Tiger King
I had to eat my words regarding this Netflix documentary series about a man who calls himself Joe Exotic and at one time had some 1,200 big cats and other wild animals in captivity in a private zoo in Oklahoma. It’s documentary bloat, I had said. No documentary about animal abuse needs to be more than five hours long.
Wrong. All seven episodes of Tiger King are packed with jaw-dropping characters and incredible revelations. Starting with: There are more tigers in private zoos in the U.S. than there are in the wild in the entire world. Clearly this is a thriving subculture, and Joe Exotic has to be its most colorful entrepreneur.
Not only did he have more than 1,000 tigers, lions, and other big cats in makeshift enclosures on his Oklahoma property, he had two husbands (at the same time), an extensive catalog of country music songs and videos he’d written and recorded, ongoing feuds and alliances with other big cat obsessives, a bunch of zoo employees missing limbs and common sense, an ever-growing number of tattoos and piercings, and, of course, a cowboy hat he likes to wear over his platinum-dyed mullet.
And Joe is just one of dozens of amazing real people who willingly open up for the cameras. There’s also Joe’s arch-enemy, Carole Baskin, of the nonprofit Big Cat Rescue sanctuary, and a sprinkling of other big-cat owners and breeders who keep showing up and sharing stories about themselves that are just too twisted to be invented.
The very notion of a big-cat collector subculture in the United States is rather stupifying — just think what it costs to feed and care for one tiger, much less dozens, or hundreds — but Tiger King has a lot more going on: murder plots, a missing husband, arson, lawsuits, sex parties, and a colorful reality TV producer who often serves as the show’s wisened narrator.
A documentary like this, especially at this length, succeeds or fails on its insider video footage and frank interviews, and Tiger King has two great sources: co-director Eric Goode, who filmed Joe for years and has an evident talent for getting people to open up; and Rick Kirkham, that reality TV producer who spent months (maybe years) as Joe’s ally, trying to turn his online videos into something sharable and trying to turn the circus on his property into cable television entertainment. Along with ample news footage, there’s plenty to fill the time — with only an occasional feeling that a story is being padded to fill out a 45-minute episode.
Goode’s co-director is seasoned social-issues documentarian Rebecca Chaiklin (Lockdown, USA), and together they’ve crafted a slick, brilliantly edited series that will have you bingeing late into the night. And maybe writing your congressman about a long-stalled law to put a stop to big-cat exploitation.
Grade: A-minus. Not rated, but full of salty language, sexual discussions, and some disturbing images. Now streaming on Netflix.
(Photo courtesy of Netflix)
