Modern True Crime Wouldn’t Exist Without This One Trailblazing, Perfect Movie

By Robert Scucci
| Published 20 seconds ago

One of the reasons I’ve distanced myself from Netflix’s true crime offerings is because they often feel disingenuous. Don’t get me wrong, there are some diamonds in the rough, like My Father, the BTK Killer, but for every banger like that, there’s also a ton of content that basically says, “Look at Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy, they’re so attractive, smart, and awesome! You’ll watch a 10-episode miniseries on them if we get somebody handsome enough to do the reenactments.” Personally, I prefer my true crime in the same vein as Forensic Files, a series I’ve watched all 406 episodes of multiple times.

Craving a solid procedural piece, I decided to finally check out what’s known as the best true crime documentary of all time, which just so happens to be credited as the film that popularized the genre as we know and love it today, 1988’s The Thin Blue Line. Admittedly, I slept on this one until just this week, and I’m just as disappointed with myself for not watching it sooner. Tubi, in its infinite glory, gave me easy access to the documentary, and now I feel whole. 

Written and directed by Errol Morris, The Thin Blue Line is a top-tier exploration of a criminal justice system that becomes a dangerous combination of corrupt, complicit, and incompetent when you look at the case it’s unpacking: the wrongful conviction of Randall Dale Adams, a man whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A Slam-Dunk Case Turned Total Disgrace

Private investigator Errol Morris spent three years making his case and documenting his findings in what would ultimately become The Thin Blue Line. The case in question, the 1976 murder of Dallas police officer Robert Wood, should have been a slam-dunk case on paper. The murderer, David Harris, was a 16-year-old psychopath who not only had access to an arsenal of weapons, but was also in the middle of a crime spree when the murder occurred, committing a string of robberies on his way home from the routine traffic stop that resulted in Wood’s murder. Heck, the next day, he bragged to all of his friends that he murdered a cop, as if it were some kind of rite of passage.

Caught in the crosshairs of this murder investigation was 27-year-old Randall Dale Adams, who was traveling to California from Ohio with his brother and stopped in Dallas to get some rest on Thanksgiving night. That Saturday, when his car ran out of gas, he was picked up by David Ray Harris, who, unbeknownst to Randall, was driving a stolen car. As the story goes, the two spent the day together, drank some beers, smoked some pot, and hit up a drive-in theater before going their separate ways.

Later that evening, Robert Wood was shot three times before David Ray Harris fled the scene and continued his crime spree. Randall Dale Adams wasn’t even in the car with him, but several eyewitness reports placed him at the crime scene. Adams was ultimately convicted of the crime after spending, in his words, about 15 minutes with Dr. James Grigson (also known as Dr. Death), the psychiatrist doubling as an expert witness who claimed with a hundred percent certainty that Randall would kill again. In his mind, the smoking gun was the lack of remorse Adams exhibited for the crime he didn’t commit.

Additionally, the state of Texas was all about carrying out due process so long as doing so meant somebody would get the electric chair. Eyewitnesses all piled on Adams, but as the documentary points out, many did so in bad faith. The prevailing theory surrounding Adams’ conviction is that he was old enough to receive the death penalty, while Harris, who would continue being a dangerous criminal over the next decade, was still a minor, meaning no death penalty.

The documentary takes a deep dive into the case, breaking down the prosecution, defense, sentencing, and appeals process while bringing in all the key players who sealed Adams’ fate before they even heard the whole story. As the film progresses, it becomes crystal clear that they already had their own version of events made up in their heads, and this was the outcome they wanted.

Blue Line? More Like Blue Print! 

Though Errol Morris didn’t know it at the time, he created the template and gold standard for the modern true crime procedural. His approach, which seems like standard fare now, was ingenious at the time. His method of storytelling involved dramatized reenactments of Wood’s murder based on eyewitness accounts, fully intending to show viewers at home just how many holes existed in those stories when scrutinized. Adams, who maintained his innocence the entire time, would ultimately have his conviction overturned in 1989, after serving 12 years in prison.

The Thin Blue Line got its name from Dallas County Judge Don Metcalfe, who famously said of the police, “The police are a thin blue line that separates the public from anarchy. The line is supposed to be honest … and you’ve made a mockery of that.” The central thesis of Morris’ documentary is that when a system is broken at its foundation, innocent men will pay the price. Thanks to his investigative work, Morris did what no law enforcement official on the case could do, which was find justice not just for Adams, but for Wood, who died in the line of duty when he pulled David Ray Harris over to tell him his taillight was out. 

If you’re a Forensic Files junkie like me and want to see how cold, hard facts get manipulated by the powers that be to fit a political agenda, The Thin Blue Line is essential viewing. It’s a masterclass in reading between the lines in pursuit of the truth, and in this case, the truth saved an innocent life from death row while helping expose the real culprit, who was pretty much dead to rights but didn’t fit the narrative.

As of this writing, The Thin Blue Line is streaming for free on Tubi.