This post contains spoilers for “Under the Banner of Heaven.”

True crime-inspired stories have been all the rage for quite some time. While there’s a morbid aspect to this collective curiosity, it also presents a creative opportunity to explore thematic/moral nuances within the genre (which only works well when handled with sensitivity). When author Jon Krakauer was writing his non-fiction book “Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith,” he focused on two factual strands: the real-life origin/history of the LDS Church (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) and a double murder by the Lafferty brothers, who cited their faith as justification for the horrific crime. The book was met with staunch opposition by the LDS Church even before it came out in 2003, but Krakauer’s thorough, scathing exploration of the tale marked “Under the Banner of Heaven” as a true crime book of exceptional caliber.

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Given the strong dramatic potential of the story, FX (on Hulu) adapted Krakauer’s true crime book into a riveting miniseries that functions both as a grim police procedural and a character-driven exploration of existential questions. Here, Andrew Garfield’s Jeb Pyre investigates the Lafferty double murder with the drive necessary for a detective hell-bent on justice, but his identity as a devout Mormon clashes with a case forcing him to re-evaluate the tenets of LDS as an edifice of faith. 

What happens when faith morphs into violent fanaticism, leading to the death of an innocent child? And how does a conflicted detective navigate this mess while dealing with a crisis of faith that dismantles the very idea of who he is? FX’s “Under the Banner of Heaven” is more interested in grappling with these moral dilemmas, where the murder mystery aspect is only secondary to the complex portrait of the Lafferty family and their connection to the crime.

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Although “Under the Banner of Heaven” has been lauded for its thematic profundity and stellar performances (read /Film’s review of the miniseries here), parts of the story falter due to its slow-burn approach to the crime thriller genre. This could be one of the reasons why the series ended up being massively overlooked, but it is not too late to give it a chance.

The real-life murders of Brenda Lafferty and her newborn child, Erica, are not shrouded in mystery at all. The perpetrators are out in the open from the get-go, and Krakauer etches a bleak picture of the crimes committed in the name of Mormonism (the religious tenets of a certain LDS branch, to be specific). The seven-part miniseries takes an equally uncompromising approach to the subject matter, but much of it is diluted or altered due to artistic liberties. 

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The biggest example of this is Daisy Edgar-Jones’ Brenda, who is present during flashbacks to give us crucial context behind her eventual murder. An image of Brenda Lafferty is fleshed out over the course of the episodes, which does not necessarily match with her real-life counterpart. But it is interesting how Jones infuses her with so much nuance as a spirited individual whose flame was doused before it had a chance to burn bright. Brenda’s presence is not only welcome but integral to this dramatization that hinges on complexities.

Then there’s Garfield’s Jeb (one among many religious characters that the actor has played over the years), whose internal landscape becomes more fractured as he begins unearthing the unsavory aspects of the church, whose utmost authority he had accepted all his life, without question. Even when he thinks he’s not questioning his religious faith, he’s pulled into the moral nature of everything unraveling around him, which forces him to grapple with these difficult situations with no one to confide in. This is where the series excels: it steadily captures personal points of no return, where ingrained beliefs are questioned and completely overturned in the blink of an eye. The reverse also happens, of course, where we witness a once-measured believer plunge into the jaws of fanaticism, walking a path paved with questionable ideals.

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“Under the Banner of Heaven” is flawed, without a doubt. Its miniseries format is fundamentally incapable of dramaticizing Krakauer’s extensive research, but it doesn’t have to incorporate everything to tell an impactful story. Parallel arcs are divided into timelines for simplicity’s sake, which produces uneven results, given that only a few timelines are able to hold our attention while raising philosophical queries. The rest might be a bit underwhelming, sagging under the weight of the series’ languid pacing. However, the emotional highs are truly exquisite — uncomfortable and hard to stomach at some points — which slots “Under the Banner of Heaven” a tier above cliched genre fare.

“Under the Banner of Heaven” premiered on April 28, 2022, on FX on Hulu.