The Evolution of Eric Goode: From Sensationalism to Sober Reflection in 'Monsters of God'
There’s something undeniably captivating about the way Eric Goode has evolved as a documentarian. If you’ve followed his work, you’ll notice a clear trajectory—from the wild, almost exploitative chaos of Tiger King to the more measured, albeit still flawed, Chimp Crazy, and now to Monsters of God, a series that feels like a mature, if not entirely polished, reflection on his own journey. Personally, I think what makes Monsters of God particularly fascinating is how it reveals Goode’s growing self-awareness. He’s no longer just pointing fingers at the ‘lunatics and rubes’ of the exotic animal trade; he’s acknowledging his own complicity. ‘I was part of the problem,’ he admits, though I wish he’d dug deeper into that personal history. It’s a missed opportunity, but also a sign of progress—he’s at least willing to admit he’s not standing on moral high ground.
What strikes me most about this series is its tonal shift. Gone are the days of gawking at eccentric characters for cheap laughs. Instead, Goode presents the illegal reptile trade as a complex, almost addictive ecosystem. The comparison to narcotics documentaries is spot-on—replacing cocaine with iguanas and boas doesn’t make the stakes any less high. But here’s the thing: Goode doesn’t judge the players as harshly as he once did. The traffickers aren’t just criminals; they’re enthusiasts, collectors, even experts. It’s a nuanced portrayal that forces you to question your own fascination with the exotic. If you take a step back and think about it, isn’t our collective obsession with zoos and reptile enclosures part of the problem?
One thing that immediately stands out is the absence of victimized animals. In Tiger King and Chimp Crazy, the creatures were often the silent victims of human folly. Here, the reptiles are almost glorified—beautifully photographed, almost romanticized. It’s a curious choice, one that makes you wonder: is Goode romanticizing the trade, or is he simply acknowledging that these animals aren’t always the victims we assume them to be? What this really suggests is that the line between passion and exploitation is blurrier than we’d like to admit.
The human characters, too, are more relatable than you’d expect. Tommy Crutchfield and Hank Molt aren’t just rivals; they’re pioneers in an industry that’s equal parts fascinating and disturbing. Their rivalry isn’t played for laughs—it’s a backdrop to a larger story about obsession, greed, and the human desire to possess the unattainable. What many people don’t realize is that the reptile trade isn’t just about exotic pets; it’s about the thrill of the hunt, the allure of the forbidden. It’s like collecting Pokémon, but with real-world consequences.
Goode’s storytelling has also matured. The series is linear, almost dry at times, but that’s part of its appeal. There’s no ironic soundtrack or unflattering framing to distract you. It’s just the facts, presented with a clarity that’s both refreshing and unsettling. But here’s where I have to critique: the series is too long, and the repetitive ‘will he get the interview?’ gimmick feels tired. It’s as if Goode is still clinging to old habits, even as he tries to break free from them.
What this series does best, though, is invite you to reflect on your own complicity. Have you ever visited a zoo? Admired a reptile enclosure? If so, you’re part of the ecosystem that fuels this trade. That’s the uncomfortable truth Goode forces us to confront. In my opinion, this is where the series shines—not in its conclusions, which are admittedly simplistic, but in the questions it raises.
Looking ahead, I can’t help but wonder: what’s next for Goode? If this is his long game, I’m eager to see him tackle more mainstream issues, like puppy mills or the purebred pet industry. That’s a series that could truly shift the cultural conversation. For now, Monsters of God is a solid step in the right direction—not perfect, but thoughtful, engaging, and undeniably human.
Final Thought: Goode’s evolution as a filmmaker mirrors the complexity of the topics he explores. He’s no longer just an observer; he’s a participant in the story, for better or worse. And that, in itself, is worth watching.
