Manson's Lost Girls recap: Lifetime delves into riskier, darker territory

No one was clamoring for another depiction of nefarious cult-leader Charles Manson. He pervades pop-culture, and has been depicted — in various forms, and portrayed by various people — in earnest, realistic films (Helter Skelter, in 1976 and 2004), outlandish musicals (Live Squeaky! Die Squeaky!, which features music by Green Day frontman Billie Joe Armstrong), pedantic police procedurals (NBC’s Aquarius, starring David Duchovny), and in the early music (and surname) of shock-star Marilyn Manson. His stature as an unfortunate emblem of the counter-culture’s perceived failure was even lampooned in Thomas Pynchon’s Inherent Vice. Yet Charles Manson remains a cipher, the generic face of evil who literally has a Swastika etched into his forehead like an exploitation movie monster.

All of this puts Lifetime’s Manson’s Lost Girls in a peculiar position, as both Manson and the Lifetime brand are swaddled in longstanding preconceived notions, and the two don’t seem like a natural fit for each other. Manson is a boogyman; Lifetime a bastion of has-beens uttering entendres. But the movie, while prone to some of the network’s trappings, is an intriguing experiment for Lifetime, delving into riskier, darker territory than you’d expect (or as risky as the network is willing to go, which is like a PG-13-level of risky). It somehow almost works. Almost.

Told from Linda Kasabian’s point of view, Manson’s Lost Girls has a weird mix of MTV sheen and true-crime grit. Kasabian (MacKenzie Mauzy), who would become the key witness in the Manson Family trials, is drawn to the idyllic Spahn Ranch when her marriage falls apart. The Manson Family, portrayed by a coterie of Hollywood legacies, welcomes her with open arms. Manson’s acolytes are all pretty young things, drug-addled teens, and 20-somethings clad in sun dresses and faded denim. Kasabian, who is the only Gemini at the ranch, brings “good energy” with her. She quickly befriends Susan Atkins (Eden Brolin, related to Josh) and falls into bed with Tex Watson (Christian Madsen, related to Michael and Virginia), and is drawn to the messianic allure of Manson, whose presence permeates the first few scenes before he finally appears on screen.

Writers Matthew Tabak and Stephen Kronish and director Leslie Libman mostly eschew Kasabian’s backstory. Scant details of her pre-Manson life (concerning her daughter, whose safety was the reason she eventually left the Family) drift by like wisps of smoke. Voiceovers tell us — while music swells, joints smolder, and beautiful bodies writhe — that Kasabian, like the other girls, was confused and self-loathing, and found in Manson a reason to live. No matter what insidious things you’ve done, “Charlie will love you anyways,” Tex assures her in bed. “That’s what family’s about.”

With sallow lighting leaking through the windows like an infection, Spahn Ranch has a Texas Chainsaw Massacre vibe to it. Impressionistic young people laugh and smile and muse on Charlie’s sapience, but something sinister skulks in their words. The first 10 or 15 minutes of Manson’s Lost Girls has the nebulous form of weed haze. It’s all dusty feet and acoustic guitars and drugs on the sun-fried farm. Wreathed around a bonfire, the Family describe Manson (Jeff Ward) seductively. He’s a sort of psycho sage. As one of the girls says, the party don’t start till Charlie walks in. This particular party is at Dennis Wilson’s house. (Manson thinks his barely-there acquaintance with the Beach Boy will secure him a record deal with Columbia; it doesn’t.) When he eventually emerges from light and into the foreground, it’s as if stepping in from a dream.

The narrative proper begins, more or less, when Manson performs a song for the Family. If you didn’t know better, you might think he’s just another guitar-slinging hippie, his hair untamed and heart unfettered. Manson’s Lost Girls doesn’t dig deeply, or expound on any previous iteration of the Family, and its depicts the Family less like people and more like malleable bodies for Manson to manipulate, but it does use its sumptuous visuals, and its attractive cast, to conjure a sensation of that longed-for endless summer. Everyone’s singing and smoking and having sex, as the soundtrack spins the iconic songs that now define the ’60s, from CCR to The Turtles. The pedestrian PG-13 sex scenes don’t have much of an impact, but — in a TV-friendly kind of way — reflect the way Manson seduced everyone with promises of love and family. Charlie, as they affectionately call him, initially has the appeal of a young, enigmatic possibly crazy heartthrob, someone culled from early years of The Real World, before he starts stabbing people with swords.

Manson’s theory on Helter Skelter, a purported race war inspired by the Beatles’ White Album track of the same name, comes up out of nowhere early in the movie. Only Gary Hinman (Christopher Redman, not related to the rapper) seems to find the notion silly, and he laughs it off, saying he doesn’t think Paul’s proto-metal ode to a slide is about a race war. Gary will later be stabbed to death by the Family.

At dinner, Bobby Beausoleil (Garrett Coffey) takes an extra serving of peas while Charlie is talking about Helter Skelter, which spurs Charlie to ask if Bobby thinks he’s special. Gary quickly offers to give Bobby his serving of peas, but Charlie dismisses this, saying it’s not the point. Charlie then abruptly calms down and says to Gary, “I heard your pa died.” Beat. “Did he leave you any money?”

For all his hysteria, this Manson is, in essence, still a petty conman who wants to be rich and famous.

In the second two-thirds of Manson’s Lost Girls, events occur quicker, with Manson and his girls becoming significantly more bizarre after the hazy first half-hour. Manson’s record deal falls through, to his surprise and violent chagrin, and he pulls a gun on the bearer of bad news before deciding a crowbar to his car windshield will suffice. While the Family watches the moon landing on TV, Manson gets angry and says it’s a fake, and the government should be focusing on the encroaching race war instead of distracting people with artificial space exploration. When one of the family members laughs, he sends her to the wall and picks up a knife. He tells her to stand still, cocks his arm, and pretends to throw the knife at her. Everyone laughs.

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When Susan sings one of Charlie’s songs, to “surprise” him, Charlie gets furious and suggests that maybe she should get the record deal instead of him. Manson becomes increasingly volatile, but the scenes of violence and terror — robbing a trailer-home dweller, shooting Lotsapoppa, recording home movies of the girls firing assault weapons into the woods – feel light and fleeting, dissipating as quickly as the whorls of smoke the girls exhale. Maybe it’s because Manson is by now so deeply entrenched in the cultural consciousness, or maybe it’s because no one in Manson’s Lost Girls feels real. When Bobby and Susan (Mary Brunner has been flensed from the narrative) are told to kill Gary, the inevitability of this well-documented and analyzed event feels lackluster. Bobby stabs him, Susan holds a pillow over his face and then scrawls “Political piggy” on his wall, but nothing stays with you. It’s all so impersonal.

The Manson Family paranoia, and the film’s narrative, culminates, of course, in the Tate-LaBianca murders. The murder of Sharon Tate, Jay Sebring, Abigail Folger, Wojciech Frykowski, and Steven Parent lasts maybe a minute in total. It’s a tremendously tough scene to handle, and Libman chooses to film it quickly, as if the Family doesn’t yet understand the significance of what they’re doing. Two people are stabbed slasher-movie style by the pool, squelching sound effects and all, while Tate is killed inside. We watch from the outside, as if peering into a glass-encased display as she’s chased down and thrown to the floor. We never see her face, and her cries of “My baby!” are muffled by glass, which is promptly sprayed with blood. The next day, reports of the murders flood the TV. Susan Atkins’ reaction – “That was Sharon Tate?” – is a mix of bewilderment and excitement, and she soon compiles a list of famous people to kill, including Elvis and Sandy Koufax.

Manson’s Lost Girls (and boys, but Manson’s Lost Boys sounds more like a gay porn parody) skims the LaBianca murders and subsequent arrests and doesn’t really ever try to explain why Linda Kasabian chooses to leave the family and testify against them. The girls all meld together, one amorphous clan to be molded by Manson’s mania. Maybe that’s the point. It moves fluidly but passes by without anything lingering. It comes down fast but doesn’t break you.