Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son About His Father (2009)

If a story is fascinating, a documentary telling it can never be bad. The style can be off-putting and the tone can be inappropriate, but the story will be gripping enough to make the project worthwhile. Kurt Kuenne’s film Dear Zachary tells a story so infuriating and unbelievable that it would feel contrived if it were the basis for a Hollywood script. I have my gripes with Kuenne’s direction, but the sheer force of his terrible story is undeniable. This film could be one of the most powerful experiences that cinema could ever give to you. It might be one of the most manipulative. It might be one of the most upsetting. Whatever your reaction, you won’t ever forget it.

Kuenne tells the story of his childhood friend, Andrew Bagby, in the form of a video letter to Bagby’s son: Zachary. From the offset, profound familial love mixes with tragedy, as Kuenne quickly establishes that Andrew was a kind and loving man who was murdered at the age of 28. A grand collage of talking head interviews with Andrew’s friends and family are full of nothing but admiration and respect. In endless short clips, uncles, co-workers, university friends, ex-girlfriends, cousins and grandparents praise Andrew and his achievements again and again. He is shown to be funny, self-deprecating, patient, kind and cheeky. He becomes a doctor and is appreciated by his patients and respected by his colleagues, developing a positive reputation for himself by spotting early signs of cancer and tending to sick children. His parents couldn’t be more proud and his community couldn’t be more grateful. Kuenne’s film is a supreme love letter before it quickly switches into an overwhelming tragedy.

Between the praise and heartfelt reminiscences, the facts of Andrew’s murder are discussed in detail. Kuenne’s editing is so rapid that it’s disorientating, listing the location of Andrew’s body, the make of the gun that killed him, the location of his wounds and the time of his death with lightning speed. Among the smiling choir of friends and family, a sinister figure is introduced in snippets of home video. She is Shirley Turner, Andrew’s girlfriend. Each talking head makes it clear that they didn’t trust Shirley, and that she didn’t fit into Andrew’s happy life. We’re told that she was demanding, incessant and awkward, a twice-divorced mother who was twelve years older than Andrew. After Bagby broke up with Shirley, she drove for 16 hours to meet up with him and plead for a second chance. The next day, Andrew was found dead. A wealth of evidence points directly to Shirley’s guilt.

This is when the film shifts. Shirley flees America, moving to Newfoundland before announcing that she’s pregnant with Andrew’s child: Zachary. The film begins as a gushing love letter, transforms into a hyperactive true crime story and then morphs into a bizarre and nasty melodrama. Though Newfoundland begins an extradition process to return Shirley to American justice, she’s let out on bail and allowed custody of her baby as soon as he’s born. In footage so bizarre that it had me shaking my head in disbelief, Kuenne shows us the horrible decision that Andrew’s parents had to make. In order to see their grandchild, they had spend time with the prime suspect in their son’s murder. With drawn, sickly faces, Andrew’s parents swim in a pool with Shirley, they go shopping with her and they play games together: all for Zachary’s sake.

I’m not going to reveal any more details in the film’s story. There are crushing twists and shock details. Kuenne’s editing becomes even more impassioned and frenetic, responding to a crucial reveal by turning the screen blood red and aggressively shaking the image while the noise of a heart-rending scream bellows out. The focus shifts away from Andrew and Zachary and towards other figures. A political plea takes centre stage and the film’s structure morphs to take on a different purpose. Moment by moment, scene by scene, Dear Zachary works. The film’s horrible twist is an effective cinematic mechanism. Each reveal lands in the manner intended. Kuenne’s documentary shocked me, it made my heart race and it drew my full attention. I was fixated and gripped by this film. Then I thought about it.

In times of moral uncertainty over a film’s tone and use of suspense, I always find myself remembering Michael Haneke’s criticism of Schindler’s List. Referring to a scene in which a group of Jewish women are herded into the showers at a concentration camp, Haneke made his disgust clear: “the mere idea of trying to create suspense out of the question whether out of the shower head, gas is going to come or water, that to me is unspeakable”. It’s important to note that Dear Zachary was made by Andrew Bagby’s close friend and that Andrew’s parents are heavily involved throughout the film. This softens the undeniable fact that it uses a real-life tragedy for suspense, plot twists, shock reveals and cliff-hangers. It isn’t my place to pass judgement on Kuenne’s approach, as it was presumably sanctioned by those close to the victim, but it doesn’t sit right with me as a viewer.

Crime scene photos capturing Andrew’s bloodied body are shown in a fast-paced, stylised montage. Little mouths are animated on still photos of figures from the Canadian justice system, mocking their disastrous decisions. The nasty plot twist is scored with sinister music and accompanied by a montage of shocked reactions from the talking heads. Kuenne narrates the whole film, and his fast-talking style can feel more comic than he may have intended. His film is designed as a thrill-ride, using the story of a hideous true crime case as its basis. This makes me uncomfortable, but it isn’t a mistake on the film’s part. It’s clearly intentional, and it’s done with a purpose. The movie becomes a well-intentioned propaganda vehicle, a plea for a change in Canadian law regarding bail cases and child protection. As a tool for action, it uses the techniques of the thriller to make its case stick. It works, but I’m not sure how to feel about it.

Kuenne changed his film’s purpose while it was in the process of being made, and it shows. Dear Zachary will move anyone who watches it, but closer scrutiny reveals it to be uneven and incomplete. As an outpouring of emotion from the close friend of a murder victim, its narrative makes perfect sense, but it doesn’t tell the full story. Through rapid montages and speedy narration, scant details are revealed on Shirley’s background. The film is about the tragedy of the Bagby family; it’s a scream of anger against Shirley Turner rather than a study of her life and actions. How did her relationship with Andrew begin? What drove her to kill? What happened in her past? Was she charming on a personal level? Was she an effective manipulator or just hideously lucky? Did Andrew ever love her? What caused the break-up? Was Andrew ever worried for his life? Did any of his friends warm to Shirley, even for a second?

A flatter, drier film or miniseries would address these questions, but Dear Zachary isn’t that kind of project. It’s a paean for a beautiful human being and an excoriation of the devil who ended his life, not a recounting of the full story behind Dr Andrew Bagby’s murder. A Wikipedia article on the case provided me with fascinating details on Shirley Turner’s life, information that the film mentions in a split-second or omits altogether. This was done by choice, to support Kuenne’s political plea on the basis of raw and uncomplicated emotion, but it is confusing. I found myself pausing the film and rewinding it to make sure that I understood what was happening. The only thing that truly annoyed me about Dear Zachary while I was watching it was this frenetic editing and speedy pacing. I feel it weakens the film’s structure, cramming crucial details into a tiny span of time before reminiscing at length about Andrew’s childhood holidays and days as an Eagle Scout.

Dear Zachary has a shocking story at its core, a true crime case guaranteed to fixate anyone who looks into it. The footage it uses is alternately heart-warming and disturbing, documenting a twisted travesty so blatantly unjust that it affected major changes to a country’s legal code. This film’s footage is valuable and its style is overwhelmingly emotionally effective, but it only forms one perspective on a larger story. Imagine watching a documentary about Ronald Goldman written and directed by his dad. It’s only reasonable to assume that this hypothetical film would be about Ronald’s goodness and OJ Simpson’s evil. This is Dear Zachary’s structure. I would recommend the film to anyone, but with qualifications. Dear Zachary is a whirlwind experience, but it’s not an overview. It’s one enormous tear.