Three out of four of my grandparents died before I was 10 years old. I knew them only as a child, and my memories of them are sadly muddled and few. That I can even envision them in my mind’s eye is likely due more to the accumulation of old family photo albums that eventually found their way onto my overstuffed bookshelves through inheritance. Those treasured snapshots only offer vague glimpses of the people they were, spread out across lifetimes that spanned more than 70 years. I am left to rely on my flawed reminiscences to imagine their values and personalities.
I am pleased to report that all my grandparents, to the best of my recollection, had admirable qualities and perhaps even character traits that I see reflected in my own temperament, for better or worse.
What happens when you grow up not knowing a parent or a grandparent? And what happens when you learn, unexpectedly, that you’re a direct descendant of one of the most notorious convicted murderers in American history? Aspiring actress and filmmaker Sophia Maddox found herself facing that very dilemma. Her father, Daniel Arguelles, in attempting to find his own father, submitted his DNA to an ancestry database. After years of waiting, the database linked him to a half-brother, which in turn revealed his father’s identity: Charles Manson.
The impact of this revelation on Daniel and Sophia is explored in the documentary “My Grandfather Charles Manson.” Co-directed by Sophia and Alexandra Orton, the film is uncomfortably exploitative, lurching from awkward therapy sessions that appear to be scripted to sketchy interviews that violate boundaries and lack neutrality. Sophia has a specific personal agenda, and it doesn’t seem to have anything to do with bringing new, verifiable facts about Manson to the table. “My Grandfather Charles Manson” debuted on Hulu on July 22.
In the beginning of the film, Sophia describes herself as a struggling actress, babysitter and “wannabe filmmaker.” She claims she has “$50 in the bank” and that she works multiple jobs. She shares photographs and videos of her childhood, showcasing what appears to be a healthy, loving relationship with her father. Her parents are divorced, and it is implied that her father has partial custody. The documentary does not provide any information about her relationship with her mother.
Claiming that her father’s lifelong desire to know more about his father is her primary motivation in making the documentary, Sophia shares that learning she is related to Manson caused her significant psychological distress. I don’t doubt this for a moment. I do, however, question how diving deeper into Manson’s story augmented the healing process. Remember: She barely even knew who Manson was, by her own admission.
“I come from a murderer,” she tells the camera. She is shown crying frequently as she struggles to cope with knowledge of her genetic pedigree. She expresses her belief that no one will love her and that she will be ostracized from society. But these moments often feel like re-enactments for the benefit of the documentary. Each traumatic moment is rebuffed either by her unnamed counselor during teletherapy sessions or by her co-director, Alexandra.
I’m not a licensed therapist, but drawing attention to all this by filming a documentary doesn’t sound like a particularly effective way to help someone heal from emotional damage.
Since Manson died of natural causes back in 2017, Sophia missed the opportunity to meet her grandfather in person. Instead, she decides to interview people she believes knew him better than anyone else in the world. This includes a man who calls himself “Blackwolf,” an acquaintance of Manson’s during his later years. Blackwolf recorded around 800 phone calls with Manson. While Sophia considers him an authority on Manson, the documentary does not submit any evidence that Blackwolf’s opinions and theories have any merit, either as academic conjecture or within a legal investigative framework. That said, the recordings do offer an invaluable archival record of Manson’s final years and should be studied by researchers.
The documentary also includes interviews with Manson family members Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme, Dianne Lake, and Stephanie Schram, as well as Stephen Kay, the last surviving prosecutor from the Manson trial, and Ed Roach, a studio photographer and close friend of Dennis Wilson of The Beach Boys. The Roach interview is difficult to watch … seriously icky. The co-directors could have used that interview to make a completely different — and probably terrifying — documentary. Although Sophia reacts to the implications and revelations, it doesn’t dovetail with the narrative she has constructed. There’s no following up now, as Roach died in May.
Her interview with Schram suggests that she has formed her own opinion of Manson and is no longer open to any evidence that contradicts it. She subsequently admits this on camera.
If you’re looking for a fresh perspective on Manson, you aren’t likely to find it here.
“My Grandfather Charles Manson” inadvertently offers a graphic portrait of a father-daughter relationship as it implodes. Too much is omitted to know who is to blame. It’s likely everyone shares some responsibility: the “wannabe filmmaker” seemingly eager to make a name for herself, the bitter father seemingly saddled with generational trauma and career failure, and the co-director who may have creative differences with the film’s primary subject. The happy ending feels fabricated, just as the tears and emotional offloading feel manipulative.
Lee Clark Zumpe is entertainment editor at Tampa Bay Newspapers, a Tomatometer-Approved Critic, and an author of short fiction. He can be reached by email at lzumpe@TBNweekly.com.