Anyway My Father, the BTK Killer is a product of good old Netflix, slightly skewed, merely dated, and almost half-done at 93 minutes. I mean this documentary is like two films in one, colliding with each other like freaking passing ships. You have one flick depicting serial slayer Rader, the John Wayne Gacy of Wichita and Park City, Kansas. The other involves Dennis Rader's daughter in one Kerri Rawson, a woman that doesn't know the meaning of time healing all wounds and actual abstemiousness.
Um, why dredge up the past with one more interview Kerri? And why the need to hug the spotlight of daddy when everyone still keeps giving you the business about it? Rawson's soapbox-like plight combined with law enforcement's relentless pursuit of a deranged lunatic gives "BTK Killer" the feel of being a very uneven viewing experience. "He doesn't just fool an entire family, he fools an entire city". Yikes!
Directed by TV veteran Skye Borgman and released in October of 2025, My Father, the BTK Killer is decently paced, has some eerie moments, some solid interviews, and provides grainy archives from 1974 to 1991 (the years Dennis Rader offed ten people under the radar, nudge nudge). I mean if you take away the presence of drawn-out Kerri Rawson, "BTK Killer" unfolds nicely, like an enthralling Dateline episode a la creep-o Keith Morrison at the helm. But Rawson just has to chew the almighty scenery mind you, inhabiting most of the screen time and eyeing My Father, the BTK Killer like an unintentional vanity enterprise on the low. "Father lasher".
Written by Jesse Burleson
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