Rader, who stalked and killed ten individuals across Kansas between 1974 and 1991, was arrested in 2005 after an investigation tied metadata from a floppy disk to a church, and a familial DNA match involving Rawson. In the documentary, Rawson recounts how she grew up seeing him as a loving and protective father — a version of him she refused to believe could harbour darkness.
The documentary, directed by Skye Borgman, draws on Rawson’s 2019 memoir and new interviews with law enforcement, journalists and psychological experts. Viewers see her grapple with the trauma of learning that the man she trusted was responsible for horror, and trace her journey through anger, denial and reluctant contact with his incarcerated self.
Rawson addresses painful ambiguities such as her own identity in the wake of his crimes. She describes how her father, even after conviction, maintained a narrative of control and often framed himself as a tormented figure unable to transcend his urges. In prison visits she made as recently as 2023, she confronted unexplained writings and questioned his possible involvement in other unsolved murders.
One striking moment concerns diary entries in which Rader apparently inserted the phrase “KERRI/BND/GAME 1981” — a notation that seems to suggest an abusive or exploitative behaviour toward her when she was a toddler. Rawson challenged him on this during prison visits; he has denied sexual abuse, insisting instead that the writings remain misinterpreted.
Parallel to her personal reckoning, Rawson has sought to engage with unresolved cases that might be linked to her father. She has volunteered her insights and collaborated with investigators in cold investigations, a move framed as an attempt to restore dignity to victims’ families. Her outreach has extended to other families in the world of true crime, including those affected by the alleged Gilgo Beach killer, where she has drawn attention to haunting resemblances — the duplicity, the hidden life, and the familial fallout.
Critics of the documentary point out the challenges inherent in portraying a serial killer through the words of his child: the tension between Rawson’s emotional truth and impartial investigative narrative. Some argue the film occasionally drifts toward personal therapy, rather than journalistic inquiry. Yet others laud it for humanising a collateral victim — someone who must live in the shadow of a notorious parent — and for refusing to sanitise or simplify the complexities.
Dennis Rader remains incarcerated at the El Dorado Correctional Facility, serving ten consecutive life terms. While he has admitted to the ten murders attributed to him, law enforcement continues to assess his possible involvement in additional unsolved homicides. The documentary may well renew public interest in those investigations by exposing new testimonies and archival details previously overlooked.
Rawson’s story anchors the film in something more than gruesome spectacle: it explores how the aftermath of terror extends to those unknowingly linked, questioning whether empathy, memory and identity can ever disentangle from horror.
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