TThe six-episode series fictionalizes the story of a notorious French serial rapist who assaulted more than 50 women and minors in more or less the same style, in more or less the same locations, over a period of 30 years. The series is depressing and often painful to watch; the fact that it took 30 years for the real rapist to be caught casts a long shadow over the storyline here and weighs heavily on this dignified show. But the show proves to be as competent and compelling as it is harrowing.
Each episode focuses on a different character with a fictitious name. The episode begins with “Christine (the victim)”, powerfully played by The Returned's Alix Poisson. In 1988, Christine regains consciousness on the banks of the Samburu River. She has been violently assaulted while waiting for an early morning bus. When she is taken to the police station by her sister, the horror of the attack is compounded by a shocking, if unexpected, mistake by the male police officer to whom she reports the crime. Still in the early stages of shock, Christine recalls in great detail what happened to her. The camera follows Christine at length as she carefully answers the brusque and insensitive questions of the bullish Captain Breton (Pasquale Dinka). By placing the viewer primarily in Breton's shoes, it contrasts his cold, dispassionate reactions with those that would be painfully harsh if a modern audience were to understand the situation.
The local police station is portrayed as an incompetent, bigoted place from the start. Borrowing a familiar detective-drama trope, we enter the story through the eyes of the station's new officer, Jean-Pierre Blanchot (Julian Frisson), who has returned to his hometown in the north from the bright lights of the Parisian suburbs. The youthful Blanchot finds a crew of officers set in their ways, driven by anti-immigrant prejudice and a desire to do as little as possible. They record every incident in a single notebook to keep paperwork to a minimum. When Christine reports the attack to Breton, he downgrades it to “attempted robbery with assault” and asks if she still wants to press charges. The blood on her face has barely dried.
The humiliation she experiences in reporting the crime is followed by an unrelenting portrayal of the trauma she endures as the effects of the attack slowly unfold: she is unable to work, suffers from what is now believed to be post-traumatic stress disorder, her marriage has fallen apart, and each interaction with the police only highlights their lack of compassion and understanding of the crime. It's utterly terrifying and deliberately frustrating.
Meanwhile, early in the series we meet “Enzo” (the rapist). Jonathan Turnbull plays Enzo, a popular, talkative factory worker who also coaches the local soccer team. Christine doesn't see his face, but her other senses – his smell and his voice – allow her to recognize him when she passes him at the supermarket. But as the real-life case shows, Enzo was able to move unnoticed through the small community for years. Other women report further assaults, but the police treat their complaints as completely inconsequential. While the young woman recounts the horrific circumstances of her assault, a police officer in the background makes crude jokes about her. Again, at the end of her interview, she is asked if she wants to file a complaint. She responds, “Are you serious?” The police in 1988 seem devastatingly nonchalant. Despite obvious similarities, the police don't connect the cases or preserve evidence. There are many times when you feel the urge to scream at the screen.
Samburu is billed as “fiction inspired by real events,” with a final restatement of its intention to pay tribute to the victim. It is by Jean-Xavier de Lestrade, director of the documentary series The Staircase (2004-18), which was at the forefront of a new wave of true-crime documentaries and remains one of the finest examples of the genre. In dramatizing the story over six episodes, we see how the fumbling investigation into the victim repeatedly went awry, and how the rapist managed to fly under the radar despite operating in relative visibility. It is not until 1996, when the second episode begins, that the attacks are considered to have been committed by the same person.
This series is not easy to watch. It's heartbreaking and uncomfortable. But it's also an angry, important work that shines a spotlight on the institutional flaws and deep-rooted cultural misogyny that allowed rapists to get away with it for so long. It's all the more moving because it took so long to make.
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