Amy Berg grounds us so effectively in Joplin’s emotional realm as to partially rekindle the social transcendence that her voice must have represented for its owner.
One watches it with an escalating sense of disbelief, as Warren Jeffs is steadily revealed to be an even greater monster than we initially take him for.
The film’s problem is familiar to sporadically involving crime procedurals: It’s just good enough to inspire wishes that it were better.
West of Memphis understands that that the best we can do in the present cannot be the best that we will ever do.
It proceeds with a sober clarity that lends credence to its devastating case.