The beautiful child of a blessed family, snatched from his gilded cage by foreign enemies: Trust, which started on BBC2 last night, immediately sounds like a particularly dark fairytale. The true story of the kidnapping of Getty Oil heir John Paul Getty III by Italian mobsters in Rome is a woozy, decadent retelling of the story that captivated the world for several months in 1973. It also sees writer Simon Beaufoy and director Danny Boyle continue the successful collaboration that produced Slumdog Millionaire and 127 Hours.
It comes with some powerful performances. Harris Dickinson impresses as the guileless 16 year-old victim - his long strawberry blond locks gaining him the nickname the “Golden Hippy” in the Italian press. Hilary Swank is compelling as his mother, Gail - a study in stress and exasperation. Further down the roster, Brendan Fraser’s fan-fuelled career renaissance continues with his sparkling turn as Getty chief of security James Fletcher Chace – a fourth wall-breaking cowboy, offering insights into the madness as it unravels around us. Best of all, though, is Donald Sutherland, magnificent as the cadaverous pinchfist J Paul Getty: a priapic, art-obsessed sociopath who is exactly as much fun (and appalling) as that sounds.
As fascinating a piece of retro true crime as it is, what really sells Trust is that ever-seductive embrace of a powerful family. It is the unhealthy obsession we can’t seem to shake. Not for nothing did the Ewings and Carringtons of Dallas and Dynasty dominate the 1980s TV landscape (with Dynasty charging back to relevance with a reboot last year). Absolute power corrupts TV audiences absolutely. Dallas may have spawned a thousand parodies and indeed turned into a self-parody but viewers cravenly came back for more.
The formula of obscenely rich men, their drunken wives and warring children was pipelined around the world like so many gallons of Ewing oil. As the money piled up, the stakes rose. When a careless utterance or mishap can wipe millions off share prices everything seems that much more intense.
That was part of the attraction with HBO’s critical hit of the summer Succession, which featured devious media mogul Logan Roy lording it over his dismal scheming children. As brilliantly written as Succession was, it is hard to fathom it would be as enticing were the Roys running a corner shop. If you want to make a family required viewing, nothing succeeds like excess.
Given our long-standing fixation on Game of Thrones, this shouldn’t be a surprise. Who hasn’t been appalled and inspired by the minted Machiavellian Lannisters, a clan for whom sibling incest and patricide are just a couple of their lesser vices. Marginally more genteel, the Crawleys on Downton Abbey quietly forged their own path into TV immortality, churning out daft storylines that would have sunk less sturdy sagas. As tawdry a twist as Matthew’s miracle recovery from paralysis was, we somehow forgave and kept on watching. The family prevails. Blood always tells.
And the Getty dynasty has shed more blood than most. Much like the Kennedys, the Gettys have that intoxicating mixture of implausible glamour and unbearable tragedy that makes them impossible to ignore. The list of ODs, suicides and misadventures reads like the trials of Job, and there is definitely something biblical about the morality of these tales. While JP Getty towers over the tale like some cruel Old Testament deity, the rest of the clan are a walking parable on the perils of debauchery and the corrupting power of money.
The study of family fortunes is a lot more enjoyable with a healthy dose of tragedy attached. Quite apart from making them more relatable as human beings, ordinary folk are attracted to the idea that infinite wealth has a cost. It’s like Chace tells us in episode two: “You’d think that being rich would be a breeze. Turns out a rich life is just as messed up as a poor life, just a different kind of messed up.” Wealth cannot inure you to cruelty nor spare you the spiritual sickness that comes with its pursuit.
Perhaps the ultimate reason for our infatuation is our need for a royal family, real or figurative. The United States may be a proud republic but it is clear that they have exalted the Kennedys as royalty with all the deference and resentment that comes as part of that package. Some take the fetish to extreme lengths. Amazon’s upcoming anthology The Romanoffs explores the stories of people who believe themselves to be descendants of the Russian Royal family. Call it mass delusion if you want, but that need for some kind of connection to power is universal. The trials of Team Windsor have led to big success for The Crown at least in part because we are all related to a Prince Philip. Tales of nobility work only as long as we see ourselves reflected in them.
Not everyone is born into privilege but everyone knows heartbreak. We don’t all live in castles but every family’s got a Joffrey.
