Reviews
Netflix’s ‘The Program: Cons, Cults and Kidnapping’ Offers Disturbing Deep Dive into a Destructive Institution [Review]
Katherine Kubler’s harrowing three-part documentary tells a suffocating survivor story that morphs into a terrifying takedown on America’s corrupt behavior modification boarding school business.
“They tried to murder children’s souls here.”
Alexandre Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo plays a recurring role as a beacon of escapism in The Program, Netflix’s three-part true-crime documentary, as imprisoned teens struggle to experience any modicum of individuality in a prison-like rehab center. “All human wisdom is contained in these two words – Wait and Hope,” is a moving quote from Dumas’ novel and it’s hard to not transpose this intense message onto the tortured victims of Ivy Ridge Academy as they fight for survival.
The Program unpacks the global epidemic of behavior modification programs that masquerade as boarding schools where parents willingly send their children to these hard-knock rehab centers. This in itself is a refreshing change of pace from the deluge of true-crime content that deconstructs serial killers and cults. Make no mistake, Ivy Ridge Academy and its connected WWASP programs (World Wide Association of Specialty Programs and Schools) are cults, but it’s rare to see such attention paid to behavior modification programs (although Paris Hilton is responsible for an enlightening look into Provo Canyon School in This is Paris), which helps The Program stand apart. It’s thoroughly eye-opening on every level and it’s just devastating that these institutions and “attack schools” exist and are so pervasive.
The Program is directed by Katherine Kubler, a survivor of the docuseries’ infamous Ivy Ridge Academy, who’s the leading voice in this series who’s since gone on to become an editor and now, a director. She makes an incredibly promising directorial debut here and has a real future in documentary filmmaking. This is clearly a deeply personal subject for Kubler, but she adeptly balances the intimate and the international aspects of this story. It should be very interesting to see if Kubler continues to direct, and if so, the types of projects that she takes on. She has an impeccable eye for storytelling.
The Program benefits from its unique point of view where Kubler — alongside fellow former victims — return to an abandoned Ivy Ridge Academy to revisit and relitigate their trauma and collectively heal. The Program juxtaposes this reflection with their life stories and why each of them were sent to the program. The docuseries really benefits through its use of home videos, actual letters that Ivy Ridge “students” wrote to their parents, and professional marketing materials, all of which mesh with documentary footage as the past collides with present. This allows these victims to collectively heal and show how they’re all different, but the same, and have somehow survived this trauma and made it to the other side.
The Program is full of foreboding language like “Hope Buddy” and other heartbreaking terms. The conditions of these programs are inhumane, but it’s equally devastating to see the non-issues that send some of these kids into these various circles of hell. In many cases they’ve done such minor misdemeanors (one of the more haunting examples is Kubler having a Mike’s Hard Lemonade at school), while other Ivy Ridge students didn’t even do anything, but were simply put in this program because it was helpful for their siblings. The human element to The Program becomes its beating heart and is impossible to deny. It’s so powerful, especially with Kubler narrating these stories, in lieu of an outside party or documentarian. It really helps the audience understand and empathize with how this trauma has manifested and compounded in these victims and just shattered them for years, even if they were only at Ivy Ridge for a few weeks or months.
True-crime series of this nature have a tendency to be over-produced and not trust the material to speak for itself. The Program employs a lot of stylistic flair (eerie music and needle drops from Chromatics are low-key the secret weapon here and add such atmosphere to the story), but never to the point that it becomes a distraction that breaks the documentary’s immersion. There are also some more stylized sequences, like a 16-bit video game recreation of Ivy Ridge’s trauma, that helps creatively make its points and keeps things moving along. These flourishes never feel obtrusive or disrespectful. If anything, they only add to the narrative’s unique nature.
Beyond simply retelling stories, which is already brutal, The Program incorporates actual security camera footage so audiences can comprehend just how badly everyone was abused and the unreasonable standards that Ivy Ridge alumni were being held up to. There is also an abundance of shots that highlight Ivy Ridge’s terrifying graffiti and the building’s traumatic disarray that truly makes it look like a haunted house. The Program figures out how to mix the horrors with heart in a way that makes it feel helpful and educational rather than exploitative.
Interviews with Ivy Ridge instructors and the parents of students provide enlightening insight into the people behind these evil roles and The Program tries to make sense of the why and how of it all. It’s more terrifying to learn that these are real people and not just evil souls who are easy to vilify. The Program also highlights how these parents are subjected to their own mind control seminars and are equally put through the wringer to perpetuate this awful cycle. It horribly highlights how deep these WWASP seminars run and why it’s so difficult to escape because of all the layers of this manipulation. The whole system is toxic and it’s so much more than simply kids who are trapped; it’s entire generations who are being chewed up by an established institution that’s too big to topple. Some of The Program’s most emotional moments are instances where Ivy Ridge survivors need to de-program their parents so that they realize the horrors of what they’ve done and the damage that they’ve caused to their kids, which is just as tragic as the actual abuse. Some kids get out, but their parents are still lost in denial.
The Program’s human element is present through the entire docuseries, but the narrative expands into the larger conspiracy behind the people and corporations that fund WWASP programs and how such things like this could exist in the first place. The Program’s second episode moves from the trauma and setup into the mind control, cult aspect, and the struggles of reintegration into society. The third and final entry segues into the program’s takedown, how it was able to operate freely for so long, and who is at the top of this problematic pyramid of pain and legal conspiracy. The docuseries evolves from personal stories to a scathing indictment of America and how children are treated like tokens that the federal government can use to make billions of dollars off of. It’s a federal issue that continues to fester.
Another prevalent issue with these modern true-crime docuseries is that they overextend themselves and can’t sustain their bloated episode counts. Three episodes is exactly the right length for The Program without padding this story and drawing things out. Each episode focuses on a distinct aspect and justifies its ballooning scope. It’s a successful structure for this story rather than The Program being a singular film that’s forced to condense all of this down.
Katherine Kubler’s The Program is dark and painful, but also oddly uplifting, cathartic, and inspirational. The last episode’s final act is genuinely beautiful and therapeutic. It’s a strong reminder of the power of true-crime storytelling and how the medium can educate and heal as much as it entertains. The Program isn’t going to erase WWASP programs, but if it can prevent a single family from entering into one of these institutions then it’s served its purpose and justified its uncomfortable examination of one of society’s ugliest oversights.
‘The Program: Cons, Cults and Kidnapping’ is now available to stream on Netflix.
Death Down the Aisle begins with the tantalizing image of a bride, Malorie (Jess Brown), dressed in a wedding dress splattered with blood.
This is a brief (unnecessary) in media res opening before writer Audrey C. Marie jumps the action back to earlier in the day. It’s the day of the wedding, Malorie is preparing to wed Jon (David Alexander) and there’s a whirlwind introduction of wedding guests, many of whom are either family, work associates from Jon’s legal firm, or both.
Most of these relationships aren’t clear until after Jon’s death (this isn’t a spoiler; his death is heavily telegraphed by director Roxanne Boisvert). Only after the murder does it become clear that Death Down The Aisle is primarily interested in exploring red herrings, gossipy busy bodies, and characters making A LOT of phone calls.
Let’s rewind: Malorie is marrying Jon, an older man with an adult daughter, Bridget (Anna Kopacek), who looks nearly the same age as her. Jon works at Stone Legal Services with his brother Zach (Scott Gibson), as well as Malorie’s mother, Pamela (Jayne Heitmeyer) and Zach’s younger girlfriend, Amy (Gracie Callahan).
Each of these characters hand Jon a drink before the wedding begins – Zach – a Scotch, Amy – a coffee, and Pamela – an energy drink. There’s also a mysterious glass of champagne delivered to Malorie’s room that Jon drinks and Boisvert ensures that the audience keeps track of each of them by zooming in each time. This is why it’s no surprise when Jon keels over mid-ceremony, coughs up blood on Malorie’s dress, and immediately croaks.
Naturally it turns out that nearly everyone had a motive to see him dead. Pamela recently quit the firm because Jon wouldn’t confirm her salary; Zach was pushing for a merger with rival Miles (Colin Price) that Jon was unsure about, and the dead man fretted that Amy was a gold digger, so Jon wouldn’t support her promotion, either.
Adding to the too plentiful number of suspects is Malorie’s ex-husband Ryan (Frank Fiola), a recovering addict. Even Jon’s own daughter ends up on the list when it’s revealed that they were fighting in the weeks leading up to his death.
The only one who doesn’t have a motive to kill Jon is Malorie’s best friend Francesca (JaNae Armogan), who works at the wedding venue and thinks she saw something fishy. Naturally she’s killed off before the end of the first act.
What follows is a lot of conversation between characters about the firm, the merger, Malorie and Jon’s relationship, and how everyone is lying to everyone else. The problem is that 90% of these conversations happen via phone or text and few of them are interesting. Marie’s script fails to develop the characters beyond their motive, which means that the majority of the plot developments aren’t particularly engaging because the characters are so shallow.
With so many people and interweaving relationships involved, it’s hard to zero in and identify with anyone. Malorie is clearly meant to be the protagonist because, like most Lifetime films, she assumes the role of investigator, despite the presence of Detective Levine (Christian Paul) on the periphery.
But even she is kept at a distance from the audience. Because we only see a few moments of her relationship with Jon, secrets that the pair were keeping from friends and family don’t carry any emotional resonance when they come to light later in the film. One in particular seems to come out of left field and seemingly only exists to introduce another red herring in order to prolong the mystery for another 20 minutes.
Alas none of the characters get much to do, so none of the performances pop. Kopacek and Callahan look too similar and are styled identically, which sometimes makes it hard to distinguish one from the other. Further issues with casting is that the age disparity between Malorie & Jon and Zach & Amy is never mentioned (neither is Jon’s paternity of Bridget). This may be an ageist observation, but even the fact that Pamela never comments that her daughter was marrying her (Pamela’s) boss seems unusual, especially when Death Down the Aisle regularly suggests that one or more character is a gold digger.
Arguably the film’s biggest issue is that everything circles around the business dealings of the firm, none of which is engaging or interesting (hilariously it’s never even made clear what kind of law they practice!) Without more distinct characters, there’s very little to hang the narrative on.
Unfortunately after a solid opening, Death Down the Aisle gets stuck spinning its wheels, endlessly recycling its red herrings and interminable phone calls between characters. The suspect list is long, but the film’s energy lags through the saggy middle section and the climax can’t bring Death Down the Aisle back to life.
This one could have easily been called “Business Phone Calls”…and that’s not great.
Death Down the Aisle premiered on Lifetime Thursday, June 13.
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