Pisa, a journalist for the Daily Mail, who gleefully recounts his coverage of the story, becoming a one-man symbol of how shameful that coverage became. He brags about seeing his byline on the front page (“It’s like having sex”) while comparing his work to that of Woodward and Bernstein.

We also hear from Perugian prosecutor Giuliano Mignini, a man who similarly allowed the intensity of the case to affect his ego, as well as Knox’s ex-boyfriend Rafaelle Sollecito. But it’s hearing from Knox herself that’s clearly of most appeal, and she is given ample opportunity to explain her story from beginning to end. She’s a conflicting presence, at times sympathetic and at others, too earnest. The style of the film is often so slick that it becomes hard to distinguish genuine emotion, as the interviews seem a little over-stylised.

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But the film remains fascinating, highlighting a highly unusual case. It was one of the first examples of the media using social media profiles as “evidence” (the nickname “Foxy Knoxy” originated from Knox’s MySpace) and was a disgraceful example of widespread “slut-shaming” before that phrase was invented. There’s also a wealth of well-sourced footage, from Italian street reactions to each verdict to Donald Trump saying we should boycott Italy over the trial.

Some might be frustrated about the lack of new information concerning what was already a well-documented case. But the film adds depth to what we know and refrains from a third act faux-discovery, as in Bart Layton’s The Imposter. It’s a carefully balanced and frightening film with Knox a terrifyingly unknowable character at the grisly centre.