Not long ago, Serial Killer Celluloid took a look at Joon-ho Bong’s Memories of Murder (2003)— a fantastic film about South Korean police’s first encounter with serial murder, which came with a steep learning curve as detectives struggled to understand the brutal crimes and how to outsmart their perpetrator. The 1995 HBO film Citizen X does similar things thematically, turning its eye towards a tale of unspeakable horror in the Soviet Union. Andrei Chikatilo began to sexually assault, murder, and mutilate victims in ‘78 until he was arrested on November 20th, 1990. He killed at least fifty-two women and children. High-ranking officials in the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) were adamant on only one thing other than that there were bodies starting to pile up: the Soviet Union didn’t have any serial killers because that was “a decadent Western phenomenon.”
In ‘83, Major Mikhail Fetisov (played in the film by Donald Sutherland) thought evidence existed to suggest a serial killer was at work in Russia. He enlisted a civilian forensics analyst named Victor Burakov (played by Stephen Rhea) to lead an investigation in the area of Shakhty, where the first confirmed murder occurred in ‘78. Fetisov and Burakov discovered the bureaucratic system of the CPSU was at odds with the intelligent, thorough investigative methods required to understand and catch a serial killer. The party’s process of managing the investigation inappropriately fostered an environment in which Chikatilo’s hideous crimes were able to continue.
An insistence on placing the party and the state above people not only prevented the CPSU from helping themselves, it prevented them from reaching out to other countries for help, like the way South Korean police sent DNA evidence to the American Federal Bureau of Investigation, depicted in Memories of Murder. The CPSU investigation stumbled until the state finally crawled out of the past and into modernity. Mikhail Gorbachev’s changes to the Soviet Union included media, specifically television. Coverage of the investigation put serious pressure on law enforcement to find the murderer.
Perhaps more importantly, Burakov worked with a psychiatrist, Dr. Alexandr Bukhanovsky (played by Max von Sydow)— something never before done in a Soviet murder investigation— whose psychological profile of the killer helped investigators better pinpoint Chikatilo’s age and comprehend the psychology of his crimes. Dr. Bukhanovsky later interviewed Chikatilo and helped elicit his confession. The focus of director-writer Chris Gerolmo’s screenplay is on how the CPSU did more harm than good. He examines how, In the end, it wasn’t the party that triumphed, neither was it men who believed in the party above all else— it was the work of individuals who sought to uphold justice for some of the most vulnerable among Soviet society at the expense of bureaucracy and party politics.
Early on, the minutiae of CPSU politics is on display in the tedious after Burakov first looks at some of the victims’ bodies. Mjr. Fetisov calls Burakov into a meeting with other party officials, only for them all to scoff at the way the man smells due to the fact he spends his days around corpses. They’re semi-offended he didn’t bother to shower before coming to see them. After that, when Burakov tries to launch into his report, the officials again rebuke him for not allowing the proper introductions in the room. Everyone has to introduce themselves, as well as their pretentious party titles, before the important report about a potential serial killer largely preying on youths. A joke about the Soviets is that they had a department for everything, a symptom of the Communist Party’s micromanagement. There’s a report, a plan, and an outline for everything before anybody can move. Burakov and the others became part of what was known as the “Killer Department.” Moments like these in the screenplay effortlessly show how bureaucratic nonsense clogged up the whole process, giving us scenes where the state’s procedures and traditions take precedence over genuine action.
Apart from scenes with Chikatilo, one of the more unsettling moments in the screenplay is when Burakov gets to a breaking point, unable to get the resources he needs to properly investigate the murders, and comes to tears in front of his superiors. “Is this man crying?” one of the officials asks, disgusted by such an outward burst of emotion. This is an instance of toxic masculinity at work. It’s also endemic of the Soviet bureaucracy as a whole, in that Burakov’s compassion, and subsequent pain, is treated as a problem. This moment captures in vivid detail the cold, emotionally detached nature of the Soviet’s party officials.
Nationalism— in specific, Russian pride— got in the way of the investigation, too. Many refused to believe such horrific crimes were being committed in Russia, let alone committed by an actual Russian. This led to a xenophobic reaction by the CPSU’s investigatory arm, until Burakov honed their efforts. Police were rounding up known “deviants,” which particularly included homosexuals, and also the Romani people. Before Burakov could convince the police they were looking in the wrong direction, a young Romani man was actually coached by investigators, directed through a crime scene, and forced into a confession. He took credit for a murder committed by Chikatilo, giving the real murderer more time to evade capture and keep on killing. The first murder later attributed to Chikatilo— a nine-year-old girl, Lena Zakotnova— was also pinned on a twenty-five-year-old rapist, who also confessed under duress and was actually executed for the crime in 1984. So misguided was the Soviet investigation that young homosexual boys being taken advantage of by older men were hauled in and questioned, treated as perpetrators rather than victims. The idea a heteronormative person native to Russia could commit such awful crimes was unthinkable to the patriotic CPSU.
Apart from looking in all the wrong places, regional bureaucrats in the party didn’t want to go to the Kremlin in Moscow and make themselves look weak to their superiors. They likewise didn’t want to seek the help of the American FBI and look behind in forensic tech or police investigation procedures. Authorities actually had Chikatilo in custody during 1984 and took his DNA. The Soviets’ forensic experience was so limited at the time that, without Burakov overseeing every little aspect of the investigation, only blood was tested against the AB sample investigators found on some of the victims. Chikatilo’s blood and semen types were slightly different: the former was A, the latter AB. This led police to clear the very man they were hunting as not a viable suspect, releasing him back into freedom so he could kill again. The most grievous error was not informing the public and keeping news of a Soviet serial killer out of the press, for fear of damaging the party’s reputation in the eyes of citizens. The majority of party officials were concerned with the image of the Communist Party in the eyes of the people over the physical safety of the people they were meant to serve and protect. Much of this would shift as certain individuals within the party began to enact change.
Citizen X depicts change in the Soviet Union with an interesting, subtle image. There are scenes featuring a picture hanging in the CPSU headquarters. The picture changes with time, from Leonid Brezhnev all the way up to Mikhail Gorbachev— a perfect visual to show the passage of time and the changing face of the Communist Party. Gorbachev restructured the party, gearing towards freedom of information and transparency, among other things. A significant change under Gorbachev was how the media operated. Official media organizations were no longer the only sources of media. New informal media groups started to crop up. This helped widen the reach of information in terms of geography, and also helped to extend information’s reach to different classes of people. With more people able to access more information, social and political awareness grew. This led to police being pressured by citizens and the media alike. Soon, the investigation into the murders would follow the increasing change within the party itself.
Serial killer stories from other countries are often, in certain ways, juxtaposed with the concept that serial killing is a much more American phenomenon. Hard to argue when most of the prominent serial murderers come out of America. Not to mention the fact American media, in all forms, propels them to a perverse form of stardom. It’s interesting how the investigation pivots on-screen after Burakov spends a so-called “vacation” in a psychiatric ward, where he watches The French Connection playing on television— the William Friedkin film evokes a decidedly American version of policing, from violent cops to car chases and gunfights in the streets. Burakov rejects his own police’s strongarm tactics, finding inspiration in the American-style of investigating serial murder, especially the FBI’s profiling method. Friedkin’s film is about drug trafficking, yet its inclusion here is symbolic, illustrating a need to look outward rather than inward. After Burakov leaves the psychiatric ward, he begins to move away from the Soviet method and expands the investigation to allow the incorporation of modern techniques.
Burakov enlisted Dr. Bukhanovsky to study the murders and deliver a profile on the killer. The psychiatrist determined the murderer was what’s known as a necrosadist. In plain terms, a necrosadist is someone who gets sexual gratification from killing and the mutilation of corpses. Bukhanovsky realized Chikatilo derived pleasure from the act of stabbing. After the killer was arrested a second time, he told the doctor about murdering thirteen-year-old Lyubov Biryuk and claimed: “I was stabbing her, imitating sex.” He explained he would ejaculate from stabbing. This was the only way he could physically orgasm ever since killing his first victim, nine-year-old Yelena Zakotnova, whom he attempted to rape, and then murdered after he was unable to achieve an erection.
The eventual interrogation near the end is bolstered by actual murder scenes depicted throughout the film. The relatively non-graphic killings, apart from an occasional bit of blood, are chilling because they show the frantic brutality of Chikatilo in his use of the knife. He appears very much out of control when compared to his timid, unassuming demeanour in other scenes. When we hear Dr. Bukhanovsky speak about necrosadism, and when we then hear the killer confess his own sexually-driven, violent impulses, it isn’t a bunch of convenient dialogue to fill out scenes in a police station. We’ve already seen the murderer’s compulsion towards stabbing, though without context other than seeing a maniac on the loose. For instance, one murder scene— likely depicting the killing of nineteen-year-old sex worker Vera Shevkun— occurs right after a scene of Chikatilo trying to have sex with his wife, and failing, sending him off to find a girl to stab. The arrest and subsequent confession in the film provide more than a climax to the screenplay, they offer a satisfying psychological conclusion for the audience and, more importantly, the investigators and Soviet citizens. What once appeared to the CPSU an unthinkable crime remained unthinkable but, at the very least, then made a degree of sense from an investigation standpoint.
The best stories about real murderers adapted to screen are those that don’t seek to glorify or stylize the tragic murders of victims. The best of these stories makes an attempt at understanding how these murders happen, whether on an individual level or a societal one— the greatest usually do both, such as in Memories of Murder. In spite of its few faults, Citizen X is one of the greats, too. Even in its examination of Chikatilo from a psychological perspective, the film never actually makes the film about him. The focus stays on the investigation, and the larger context of the CPSU hindering its progress. This film is the best sort of serial killer biopic because it treats the actual individual as secondary. People have come to question the ethics behind true crime as entertainment. It’s a valid conversation. A film like Citizen X works to make the killing and the gruesome details of serial murder the least entertaining element of its story and plot. What’s meant to entertain is the tension within the environment of the Soviet Union that allowed Chikatilo to go on killing so long— in some ways, the state’s mistakes are as horrifying as the murders, the best part being that watching them for entertainment doesn’t make the skin crawl like so many other ethically questionable films about real life serial killers.
