I'll admit it: I started Perfect Wife: The Mysterious Disappearance of Sherri Papini without much enthusiasm. The case didn't seem particularly gripping - just another missing woman, a shocked family, the inevitable speculation about the husband... I thought I knew exactly where it was going. And for a while, my suspicions seemed right. But time, in this case, works with patience: what begins as just another formulaic true crime slowly reveals a story that refuses to be neatly digested.
The direction helps with that. Unlike many platform documentaries, this one takes more risks. There are reenactments, animations, unexpected camera turns - like the one at the disappearance site that almost spins on itself, as if saying, "look again." Still, what truly drives the series is the narrative. The story of a mother of two, with a husband, a stable life, who vanishes without a trace. From there, the ambiguity sets in: suspicions, theories, shifting perspectives. Was it him? Was it her? Was it even real? The series joins in on this dance - a familiar one in the genre, mirroring the same spectacle of sensationalist media. Even so, it's a structure that's hard to avoid. The first twist is predictable - the victim's return by the end of the first episode. And while this kind of storytelling leans into the dramatic, we must admit: every story has its contradictions. It's not the documentary's fault for showing them.
As time goes on, the case deepens. Doubt sets in in an unusual way. It's not about discovering who killed whom - it's about whether a crime even occurred. And when a real-life case is treated like a fictional thriller, a certain responsibility is warranted. But that's the current direction of true crime: making doubt the main engine. And here, that engine runs smoothly. With every revelation - the location, the body marks, the past lies - certainty erodes. And even with the signs, we still resist accepting what feels absurd. It's hard to believe someone could do something like this. But Sherri Papini is an Amy Dunne - someone who controlled her own narrative with chilling precision. And when she returns home, strips off her clothes, and speaks to her husband as if nothing had happened, the scene feels almost surreal. A real-life Gone Girl. And just like in fiction, there was public sympathy, police involvement, collective trauma.
She lies with conviction. And the most unsettling part is realizing how much we, as viewers, still want to believe her. When the truth hits - and it hits like a theatrical collapse - the shock is unavoidable. The signs were there: the inconsistencies, the contradictions, the shaky testimonies... But the idea that someone would fake their own abduction with such calculation felt too implausible. And maybe that's what the series exposes better than any reenactment: how our desire to believe, to defend, to protect a victim can be masterfully manipulated.
What struck me most, in the end, was Keith. The husband who stayed, who believed, who defended her. Not because he's a hero - but because he might be the most lost of all. And when he speaks about the little lies she used to tell, and how he tried to ignore them... it hurts. Because there's a sadness there that goes beyond the scandal. It's a quiet pain, one the series never screams, but never hides either. And that's why, despite the format and narrative traps, Perfect Wife works so well: it knows where the human part of the story lies. I may never fully get used to this kind of entertainment built on real pain. But if it must exist, let it be told with this kind of care. Sherri Papini orchestrated the perfect lie. And in the end, the most disturbing part is remembering how much we believed it.
