Should I Marry A Murderer? (2026)

True crime documentaries have become so common that it’s increasingly difficult for one to distinguish itself. At this point, it isn’t enough to present a shocking crime or an unbelievable headline. Audiences have seen plenty of those. The documentaries that stick with me are the ones that go beyond the case itself and spend time exploring the psychology of the people caught in the middle. That’s what initially drew me to Should I Marry a Murderer?

Let’s be honest, though. The title is doing a lot of heavy lifting.

“Should I Marry a Murderer?” isn’t exactly a question most people expect to wrestle with in their daily lives. My immediate reaction was probably the same as everyone else’s: I feel like I already know the answer. Apparently, there was enough of a story behind that question to justify an entire documentary series, so naturally I had to find out what actually happened.

One thing I appreciated almost immediately is that the documentary wasn’t quite what I expected. Based on the title, I assumed this would be another story about someone discovering that their seemingly perfect partner was secretly leading a violent double life. Instead, the circumstances are much more complicated than that.

Without venturing into spoiler territory, the case centers around what is presented as an accidental killing. Rather than focusing exclusively on the death itself, the documentary becomes much more interested in everything that follows. Questions of loyalty, deception, self preservation, and the consequences of trying to protect someone you love gradually take center stage. In many ways, the cover up becomes more psychologically fascinating than the original crime.

That shift in focus gives the series a different feel than many recent true crime documentaries. Instead of asking, “Who committed the crime?” it spends more time asking, “How does someone become entangled in a situation that continues to spiral further out of control?” Those are often the stories I find most compelling because they explore ordinary people making increasingly complicated decisions under extraordinary circumstances.

The emotional center of the documentary is the woman whose relationship ultimately places her in the middle of the entire case. What makes her story particularly effective is that she documented an enormous portion of her life herself. There are countless videos, selfies, and personal recordings that allow viewers to experience events almost alongside her rather than simply hearing someone recount them years later.

I’ll admit, at first I found myself thinking, “Does every single moment really need to be recorded?”

Then I realized those recordings are exactly what elevates the documentary.

In most true crime series, we’re forced to reconstruct emotions through interviews and hindsight. Here, we get to watch those emotions unfold in real time. We see excitement gradually become uncertainty, uncertainty evolve into fear, and confidence slowly give way to self doubt. The footage creates an intimacy that would have been impossible to manufacture after the fact.

The audio recordings are especially effective. Knowing that someone had the instinct to preserve conversations and moments that would later become incredibly significant adds another layer of authenticity to the story. Rather than relying exclusively on investigators or journalists to explain what happened, the documentary allows the people living through it to speak for themselves.

It’s easy to sit comfortably on the outside of a story like this and wonder why someone didn’t leave sooner, ask more questions, or recognize warning signs. The documentary doesn’t excuse questionable decisions, but it does illustrate how gradually people’s perspectives can change when they’re emotionally invested in someone. Relationships rarely unravel all at once. More often, they erode through a series of compromises that each seem manageable in isolation until, eventually, the situation looks completely different from where it began.

That gradual progression is captured remarkably well here.

Where the documentary loses a little momentum is in its pacing.

At three episodes, I couldn’t help feeling that the material was stretched further than necessary. There were several points where interviews revisited information that had already been covered, and certain emotional beats were repeated often enough that they began losing some of their impact. That’s become a fairly common criticism of modern streaming documentaries, and Should I Marry a Murderer? isn’t entirely immune to that trend.

The story itself is compelling enough that I remained invested, but I do think a tighter edit would have made the experience even stronger. Sometimes saying less allows the most important moments to land with greater force.

One aspect I was genuinely grateful for was the ending. Recent true crime documentaries often leave me immediately reaching for my phone because the case is still unfolding or the filmmakers stop just short of explaining what ultimately happened. There’s something frustrating about investing several hours into a story only to realize you still need to Google the conclusion afterward.

The documentary does a solid job of providing closure and tying together the major threads of the story. While life is rarely as neat as fiction, I appreciated walking away feeling like I understood the outcome rather than feeling like I’d only watched half the story.

Overall, I found Should I Marry a Murderer? to be a worthwhile addition to Netflix’s growing true crime catalog. It’s not the most groundbreaking documentary I’ve seen, and I do think it overstays its welcome by at least an episode’s worth of material. Even so, the remarkable amount of firsthand footage, the psychological complexity of the central relationship, and the satisfying sense of resolution make it easy to recommend for anyone who enjoys true crime.