True crime has become a paint-by-numbers game. The formula is often copied and pasted, and finding a novel approach in the field is rare.

With that in mind, you can imagine my skepticism when I saw yet another true crime documentary suggested to me on Netflix. This time, it was The Kings of Tupelo: A Southern Crime Saga touting itself as a “bizarre true-crime tale” in which “an Elvis impersonator’s conspiracy theory sets off a feud that spirals into an attempted presidential assassination.”

That’s a lead that will make you take notice.

Still, I hated the first episode of the three-part documentary. Honestly, I almost didn’t make it to the second installment.

‘Welcome to Tupelo, Mississippi, where things are different.’

The vast majority of episode one focuses on explaining the environment viewers will navigate. The introduction revolves around one of Tupelo’s most famous sons: Elvis Presley. Elvis “tribute artist” Paul Kevin Curtis, who goes by K.C., is our narrative guide.

One thing is clear: Presley was born in Tupelo, and the town will never let you forget it.

I understood the need to set the stage. Still, the process was far too prolonged. Some of it helped introduce main characters, but that was the exception. I understand the production team’s desire to fixate on the film’s geographical pull—the “South,” and its trappings play a large part in the story—but it was a tad bit overdone.

Nevertheless, I’m glad I made it to the second episode … because this ish is bananas.

‘It was my introduction into the world of conspiracy …’

After meeting his future wife and becoming a father, K.C. realizes he can’t support his family just singing and dancing. He starts a janitorial business focusing on the Presley hook and seems to do well. In 1999, he lands a large contract with North Mississippi Medical Center to clean their facilities.

According to K.C., while working in a hospital morgue in 1999, he stumbled across a refrigerator containing a severed head and other body parts. He relays the finding to anyone who will listen, quickly catching the ire of the hospital administration. He’s fired, and by his own admission, “that night [he] made a decision to send the rest of [his] life trying to uncover the truth” of those severed body parts.

At this point most of the audience has no doubt picked up on K.C.’s peculiarities.

He quickly purchases a Gateway computer and spends day and night searching the internet and scouring chatrooms and message boards for information regarding body-part harvesting and trafficking conspiracies. Based on reports from his then-wife, brother and others around town, K.C. became somewhat obsessed with the idea that the hospital was involved in organ and body-part trafficking. According to local law enforcement, K.C. started to pop up consistently on their radar.

He was undeterred by what he describes as police harassment. He was “onto something,” and no one was going to stop his “one-man crusade” to share online the information he was discovering. K.C. drafted legislation on the topic and appeared to work very hard to introduce it to local politicians. His abrasive and obsessive tactics bring the ire of local and national politicians, though.

‘I guess God chose me … I am a warrior ninja with a sword of justice.’

He mentions his divine purpose multiple times throughout Kings of Tupelo. K.C. believes God has chosen him to fight the powers that be and expose the underbelly of body-part harvesting and trafficking. By the middle of the second episode, it’s clear he experiences delusions of grandeur at best and some sort of undiagnosed mental health issue at worst.

Throughout the series, I constantly found myself asking when the shoe was going to drop regarding some sort of medical diagnosis. The closest we get is a short segment where his family has him temporarily committed, but there is little discussion or further information.

Paul Kevin Curtis in Netflix’s The Kings of Tupelo: A Southern Crime Saga. (Photo courtesy of Netflix)

If you practice criminal defense, you know how often mental health issues arise in criminal cases. We go so far as to keep a copy of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, or DSM. Obviously, my job isn’t to diagnose my clients, but it’s good to know the potential signs in undiagnosed individuals. And if they have a diagnosis, it’s helpful to have more insight.

Working with a client who experiences mental health episodes can be challenging, but there are degrees of difficulty depending on the individual client.

Here, K.C.’s delusions of grandeur could merely be a primary feature of a delusional disorder, or they could be a symptom of something else, like schizophrenia, bipolar disorder—or many other conditions. Coupling this with what seems like consistent paranoia, though, gives the impression there may be more to the story than the documentary gives off. Make no mistake: He is coherent and sometimes quite funny—purposeful or not—throughout the documentary.

Nevertheless, like many of my clients who exhibit symptoms of an underlying issue, it’s hard to know whether K.C.’s “eccentricity” is an indicator of a potential diagnosis or simply quirks associated with his peculiar personality. Regardless, as his ex-wife explains, “Kevin did not have a big grip on reality.”

‘Sir, I haven’t bought rice in years … I never eat rice.’

When local politicians receive letters containing the poison ricin, K.C.’s name comes up as a possible suspect. When then-President Barack Obama in 2013 receives one such letter, the feds get involved and trace the letters back to a Tupelo mail office; K.C. is arrested and investigated as a terrorist.

His brashness and grandiose demeanor dig him even deeper. Had he mailed letters to all those people? Of course he had. Which politician hadn’t he contacted about his body-part-trafficking legislation? But as authorities begin to examine K.C., things don’t seem to fit. How could this Elvis tribute artist/janitor concoct such a high-level attack? Things didn’t add up—until they do.

I won’t get too far into the twist, as I really want you all to watch the series. It is wonderfully chaotic, and the team behind the documentary deserves applause for stepping outside the genre’s comfort zone.

OK, one hint: The twist involves a feud with a karate instructor.

And it’s this type of mania that ultimately sets Kings of Tupelo apart and makes it well worth the watch. The second half plays out like a cross between a Cohen brothers movie and Step Brothers, the classic Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly film. I mean that in the absolute best way possible.

If this sounds compelling, don’t ask me how; just go with it and find out for yourself.

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Adam R. Banner is the founder and lead attorney of the Oklahoma Legal Group, a criminal defense law firm in Oklahoma City. His practice focuses solely on state and federal criminal defense. He represents the accused against allegations of sex crimes, violent crimes, drug crimes and white-collar crimes.

The study of law isn’t for everyone, yet its practice and procedure seem to permeate pop culture at an increasing rate. This column is about the intersection of law and pop culture in an attempt to separate the real from the ridiculous.

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This column reflects the opinions of the author and not necessarily the views of the ABA Journal—or the American Bar Association.

Top legal and true crime network Law&Crime announces the successful premiere of its newest original premium documentary, “Jailbreak: Love on the Run,” after its recent climb to the #1 watched movie on Netflix in the U.S. and U.K. today. 

“Jailbreak: Love on the Run” follows the baffling and gut-wrenching story of Vicky White, a respected and lauded correctional officer who abandons her impending retirement in favor of running off with 38-year-old Casey White, a convicted murderer serving a 75-year prison sentence for a violent crime spree involving home invasion, kidnapping and the attempted murder of a young woman.

The affair between Vicky and Casey White, which started when she met him behind bars, culminates in an illegally facilitated break from prison and subsequent 11-day fatal manhunt. 

On the one hand, the documentary has been praised for depicting a shocking portrait of a respectable woman who throws it all away — including her own life — for a real-life romance novel. On the other, it tells the story of a tight-knit community in Alabama where everyone suffers the ramifications of the couple’s inexplicable choice. The documentary includes some of the more than 1,000 exclusive jailhouse calls and handwritten letters between Casey and Vicky White, giving viewers an up-close glimpse of the unlikely relationship. 

Steamy jailhouse calls reveal details of heart-pounding prison break in Netflix’s ‘Jailbreak: Love on the Run’

“Initially, I couldn’t understand how such a well-liked, stellar employee would throw everything away for a criminal,” said Rachel Stockman, president of Law&Crime and an executive producer on the Netflix documentary. “But by the end of production, I understood — and it was both heartbreaking and tragic.”

The documentary, which premiered on Sept. 25, was executive produced by Law&Crime founder Dan Abrams, Melody Shafir, Rachel Stockman, Lana Wilson and Angie Dorr and produced by William Green and Aaron Ginsburg. 

Jailbreak: Love on the Run can be watched on Netflix here. 

ABOUT LAW&CRIME NETWORK

Law&Crime is the leading platform for legal and true crime content, offering a wide range of programming including live trials, legal commentary and analysis, law enforcement-related footage, and documentary-style crime stories. Its revered network of lawyers, former prosecutors, and law enforcement officials provides unprecedented access to key sources as well as unique insight into the nation’s highest-profile and newsworthy cases. Created by award-winning ABC News Chief Legal Correspondent, Dan Abrams, the network reaches a massive, multi-platform audience across digital, cable, and social, with its YouTube channel alone boasting well over 5 million subscribers and 3 billion video views. Law&Crime prides itself on upholding the highest standards of journalistic integrity, offering fact-based storytelling that reflects its profound, unmatched expertise in the legal and criminal justice world.

Law&Crime joined the Jellysmack portfolio of brands in 2023 and is available on basic cable packages and leading streaming services including YouTube TV, Peacock, Xfinity, Verizon and Samsung TV Plus, among many others.

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Cuties, a 2020 Netflix film, tells the story of an 11-year old Senegalese girl in France who comes from a devout Muslim family navigating the sometimes provocative culture of modern dance while having a devout Muslim family.

Directed by Maïmouna Doucouré, a French filmmaker who like the main character, Amy, is Senegalese, the film was not without controversy. Cuties stars children from the ages of approximately 9 to 14. There are numerous depictions of scantily clad children and, in at least one instance, only underwear and a tank top. There are various discussions about genitalia and sex, which seem quite vulgar considering the actresses’ ages.

Furthermore, the children’s dancing is extremely suggestive and sexually charged. The choice of camera angles used to capture certain zoomed-in shots of the children’s bodies while dancing is questionable. And in one scene, dancer flashes her breast. According to the opinion, the dancer was played by an adult.

In a worst-case scenario, Cuties is a potentially exploitative endeavor that could cause quite a bit of regret and trauma for the children who will forever have their names and images associated with it. In a best-case scenario, it provides a thought-provoking exercise for parents of young girls navigating our complex modern society.

At least three members of Congress expressed scorn for the film, and one of them took the additional step of referring the film to the Department of Justice via X, the platform formerly known as Twitter, according to a recent 5th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals opinion. The court barred a Texas child-pornography prosecution of Netflix for streaming the film and affirmed a lower court bad faith finding involving the prosecutor who brought the charges.

“As Netflix frames it, ‘Cuties’ public reception was not entirely positive.’ Indeed, some were downright repulsed by what they saw,” the December 2023 opinion notes.

Grand jury indictment

Two weeks after the film started streaming, Lucas Babin, the district attorney of Tyler County, Texas, and a former actor himself, according to the opinion, sought and obtained the grand jury indictment criminally charging Netflix with promoting lewd visual material depicting a child. Babin’s films include the 2003 comedy School of Rock, staring Jack Black. Babin played Spider, the guitarist who replaced Black’s character, Dewey Finn, in the rock band No Vacancy.

The opinion notes that Netflix did not “run to federal court for protection” and prepared to defend itself in state court. That included a meeting between Netflix, Babin and his first assistant, Pat “Hawk” Hardy, to discuss the indictment. Netflix asked what prompted it, and offered to show proof that the actress who showed her breast in the film was an adult.

“Babin and Hardy declined, expressing no need to look at the proof and instead emphasizing that the ‘gravamen’ of the indictment was the ‘suggestive way’ in which the younger girls danced,” the opinion states.

Weeks later, Netflix pleaded not guilty to the charges in state court. For the next year the case sat idle, according to the opinion. In October 2021, a Texas appellate court in an unrelated case struck down the law Babin used to prosecute Netflix on the basis it was unconstitutional. Netflix presented Babin with a copy of the opinion and asked that he drop the charges.

He refused, according to the opinion, and Netflix scheduled a pretrial habeas corpus hearing. According to Netflix, Babin used the time before the hearing to empanel another grand jury, which issued four new indictments. Babin dismissed the earlier indictment without prejudice.

Netflix then made its federal court filing. The streaming service argued that Babin did not show the grand jury the entire film, only scenes and stills he “personally curated” without context. Babin denied that, according to the opinion, and used prosecutorial discretion as a defense.

The court is “never eager” to find bad faith, particularly with public servants, the 5th Circuit wrote. However, moving from one indictment to four, not showing the grand jury the entire film and not being interested in proof that the breast-baring actress was an adult was persuasive.

In upholding the lower court’s injunction, the 5th Circuit noted that the grand jury found probable cause that Cuties violated the applicable Texas state obscenity law. One might think that would sufficiently satisfy the first prong of what’s known as the Miller test, which focuses on determining if materials are obscene, including consideration of community standards. The test gets its name from the 1973 landmark U.S. Supreme Court opinion Miller v. California.

However, as the 5th Circuit opinion makes clear, the grand jury was shown only “curated clips and images of Cuties, singling out some of the most provocative scenes” that were “stripped of their proper context.”

When dealing with simulated or even animated child pornography previously, matters that weren’t even considered “obscene” pursuant to Miller were still outlawed under New York v. Ferber, a 1982 landmark opinion that upheld a New York law prohibiting people from knowingly promoting and distributing materials that included sexual performances by children under the age of 16.

The restrictions initially contemplated by Ferber and the Child Pornography Prevention Act of 1996 were trimmed back to a certain degree in 2002, when the Supreme Court decided Ashcroft v. Free Speech Coalition. The majority found that parts of the Child Pornography Prevention Act of 1996 targeting expression that did not involve actual minors was unconstitutional.

Allegations of obscenity were the only avenue for Babin to challenge Cuties’ First Amendment-protected status, as the movies does not depict actual child pornography contemplated by Ferber, nor simulated child pornography (without the use of actual minors). Even if it did, that speech would arguably be protected pursuant to Ashcroft.

Difficult decisions

Courts have struggled with the determinations. For example, here in Oklahoma, our judiciary caused quite a stir when Oklahoma County District Court Judge Richard Freeman ruled the 1979 film Tin Drum violated state obscenity laws due to its portrayal of child sexuality. His decision was based on one scene from the film. The German war drama is about a child who witnesses crimes by the Nazi Party and plays his toy drum loudly when he is upset. “Cowboy” Bob Macy, a notorious district attorney, went so far as to proclaim his intention to prosecute anyone caught with the movie after the court’s ruling.

Several years of legal battles involving the film followed. In 1998, U.S. District Court Judge Ralph Thompson ruled that Tin Drum, in fact, did not contain child pornography or any other material that would violate the Oklahoma state obscenity law. Instead, the film was a work of art protected under both the Oklahoma and United States Constitutions. There’s a 2004 documentary about the matter, titled Banned in Oklahoma.

Perhaps Babin should have watched it. He could have learned a valuable lesson regarding the crossroads between obscenity and morality. Do we need to protect our children? Yes. I firmly believe that. Still, as the attempted prosecution of Netflix illustrates, certain attorneys and various factions of the government will continue to attempt to police morality, even in the face of contrary caselaw.

See also:

“Child-porn prosecution of Netflix for ‘Cuties’ film looks like ‘mosaic’ of bad faith, 5th Circuit says”

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Adam R. Banner is the founder and lead attorney of the Oklahoma Legal Group, a criminal defense law firm in Oklahoma City. His practice focuses solely on state and federal criminal defense. He represents the accused against allegations of sex crimes, violent crimes, drug crimes and white-collar crimes.

The study of law isn’t for everyone, yet its practice and procedure seems to permeate pop culture at an increasing rate. This column is about the intersection of law and pop culture in an attempt to separate the real from the ridiculous.

---

This column reflects the opinions of the author and not necessarily the views of the ABA Journal—or the American Bar Association.

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Child-porn prosecution of Netflix for ‘Cuties’ film looks like ‘mosaic’ of bad faith, 5th Circuit says

By Debra Cassens Weiss

December 21, 2023, 9:35 am CST

A federal appeals court has upheld a judge’s preliminary injunction barring a Texas child-pornography prosecution of Netflix for streaming the movie Cuties, agreeing with a Netflix lawyer that the case looks like a “mosaic” of bad faith.

The 5th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals at New Orleans ruled for Netflix in a Dec. 18 opinion by Judge Don R. Willett, an appointee of former President Donald Trump.

Law.com and Law360 have coverage, while How Appealing links to additional articles.

The appeals court described Cuties as “a controversial film starring preteen girls who participate in a dance competition.” According to a description by the Cato Institute, which joined an amicus brief supporting the injunction against prosecution, the message of the film is critical of the influence of social media on the young girls, whose “sexualized routines” copied what they saw online.

In one scene, the girls watch a video on their phones in which a dancer briefly flashes her breast. Netflix said it can verify that the dancer was older than age 18 at the time of filming.

Tyler County, Texas, District Attorney Lucas Babin at first obtained an indictment charging Netflix under an obscenity law that was later struck down as unconstitutional under the First Amendment in a different case. Babin dropped the charge but obtained four new indictments under a law that bans promotion of sexual conduct by a child younger than age 18.

Three of the indictments were based on three different clothed minor girls in the film, and the fourth was related to the actress with the exposed breast.

To obtain the indictment, Netflix alleges, Babin “restricted the grand jury’s view to only those scenes and stills that he [had] personally curated and stripped of their proper context.”

Netflix sued in federal court, seeking an injunction against Babin’s prosecution.

The Younger abstention doctrine, which is named after the U.S. Supreme Court’s 1971 decision in Younger v. Harris, is not an impediment, the 5th Circuit said. The doctrine bars federal court interference with state court proceedings, as long as the defendant has an adequate opportunity to raise constitutional challenges in the state forum, Willett explained.

“A state has no legitimate interest, however, in a prosecution brought in bad faith or to harass,” Willett wrote. “Nor, for that matter, does a defendant have an adequate opportunity to assert constitutional violations in the state proceeding when the prosecution itself is the constitutional violation. Thus, in exceptional cases in which a state prosecutor is credibly accused of bad faith and has no reasonable hope of obtaining a valid conviction against the defendant, comity-infused deference gives way, and a federal court may exercise its equitable power to enjoin the prosecution.”

The 5th Circuit said it can’t conclude that a district court erred in enjoining the prosecution “at this preliminary stage and on the fact-intensive record before us.”