Filmmaker Liz Garbus sets an ominous mood early on with a brief but powerful title sequence where we see a woman running on long stretch of road, silhouetted by the headlights of a vehicle that appears to be pursuing her, the title card pops up, followed by the words “An Unsolved American Mystery.” It’s a pretty bold move to declare to the audience that they will not find any real sense of closure in your story, especially one that is based on a true tragedy. It’s arguably the most bold thing about an otherwise fairly conventional true crime film, but it’s hauntingly effective nonetheless.
Written by Michael Werwie, adapting the book of the same name by Robert Kolker, Lost Girls explores the story of the Long Island serial killer who targeted sex workers, and left their bodies by the southern shores of Long Island. The story is told through the lens of Mari Gilbert (Amy Ryan), a working class single mother who learns of the disappearance of her estranged daughter, Shannon. She goes to Long Island, and deals with the police, alongside her two other daughters, Sherre (Thomasin McKenzie) and Sarra (Oona Laurence). However, as the investigation continues, they grow increasingly unsatisfied with the way the police handle the case.
Garbus has made a name for herself the past couple decades through her documentary work such as The Farm: Angola, USA, Love Marilyn, and What Happened, Miss Simone?, the latter of which was for Netflix, who is also behind Lost Girls, marking her first film that is a traditional narrative. The general approach she seems to be taking here is less on presenting all the information regarding an infamously unsolved case as much as it seems to be more interested in the idea of how people are effected when their loved ones are victims, and how victims are often framed in the media and by the police.
Mari is a straight shooter who isn’t afraid to say what’s on her mind, and the filmmakers use that to touch on a lot of these moments of incompetence and hypocrisy. She talks about how everyone keeps referring to Shannon as the “prostitute” or “hooker,” as if it was a relevant thing to be reported and announced on. But what I also liked about the filmmakers’ approach was the way it delved into the imperfections of someone like Mari, who is faced with things she did in the past, in regards to her relationship with Shannon. Even the way Mari initially talks about some of the other relatives of victims comes off as remarkably harsh. Based on what little I know of Mari, I’m sure the portrayal rings true enough, but more importantly, it makes the journey a more interesting one.
What sells it all is the performance from Amy Ryan, who brings the fire to the film’s engine the entire way through. You can feel every ounce of rage and sadness and regret and exhaustion on her face, and she effortlessly keeps you invested as the story moves along. The rest of the cast is all well and good, McKenzie and Laurence are strong performers, and other folks like Dean Winters, Miriam Shor, Kevin Corrigan, Gabriel Byrne bring what is required, but don’t they get as strong a characterization as Mari does. The only exception is Lola Kirke, who plays a sister of one of the victims, and what sets her apart from everyone else is the fact that she is also a sex worker, which brings a fascinating dynamic to the scenes where the family of all the victims are together.
But once it’s all said and done, I don’t think the film provides any fresh insight into the story that would’ve been much more informative in a documentary format. It’s a film that is all about bringing attention to the victims and people effected by cases like this, but in a weird way, it doesn’t necessarily do a lot to establish the characters here without relying on their connection to a terrible crime, and it certainly doesn’t tell us a lot of about the victims themselves. It’s a short watch, just about 95 minutes, and I feel like I’m about as in tune to the details and the people involved as I would be if I simply did an hour of research online.
Lost Girls doesn’t quite reinvent the wheel when it comes to these true crime movies, it covers things in the way you would expect, but for the most part, it does it well enough. Garbus captures the setting in a way that is incredibly atmospheric, with dark, Earthy colors, and dirty and unwelcoming environments that looks about as far from habitable as you can get. There’s a lot of care placed in the way the film approaches the way we talk about cases like this, and the way they are often dismissed and ignored, and by the end of it, you can’t help but feel just as frustrated as our characters. Amy Ryan is a wonderful lead, effortlessly carrying the emotional weight of the picture on her shoulders. There is a lot to like and admire about it, but you can’t help but feel that there is more to be said. Obviously, the film can’t provide the big answers, and it shouldn’t have to, but dramatically speaking, the narrative did leave me a touch frustrated and wanting so much more.