The Netflix documentary Thabo Bester: Beauty and the Bester has been released. It follows the common true crime Netflix format: three parts of roughly 45 minutes each.
It offers little in the way of new information. But it is a sensational story. They were lucky, as this does the heavy lifting.
I’m reminded of Glynnis Breytanbach’s brilliant G4S portfolio committee on Justice and Correctional Services viral clips when the story that shocked South Africa broke.
She noted that some journalists are going to make a lot of money off this story. Great to see that Netflix has contributed and will likely add to their coffers.
The Netflix True Crime Series Story Arc
The typical three-part Netflix true crime docuseries follows a carefully structured narrative arc designed to maximise viewer engagement and emotional investment.
The first episode establishes the crime, introduces key players, and sets the scene with background context, often featuring interviews with family members, friends, and initial investigators to humanise the victims and create an emotional connection with the audience.
The second episode delves deeper into the investigation process, revealing crucial evidence, exploring potential suspects, and highlighting the complexities and setbacks that investigators face, whilst building tension through dramatic pacing and strategic withholding of information.
The final episode typically focuses on resolution – whether that’s a conviction, acquittal, or ongoing mystery – whilst exploring the lasting impact on those involved, often featuring retrospective interviews that provide closure or raise lingering questions, ensuring viewers remain emotionally invested until the very end
The Bester documentary fits this structure well. Feel free to fill in the gaps yourself in case you disagree and feel the need to comment.
My interest is not that they do this, as it is obviously the structure that sells. Instead, I want to look at how they engage with South Africa as a platform with a majority viewership outside of South Africa.
South Africa as Spectacle
What’s surprisingly refreshing about Netflix’s approach here is their refusal to treat international audiences like complete idiots.
Unlike most true crime documentaries set outside America or Britain, Beauty and the Bester doesn’t pause every five minutes to explain basic South African geography, political structures, or social dynamics.
This occurs throughout. The confirmation I see (which, again, feel free to disagree with in the comments) are the instances where they mention Bloemfontein without a helpful subtitle telling us it’s the judicial capital or make references to the Mangaung Correctional Centre that aren’t accompanied by explainers about private prison contracts or apartheid-era detention facilities.
And when officials discuss provincial jurisdictions or departmental hierarchies, the documentary assumes viewers can keep up or figure it out from context.
This is actually quite sharp for Netflix. Their usual international true crime formula involves treating foreign locations like anthropological exhibits, with every cultural reference getting a Wikipedia-style explanation.
Probably most importantly, the corruption at Mangaung isn’t presented as uniquely South African pathology requiring sociological context about post-apartheid institutions. It’s just corruption and bad people.
Of course, this approach has downsides. International viewers probably miss nuances about how prison privatisation works here, or the specific pressures facing medical professionals in our healthcare system.
But the alternative (i.e constant pedagogical interruptions) would have killed the pacing and reduced South Africa to a series of explanatory footnotes.
The Netflix Effect
Ultimately, Beauty and the Bester succeeds as TV entertainment.
The documentary will likely perform well globally, adding to Netflix’s true crime catalogue while contributing nothing meaningful to public discourse about institutional reform or systemic accountability.
Breytenbach was right: plenty of people are making money off this story. Whether anyone learns anything useful from it remains doubtful.
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