Review: ‘Based on a True Story’ is a funny, clever sendup of true-crime obsession

It’s podcasting or prison for an active serial killer in “Based on a True Story,” Peacock’s brisk, bingeable comedy now available to stream, which is set against America’s obsession with true crime.

The Westside Ripper is terrorizing Los Angeles when Ava and Nathan Bartlett (Kaley Cuoco and Chris Messina), a Mar Vista couple who are struggling to make ends meet, discover the killer’s identity. Sensing a lucrative opportunity, they negotiate with the Ripper: If he’ll do a podcast with them, they won’t turn him in to the police. There’s just one caveat — he has to stop killing. But will he?

Morals and ethics are collateral damage in this fast-paced, sardonic and highly entertaining thriller that pokes fun at true-crime culture, the pursuit of fame and the shallow excess of L.A. The eight-episode series was created and written by Craig Rosenberg, one of the masterminds behind Prime Video’s fantastically warped comedy “The Boys,” a series that satirizes the superhero craze. “Based on a True Story” follows a similar idea but puts the murder-as-entertainment industry at the center of the story. The actions of each character illustrate the sheer absurdity of a business model built atop “the dead bodies of white women.”

While not as graphic or crass as “The Boys,” this series stands on its own as a hilarious indictment of the public’s preoccupation with morbid crime and the media’s fire hose of content in service of that addiction.

Tom Bateman as Matt Pierce in “Based on a True Story.”

(Peacock)

Ava, Nathan, their opportunistic cohorts — the hot plumber Matt Pierce (Tom Bateman) and their vapid frenemy Ruby Gale (Priscilla Quintana) — study the success of big moneymakers such as the “Sisters in Crime” podcast. Ava’s Post-it notes on the key elements of a blockbuster production include “creepy bumper music,” “merch” and the conscience-clearing conceit that “we’re really here for the victims.”

Cuoco and Messina effortlessly sell the idea that they’re a desperate couple in need of a plan. They have an old house full of leaky pipes and a baby on the way. L.A. is a brutal place, and not just because there’s a serial killer lurking in their backyard. They’re contending with the astronomical cost of living, vapid colleagues and ageism. Nathan is a former tennis star and a coach at a pricey Beverly Hills health club, but he’s been demoted and replaced by a 20-something instructor with a “tight butt.” Ava isn’t making the grade either as a realtor. The killer that walks into their lives may be terrifying, but he’s also a godsend.

He’s proud of his notoriety as the Westside Ripper but frustrated that he can’t openly take credit for the bloody spree. An anonymous podcast, with proceeds from the production funneled through overseas shell companies, is a chance for him to boast about his slayings with anonymity. However, his ego threatens to expose them all. The conflicts and conundrums that all the parties face make for plenty of hilarious and iffy situations, making the series’ subjects and viewers sit in the uncomfortable reality that “today’s great American art form is murder.”

Sharp writing and keen comedic timing by the show’s main players make “Based on a True Story” an amusingly disturbing journey into the world of true-crime fandom and the queasy worship around homicidal maniacs like Dennis Rader, better known as “BTK,” and John Wayne Gacy. It’s on full display when Ava, Nathan and the gang attend CrimeCon in Las Vegas, where vendors are hawking Ted Bundy bottle openers and breathlessly comparing notes on their theories around the identity of the “Zodiac Killer.” He was, of course, brilliant because he was never caught.

Like “Only Murders in the Building,” this series is a clever sendup of ID channel programming, podcast culture and true-crime hosts, and as in “The Flight Attendant,” the twisting and turning plot offers plenty of cliffhangers and surprises. But “Based on a True Story” also makes us sit in the uncomfortable reality that murder is still murder, no matter how lucrative or entertaining.