Netflix's American Nightmare is a must-see indictment of police misogyny

The true-crime docuseries about the "Gone Girl kidnapping" will leave you captivated and enraged

By Saloni Gajjar | January 31, 2024 | 2:00pm

TV Features Nightmare

Netflix's American Nightmare is a must-see indictment of police misogyny

Denise Huskins in American Nightmare Photo: Netflix

Believe women. It’s not just a political phrase or concept that rediscovered fame once the #MeToo movement emerged in 2017. It has, to be polite, always been a basic expectation. It’s not hard to meet it, yet society’s internal misogyny has everyone continually asking for it: Believe women. It’s what you’ll be repeating throughout American Nightmare, Netflix’s latest true-crime docuseries, which documents a wild, eye-opening case.

The three-parter untangles an admittedly bizarre but no less heartbreaking real story. Unlike several other genre offerings, though, it strips itself of glossy, sensational visuals and backstories. Despite the considerable amount of reenactments, the docuseries, which debuted January 17, mostly sticks to the cold, hard, jaw-dropping facts. Crucially, it zeroes in on how the justice system completely and utterly failed Denise Huskins. Among its various takeaways, this is clearly what American Nightmare’s creators want audiences to sit with the most.

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Directed by Felicity Morris and Bernadette Higgins, who helmed 2022’s The Tinder Swindler, American Nightmare is both captivating and enraging. The well-crafted installments methodically break down the shocking details behind Huskins’ kidnapping, sexual assault, return home, and her fight for justice because almost no one believed her traumatic ordeal. There are no additional disruptions, excessive interviews, and other subplots. American Nightmare exists to emphasize the horrors committed by the criminal, yes, but also the male investigating officers who dismissed her very real nightmare.

But first, here’s the case in brief: In 2015 in Vallejo, California, a then 29-year-old Huskins was abducted in the middle of the night while sleeping over at her boyfriend Aaron Quinn’s home. He reported it to the police the next day, but was delayed by being tied up and then later being blackmailed by the kidnapper. After questioning Quinn and barely looking for more evidence, the cops assumed the couple faked the saga. Not even Huskins’ coming home less than two days after the kidnapping and recounting her torment in excruciating detail swayed the police to take her seriously.

American Nightmare | Official Trailer | Netflix

In fact, it had the opposite effect. Huskins was branded a liar by the police and, therefore, the media, who followed the police theories and served up attention-grabbing headlines. Not only did she suffer at the hands of the man who held her captive and raped her twice, but she was met with cynicism upon her return. Her lawyer, Doug Rappaport, recounts in American Nightmare that he was shocked at the authorities treating her “like trash,” especially as she provided plenty of detailed information that could’ve—should’ve—led to them catching Matthew Muller much sooner.

This can be blamed on internal biases, laziness, and self-aggrandizement. Vallejo PD detective Mat Mustard was beyond confident in his guessing game that Huskins was a perpetrator, not a victim. The immediate response to Huskins’ disappearance and even her return wasn’t that she might be in danger. It was, “This is her fault. This is her problem.” Similarly, FBI Agent David Sesma assumed she probably pulled a Gone Girl, ripping off a David Fincher film (based on a Gillian Flynn novel) released a year prior.

Life isn’t a pop-culture project, and if it was, this one is not Gone Girl. It’s more Unbelievable, Netflix’s brilliant 2018 limited series about two female detectives who team up to nab a serial rapist. Here, too, it wasn’t until months later when Sergeant Misty Caruso—a hero!—became involved and Huskins got justice. As seen in American Nightmare’s third installment, Caruso eventually discovers Muller’s connection to Huskins, and her dogged detective work also reveals his past crimes.

Now, the docuseries isn’t flawless. It leaves several unanswered questions, primarily related Sesma’s connection to Quinn’s ex-fiancé, which severely impacted his inquiry. It would’ve benefitted from digging deeply into Vallejo PD’s obvious corruption, too. But the series still hits hard thanks to its unflinching ability to examine how much women have to fight to be believed. To paraphrase Huskins: How much should she have suffered to be considered truthful? And why was the onus to prove what happened on her and not police officers who should’ve done their damn jobs?