Primetime (2026)

Robert Pattinson is on a roll this year. With his lead role in The Drama and a major supporting role in The Odyssey already under his belt, and with Dune: Part III still on the horizon, one of his most anticipated performances of the year was his portrayal of Chris Hansen, onetime host of Dateline specials entitled To Catch a Predator (contrary to the film’s depiction, it was never a self-contained, weekly series). Directed by Spermworld & Some Kind of Heaven helmer Lance Oppenheim, the film takes place during To Catch a Predator’s highest cultural saturation point, the mid-aughties, in the lead-up to the fateful day when Hansen and his crew’s participation in a botched arrest resulted in a man’s suicide.

(Please note: what follows is a summary of the narrative of the film, not a fully factual accounting of any real person’s history.) A decade after a trip to South Asia resulted in Hansen discovering the remains of countless children who had been trafficked from villages in the region, he finds himself haunted by this failure to save them. In the aftermath of the September 11th attacks and the resulting national hysteria, the “War on Terror” is in full swing abroad, personified in Stone Phillips reporting from Afghanistan, and at home, in the form of Hansen’s personal crusade to entrap and pillory child predators on national television, the town square stocks of the twenty-first century. Aspiring actor Dan Plum (Skyler Gisondo), believing that he’s auditioning for Dateline’s reenactment segments with the sole intent of getting an official credit so he can join the Screen Actor’s Guild and get his union card, learns that he will actually be used as the “nubile” bait to lure sexual predators into Hansen’s carefully laid trap. Behind the scenes of To Catch a Predator, tensions are brewing between ratings-chasing producer Andie Bender (Merritt Wever) and slimy cyber-vigilante Xavier Von Erck (Matthew Maher), the founder of the Perverted Justice website that Hansen partnered with for To Catch a Predator. Also along for the wild ride is Del (musician Phoebe Bridgers), another decoy whose youthful androgyny allows her to play both young girls and boys.

On his very first day, Dan is traumatized when one of the predators (Jonathan Lipnicki) immediately exposes himself and puts whipped cream on his private parts before Hansen can enter the room. Andie, still distracted by running the show while Hansen confronts the man, half-heartedly congratulates Dan on his performance while also giving him some kind of medication for “migraines,” setting up one of the film’s primary themes: who is the real predator here? This has been a source of discussion online in the months leading up to the film’s release, as conservative reactionaries have painted “liberal Hollywood” as releasing a film intended to demonize a man that many see as a positive force (despite the lack of actual legal consequences for the majority of the predators caught). Although the events of Hansen’s life are remixed in order to make a point about the man’s questionable ethics (Hansen’s personal life falls apart when his wife, played by Anna Faris, learns of an affair, which did not happen until 2011, long after the 2006/7 time frame of the film, and conflates reporting Hansen did about sweatshops in India with one about sex trafficking in Cambodia), I’d argue that it creates a portrait that is more flattering to Hansen than most would believe. We get a clear, understandable demonstration of what the stakes are to him, and while the real-life Hansen has been quoted as saying that he sleeps well at night free of any guilt over his contribution to the suicide of Bill Conradt, Pattinson’s Hansen is clearly shaken, humanizing him in a way that the real-life Hansen’s own account does not.

He’s no hero, of course; there are none here. Despite telling Dan that the credit he should be getting for his role in the To Catch a Predator enterprise is “hero,” it’s clear from the very beginning that the people with boots on the ground are all in it for their own glory. Sure, Hansen has personified the evil of sexual predation into a cave-dwelling monster that he sees lurking in the bushes, but we get a clear picture that he sees himself as “Chris Hansen of NBC” before he sees himself as anything else, including a husband or a father; he even answers the phone for his wife with his full name and affiliation. He has no qualms about showing a rough cut of an episode to his very young sons, even waking them up in the middle of the night to play the tape for them, and his increasing excitement about getting To Catch a Predator into primetime and competing against ABC’s ratings juggernaut Lost shows that he’s more interested in chasing Nielsen numbers than perverts and pedophiles. That carries over to the rest of the crew, all of whom are given the opportunity to choose to do something more meaningful and positive with their lives but (other than Del, who walks away when she feels that the team has crossed a moral line) choose not to. Hansen meets a man on a plane (Creed Bratton) who expresses his admiration for what Hansen is doing and wishes that he could kill every person that Predator entraps, which Hansen finds off-putting, but there’s ultimately very little difference between that man and Van Erck, whose arguably positive intentions are overshadowed by his compulsions. Andie is given the chance to jump ship  to a different candid camera show that creates scenarios in which normal people can rise to the occasion and intervene when they see someone being harmed (What Would You Do?, with John Quiñones), and although she is tempted, she still decides to stay with Hansen and crew. The last we see of her, she’s staring at the blood splatter from a suicide painted on the interior of a house window and claiming that she can still find a way to make this into compelling television.

Ultimately, Dan does end up getting what he wants, his SAG card, but only after leaving the show. Hansen may be our main character here, but he’s static and unchanging, while Dan is the person who is more dynamic. The question of who is predatory and who is preyed upon comes through most clearly in his story, as he begins as an innocent who falls under Hansen’s control. The older man inarguably grooms him. He buys the seemingly underage Dan alcohol at the hotel bar, plays catch with him and compares the boy to his own children, gives the kid jewelry, allows his associate to give Dan drugs, and masterminds the metaphorical machinery that requires Dan to perform youthfulness, innocence, and hairless prepubescence. Each action has a purpose, of course, and doesn’t seem out of the ordinary in isolation, but that’s the point. Predation doesn’t always look like sending explicit messages online, and fearmongering about internet predators deflects attention away from the more common form of grooming, which is usually done in person and by someone that the victim knows and trusts. Prevention of both requires parental supervision, and Hansen’s representation as a largely absent and uninvolved father shows that his obsession with fighting a moral war (for everyone to see and praise) makes him exactly the kind of parent whose children fall victim to the evil that he’s supposedly opposing. 

Hansen’s war was largely unsuccessful, as we can see now living in the world he helped create. Fewer than half of the men who were lured by Hansen and team ever faced prosecution, since the evidence against them was inadmissible due to how much To Catch a Predator skirted the borders of legality. For all the hunts for a “whale” to take down, there was an actual gigantic cabal of elite pedophiles and pederasts active during that time period with massive paper trails, and there’s an argument to be made that making these predators seem pathetic, dim-witted enough to fall for the sting operations, and easily apprehendable contributed to the fact that members of that cabal were (and still are, within our government) operating with impunity. It certainly didn’t put an end to online predation, especially given that it’s moved from shadowy corners of the internet where unsuspecting youth could theoretically be lured into a kidnapping or assault to front-page misogyny that has rotted the hearts and souls of an entire generation of young men. The film doesn’t hold your hand as it traces that line, but it’s there.

Early reviews of the film were marked by praise for Pattinson’s performance, and he is quite strong here. He makes Hansen a human being, even if the portrait is of a man whose quest was in vain. The MVP here, however, is Wever, who does a lot with the comparatively little she’s given. If you’re looking for a scathing indictment of a man whose televised windmill tilting and desire to create a primetime pillory had little real world positives, you won’t find that here, nor will you find a flattering portrait of a reporter whose secondary goals were praiseworthy. You’re also not, as the reactionaries would like you to believe, going to see a story about how the abyss gazed back. This is about people who were given every opportunity to change course, whether it be stepping away from the keyboard and getting psychological help for their illness, backing away from the limelight to have a real relationship with their family, or finding a way to do their work in a way that didn’t cost them their soul, and chose not to. Grim stuff.

-Mark “Boomer” Redmond

Lagniappe Podcast: Spermworld (2024)

For this lagniappe episode of The Swampflix Podcast, Boomer & Brandon discuss Lance Oppenheim’s compulsive sperm donorship documentary Spermworld (2024).

00:00 Welcome
01:31 Elevator to the Gallows (1958)
10:29 Double Indemnity (1944)
18:10 Black God, White Devil (1964)
27:15 Lifeboat (1944)
37:00 Spellbound (1945)
47:00 The Paradine Case (1947)
1:02:13 Rope (1948)
1:08:39 It Ends (2026)
1:13:10 Coyote vs Acme (2026)
1:21:33 Jason and the Argonauts (1963)
1:24:32 Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma (2026)

1:41:17 Spermworld (2024)

You can stay up to date with our podcast through SoundCloud, Spotify, iTunes, TuneIn, or by following the links on this page.

– The Lagniappe Podcast Crew

Some Kind of Heaven (2021)

I’ve been watching a lot of reality competition shows over the past year, as that format is about the upper limit of what my brain can handle right now.  I particularly enjoy competition shows where contestants collaborate on art projects (especially fashion competitions), as opposed to the much more plentiful variety of shows where they compete for romantic connections.  After 15 months of burnt-out pandemic brain, I feel like I’ve completely depleted the backlog of worthwhile, currently-streaming shows that hit that exact dopamine sweet spot.  Since March of last year, I’ve watched Project Runway, Next in Fashion, Making the Cut, Legendary, Glow Up, Blown Away, America’s Next Top Model, Great British Bake-Off, Great Pottery Throwdown, Interior Design Masters, Big Flower Fight, Full Bloom, Nailed It, Making It, Haute Dog, Dragula and more spin-off series of RuPaul’s Drag Race than I care to recount.  I couldn’t tell that I was scraping the bottom of the competition show barrel until recently, though, when I found myself watching the Hulu show Exposure.  Exposure is essentially a 6-hour commercial for Samsung Galaxy smartphones, presented as a competition show for aspiring “smartphone photographers” – i.e., L.A. area Instagram hipsters.  It’s trash, and I watched the entire thing in a single weekend between hammering away at my own home renovation projects and hiding from in-the-flesh social interactions.

As vapid as Exposure is on a conceptual level, it did get me thinking a lot about the art of smartphone photography and Instagram curation.  Yes, the show was cynically designed to sell one specific brand of smartphone, but it’s also one of the few instances of popular, legitimized media I’ve seen acknowledge the labor & artistry that goes into smartphone photography.  Most of us take pictures with our phones, and most of us are atrocious at it.  Despite the democratization of the tech, there’s a highly developed skill level and shared aesthetic among the masters of the artform that most of us will never put in the time to match.  Exposure could’ve been a show entirely about the art of the selfie alone and still had plenty of formalistic challenges to cover over the course of a season.  If most of the professional photography we engage with on a daily basis is now relegated to the confines of smartphone tech and social media curation, it’s outright odd that Exposure is one of the few instances of that artistry spilling out into other, more legitimized media.  It seems inevitable that the look & feel of Instagram photography in particular would start to influence the formalist approach of proper cinema, if not only because most young cinematographers in the industry likely got their start taking photos on a commercial-grade smartphone.

Enter Some Kind of Heaven, a highly stylized documentary that owes a lot of its visual appeal to the visual language of Instagram.  A sweet, lightly surreal portrait of the largest “retirement community” in America, Some Kind of Heaven is relatively reserved in its subject & themes.  The people & setting are interesting enough to hold your attention, but it’s really the cinematography that makes it sing.  The film’s boxed-in, 4:3 aspect ratio should probably recall the studio-lot artificiality of the Old Hollywood era when the similarly squared-off Academy Ratio was basically an industry standard.  Instead, its fetishistic obsession with symmetry and its formalist, posed portraiture can’t help but feel driven by the visual language of Instagram.  As a documentary, it’s a fairly standard exercise human-interest journalism.  As an art object, it feels like an Internet Age update on Lauren Greenfield’s oeuvre, modernizing the art of formalist portraiture with an Instagram-driven sense of framing against a bizarrely artificial backdrop.  Of course, those two aspects of the film cannot be detangled from each other.  First-time director Lance Oppenheim credits editor Daniel Garber as the film’s “co-author”, and I assume he’d include cinematographer David Bolen in that sentiment as well, considering how much of its eerie, otherworldly appeal is due to its Insta-era visual slang.

There’s an obvious, blatant clash between form & content here.  While there’s a youthful modernism to the film’s post-Instagram aesthetic, the subjects being profiled live in a world populated only by the elderly.  Some Kind of Heaven is entirely contained to the sprawling “retirement community” of The Villages, FL.  The conflicts suffered by its four main interview subjects are largely specific to geriatric life: drug dependency, homelessness, loneliness, declining mental cognizance and physical health, etc.  Those conflicts just happen to play out in the surreally artificial world of The Villages, self-described as “Disney World for retirees.”  The people are recognizably real, but their playground is an extravagant illusion, which is where the film’s form & content work together in harmony.  When we look at a slickly curated Instagram feed, we know we’re seeing an authentic person abstracted & distorted by a shamelessly inauthentic artform.  That exact clash is echoed in this film’s fascination with how its subjects’ messy lives contrast against the fabricated surrealism of their intensely Floridian backdrop.  Some Kind of Heaven makes for stiff competition with Barb & Star Go to Vista Del Mar for the most Floridian film of the year, and it didn’t have to build sets to achieve that status.  It merely stumbles into a pre-existing alternate reality to gawk at the set dressing already in place.

As far as I can tell, Some Kind of Heaven was filmed on professional-grade digital movie cameras, not smartphones.  It’s a little reductive for me to tie its meticulous visual artistry so closely to Instagram formalism, then, but I can’t help making the connection.  If bottom-of-the-barrel competition shows like Exposure are going to be the only legitimized media outlets that recognize the artistry of cell phone photography, we’re going to lose sight of what makes this specific era of photography visually distinct from better-respected modes of the past.  It’s only a matter of time before the chaotic irreverence and rapid-fire edits of TikTok overtake the Insta generation’s cinematic moment, so it’s worthwhile to consider which films are actually preserving & engaging with the aesthetic while it lasts.  Of the few Insta-driven movies I can think of—Ingrid Goes West, Assassination Nation, Woodshock, etc.—this might be the most visually striking of the batch.  There’s something wonderfully bizarre about that achievement being tied to such an explicitly geriatric subject, since Instagram celebrity has been so closely tied to youthful beauty since its inception & popularization.  And, hey, if anyone out there wants to borrow my idea for a reality competition show about the art of the selfie you can have it for free.  I need more mind-numbing bullshit to watch on the weekends anyway.

-Brandon Ledet