Gunther's Millions is the ultimate "And then you won't believe what happened next!" Netflix true crime docu-series that uncovers an interesting story, then drags it out to absurd lengths, taunting you with manipulative edits and music cues, mostly in an effort to keep the algorithm running rather than tell a compelling story. It's an annoying four-part series that will have you screaming, "Oh, here we go!" from the couch, but the fact is that once you start, you're probably done. This is the TV equivalent of opening a bag of Wise Honey BBQ Chips for "just one bite", and then finding out you've gobbled it all down and have horrible indigestion.
The director and co-producer, Aurelien Leturgie and Emilie Dumay, do not exactly come from the world of elite cinema. Past credits include Hollywood Girls 2, Shark Week, and field segments from The Amazing Race. And yet! It's very possible that Netflix has the next Tiger King-esque hit on its hands, because there's an undeniable water-chilling hook here. Gunther's Millions begins with the world's richest dog, turns into a bizarre Italian-Floridian sex cult, and then drops a bombshell on the audience with a record-breaking, scratch-worthy twist.
Creators: Emilie Dumay, Aurelien Leturgie
Star: Lee Dahlberg
A German countess, involved in the pharmaceutical industry, died rich and without heirs. In fact, her only son, Gunther (often called "Gunther the Kid") committed suicide at age 20, a longtime victim of acute depression. But she loved and cared for her dog, also named Gunther, and when he died she entrusted her friend, an Italian woman named Maria Gabriella Gentili, to care for the dog. In fact, they set up a trust fund, which later created a business organization run by Gentili's son, Maurizio Mian. His job was to keep the canine happy and "surrounded by the things that inspire him," which meant mansions, swimming pools, beautiful young men and women in bathing suits, and pop music.
The Gunther Corporation was prepared to make a killing on other investments like football teams, real estate, dog breeding, and "side businesses" (possibly pornography, but this is kept vague), as long as they stuck to the main goal of the deal, keeping Gunther (and his descendants) happy. This meant keeping a team of yes-men and yes-women with weird vibes like Kato Kaelin (or Glass Onion's Derol) on the payroll. A personable gentleman has been "Gunther's spokesman" for over 20 years, and his main function seems to be, above all, maintaining his tan. Good job if you can get it.
However, over time, the mission slipped: the real goal was to promote concepts of mental health and to search for the key to objective joy, as was the wish of Gunther the boy. This meant that, once the Italian group moved into a Miami compound, a rotating cast of fit, young and beautiful aspiring artists would move in and "rehearse." It's not clear rehearsing for what, exactly, but it's all videotaped, and the kids seem to be enjoying themselves, especially when the dog enters the frame.
Documentaries used to be easy: a shot of a guy with facial hair driving his car; a kind of Expo where people behave strangely; a pop-punk song that's a bit over the top; and a failed attempt to establish legacy celebrity. That's what I liked: grainy film footage, sound blurring, shooting on a windy day. Ideally, it would win an award from an academy you've never heard of. Michael Moore appeared at one point in a large T-shirt and hat.
This is no longer the case. Documentaries are big business now, with budgets and prestige. This has ruined documentaries for a cultural cycle. The language of the documentary has changed because the audience has changed: everyone who willingly appears in a documentary now knows that they are one brief sound bite away from being Fyre Festival Bottled Water Guy or Tiger King's Carole Baskin. Essentially, documentaries used to have a dash of homework, some librarian nonsense, and now they're for everyone. This is good in one sense and very, very bad in another. It's going to be impossible to make a true documentary in an era where millions of people are watching them on Netflix, because everyone who's in it, everyone who's on camera, smoothing their shirt and asking if their microphone is working, knows that are this. close to being the first meme of 2023.
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