“What you think about this case in the end is entirely up to you. Just think about whether you have the stomach for it, because it’s not a pleasant spectacle,” says director Jiří Sádek in the introduction to the film Aneta. In the film, he investigates the suspicious death of twenty-three-year-old Aneta Rodová. She died on the morning of September 20, 2014 in a Prague apartment in Letňany. Thirteen stab wounds, three of which hit the heart, were evaluated by the police as suicide. Neither her friend Ahmad nor her friend Katka, who were in the immediate vicinity of Aneta at the time of her death, were accused of the murder or treated as suspects. The police evaluated that Aneta killed herself in an extremely brutal way because she fell into a toxic psychosis caused by the use of cocaine.
The absurd-looking death of a young girl, in whose life (and its end) a foreigner from Lebanon also played a role, drugs, maybe even the mafia, naturally attracted public attention. Both serious and tabloid media were fighting over the tragic story. Seen in retrospect, the only thing that is absolutely evident about the unclear case of Aneta Rodová’s death is that sooner or later a true crime film had to be made about her.
Photo: Donart
Will we ever stop being interested in murder?
True crime dominates TV screens today, but the renaissance of crime stories that have fascinated us since the days of peddling songs, courtesans and black chronicles began thanks to podcasts. Specifically, journalist Sarah Koenig, who ten years ago investigated the murder of Baltimore high school student Hae Min Lee, is to blame for the rise in popularity of amateur investigations of complicated criminal cases. What if her ex-boyfriend Adnan Syed didn’t really kill her as he claims?
Sarah Koenig’s precision work, her pervasive ability to question every dogma of the case, her charisma— and likewise the charisma of Serial’s main villain, Adnan— have all led to the podcast’s enormous popularity. Two years ago, the American station NPR calculated that Serial had 300 million downloads since its premiere. What’s more, Sarah Koenig has achieved something that perhaps all true crime creators dream of. The case was reopened due to Serial’s work. In 2022, the alleged murderer Hae Min Lee was set free. However, it must be added that this summer he was accused of murder confirmed again.
Along with the popularity of the genre, which puts mysterious cases back into the hands of journalists, but also amateur podcasters, investigators (or documentarians who became podcasters), criticism of true crime also began to multiply. The genre exploits the murdered and the survivors, profits from suffering. Because its authors tend to be people without the necessary expertise, they can make unnecessary mistakes, thwart investigations or simply manipulate. Documentarians, like journalists, like to pretend to be detached. The audience has to complete the picture. It’s up to you.
My daughter never
After the director’s introduction, Aneta gets straight to the point. The camera moves over the sets of the apartment where the tragedy occurred. Thrilling music, recording from the emergency line. A distraught Aneta’s friend calls, describing a terrible scene in the kitchen of the apartment.
The atmosphere of the bleak studio adds tension to Aneta, the simple musical motif reminds us of the inevitable ticking time to disaster. Craftsmanship good work. Only when the foreign respondents speak, the viewer might realize for a moment that Aneta actually looks like just another of the series of true crime documentaries on Netflix.
Movie: Aneta (2024)
Documentary / Crime, Czech Republic, 2024, 100 min
Director and script: Jiří Sádek
From the beginning of the film, it is clear that Sádek and his team want to investigate the version that the police completely rejected behind the scenes of the model crime scene. In other words, the twenty-three-year-old girl, who had just returned from vacation with a secret lover to spend the night with Ahmad and Kateřina, was murdered.
Although many experts appear in the film, the dominant word in Aneta is ultimately her mother Anna. He tells the audience that the daughter rarely indulged in alcohol, she was a joyful, positive girl who was angered by a headache to the maximum. Instead, he criticizes the sloppy work of the police and ambulance services. It must be added that some passages of her story about what she had to go through after the tragic death of her daughter still make sense. On the other hand – Anna Rodová never has to answer the question of whether she can admit that she did not know her daughter perfectly in some part of her life. At that, Aneta’s mother only Martin Veselovský dared to ask.
But the filmmakers may have prepared an even harder caliber for Anna Rodová. Right in front of her eyes, they reconstruct all the possible ways her daughter could have lost her life with extras. Rodová fights so tirelessly for justice for Aneta that she quite possibly asked for the opportunity to watch the reconstruction herself. In the same way, a strange feeling comes to one’s mind during a harrowing scene. Is it supposed to be a catharsis for the mother? Or for paying viewers?
It is not tabloid or slander when I remind you that Aneta is still primarily a film. With cinema distribution, budget, script – with competition in the form of other premieres. Every little thing was decided by someone, every scene has a purpose. Something to attract viewers, something to emphasize the likely version of death. Perhaps the one closely associated with Ahmad.
On the contrary, the theory of suicide, to which some experts later return, sounds a bit far-fetched. Finally, in need of a strong conclusion, the creators once again return to the most mysterious figure in the case – Ahmad. It is not necessary to make accusations directly. Just ask. Try to find him. Drama at the end guaranteed. Likewise, the series of questions with which director Sádek fluffs up the end of the film. Why did Aneta’s lover Jakub not want to talk to them at all? Where did he go?
Simply ask such a question, without offering any explanation, and something suspicious is immediately in the air. That Jakub was simply traumatized? That he just doesn’t want to talk to a crew of foreign filmmakers? He’s probably going to be soaked in something, isn’t he? Let the viewer decide.
In the end, Aneta appears as a fairly typical representative of the genre, who uses its strengths, but also repeats its mistakes. In its best moments, it can be seen that it is honestly researched, it goes in-depth and, in the style of more modern true crimes, it wants to draw attention to the errors of the entire system (although here the creators could go even further). At their worst, they seem like the work of people with savior syndrome who know very well how to get emotions out of people. Sure - You can say that all filmmakers do it. You will be right. After all, what you will think about the film is up to you.
The Dark Allure of True Crime: A Laugh or a Lament?
Ah, the thrilling world of true crime! It’s like a buffet of macabre delicacies where we feast on the mysteries of murder, all while wondering if we’ve perhaps set the bar a smidgen too low for our entertainment. Jiří Sádek’s film Aneta serves a hefty portion of this, tantalizing us with yet another grim tale from the depths of human depravity, starring the tragic death of Aneta Rodová. A young woman stabbed thirteen times and deemed a ‘suicide’ by police— because why wouldn’t a girl make a mess of her apartment in such an excruciating manner, right?
Now, before you clutch your pearls and exclaim, “Isn’t this insidious?” remember that we live in an age where no one can resist an invitation to dig into the details of another’s life and untimely demise—unless, of course, you have a very morbid sense of taste. And just like a raucous dinner party where the main course is mystery meat, we are bound to unwrap the layers of absurdity packed into this case.
Will We Ever Stop Being Interested in Murder?
So, let’s talk about the charm of true crime, shall we? It’s like a seductive siren, luring us closer under a shimmering veneer of excitement and, let’s be honest, a sprinkle of voyeurism. Who can resist these tales that give a glimpse into the darkest corners of our society? Sarah Koenig practically pioneered the true crime podcasting wave with her work on Serial. I mean, who knew that obsessively dissecting a murder could become a DIY hobby? You might as well pull up a chair and join the amateur sleuth brigade!
However, we tack on a layer of troubling questions when it comes to our fascination. True crime is a legitimate shrine to the dead, but are we not essentially profiting off their misery? It’s a bit like cheering on your favorite sports team while they trample over the competition—except here, the stakes are a touch more gruesome. In the case of Aneta, we’re absorbing a tale that is punctuated by a young woman’s tragic end like it’s fodder for a good Netflix binge.
My Daughter Never… What?
The film dives right into the deep end, showcasing Aneta’s mother, Anna, as she relives the horrors of her daughter’s last moments. You can practically hear the ticking clock of impending doom, like it’s about to announce, “Surprise! This isn’t a feel-good movie!” It’s cinematic tension, folks! But one must ask, is it really fair to drag a grieving mother through the muck of re-enactments, all in the name of catharsis? When the camera pans over to the agony etched on her face, does it pull at our heartstrings or just our morbid curiosity?
Meanwhile, Sádek et al. strive to rip apart the threads of police work that so conveniently tied this case up with a bow of ‘suicide’. As if it’s common practice to stab yourself repeatedly in all the wrong places! But let’s not lose sight of the fact that when it comes to drawing conclusions, everyone is a suspect until proven innocent—including the audience’s good graces. The film makes us wonder if we’re just spectators of tragedy, or perhaps, vigilantes in a justice-seeking narrative.
Conclusion: True Crime or Tragedy?
So, what is Aneta? It’s a quintessential addition to the genre, giving a valiant effort to expose the flaws in the investigative process while also leaning into the titillation of tragic tales. Yet, underneath this engagement lies the question of ethics. Are we agents of justice, or merely parasites feeding off of grief? One thing’s for sure: you’ll be left watching, wondering, and possibly even dishing out judgment. So, grab your popcorn, folks! Because in the realm of true crime, even the director asks: “What will you think?”
If you think you can stomach it, dive in! Who knows, you might just uncover your own amateur sleuthing skills along the way—just remember to keep the police on speed dial. After all, if you can’t solve the mystery, at least you can enjoy the show!
This piece channels a blend of humor and critique akin to the comedic styles of the personalities you mentioned and aims to engage readers with a mix of sharp observations on the true crime genre’s appeal and ethical quandaries.
“Ultimately, your perspective on this case is yours to shape. However, consider whether you are prepared for the unsettling nature of it, for as director Jiří Sádek notes, it is anything but a comforting sight,” he remarks at the outset of the documentary film *Aneta*. The film delves into the tragic and dubious circumstances surrounding the demise of twenty-three-year-old Aneta Rodová, whose life was cut short on the morning of September 20, 2014, within a Letňany apartment in Prague. Her body bore thirteen stab wounds, three of which penetrated her heart—yet the authorities deemed it a suicide. Friends Ahmad and Katka, who were present during the critical moments of Aneta’s death, were neither accused nor suspected of foul play. The police concluded that Aneta had taken her own life in a violently brutal manner, attributed to a severe psychosis induced by cocaine use.
The bizarre and tragic death of Aneta, complicated by the involvement of a foreign national from Lebanon, along with possible connections to drugs and even organized crime, undeniably captured the attention of the public. The disarray surrounding the case drew coverage from both esteemed and tabloid media outlets alike, each vying to tell the poignant story. With hindsight, it becomes strikingly clear that Aneta Rodová’s unresolved death was destined to inspire a true crime documentary.
Will we ever stop being interested in murder?
Presently, the genre of true crime reigns supreme on television, while the resurgence of crime narratives—intriguing audiences since the times of traveling ballad singers and scandalous tales—has been notably propelled by the rise of podcasts. This renaissance can be traced back to journalist Sarah Koenig, whose investigation a decade ago into the murder of Hae Min Lee, a high school student from Baltimore, sparked widespread interest in amateur sleuthing of complex criminal cases. What if Adnan Syed, Lee’s ex-boyfriend, was not the true perpetrator, as he maintains?
The widespread acclaim surrounding *Serial* is attributable to Sarah Koenig’s meticulous work and her exceptional ability to challenge entrenched beliefs surrounding the case, along with the compelling nature of its central figure, Adnan Syed. Two years ago, NPR revealed that since its launch, *Serial* had accrued an astonishing 300 million downloads. In an incredible turn of events, Koenig’s investigative efforts led to the reopening of the case, culminating in Syed’s release in 2022. However, the saga is not yet over, as this past summer he was once again implicated in another murder.
The boom of the true crime genre not only reignites public intrigue but also invites scrutiny about its ethical implications. Critics argue that such productions often exploit the tragedy experienced by victims and their families for profit, and question the qualifications of many creators in the field. Detractors assert that these creators, often lacking necessary expertise, risk jeopardizing investigations and may resort to manipulation. Documentarians and journalists alike present themselves as impartial observers, leaving audiences to fill in the emotional gaps.
My daughter never
Following the director’s harrowing introduction, *Aneta* dives directly into the narrative. The camera sweeps across the apartment where Aneta’s life took a tragic turn, complemented by a chilling score and the haunting sound of an emergency call. Aneta’s friend can be heard, visibly shaken, as she conveys the distressing scene unfolding in the kitchen.
The film’s stark ambiance heightens the tension, showcasing craft with its gripping audiovisual elements. Yet, amidst these elements, viewers may catch themselves feeling a sense of familiarity, as Aneta shares stylistic similarities with numerous true crime documentaries that have become commonplace on platforms like Netflix.
Movie: Aneta (2024)
Documentary / Crime, Czech Republic, 2024, 100 min
Director and script: Jiří Sádek
From the outset, it becomes evident that Sádek and his team are committed to probing the alternative theory that the authorities dismissed behind the scenes of the staged crime scene. This theory posits that Aneta, who had just returned from vacation with a secret partner, was indeed murdered.
While the film features numerous experts, it is ultimately Aneta’s mother, Anna, who emerges as the poignant voice of the narrative. She provides a glimpse into Aneta’s life, explaining that her daughter, a spirited and positive young woman, steered clear of excessive alcohol and was deeply affected by her circumstances. Anna vehemently critiques the inadequacies of the police and emergency services, recounting the grief and turmoil she faced following her daughter’s devastating death. However, a crucial question lingers: Can Anna truly say she understood every aspect of her daughter’s life?
As the film progresses, the filmmakers present a series of potential scenarios regarding Aneta’s death before Anna’s eyes. Her relentless pursuit of justice for Aneta raises an unsettling possibility: did she consent to witness the reenactments? A disquieting thought emerges: is this portrayal for her catharsis, or aimed at eliciting emotions in the viewers?
It is worth noting that, despite being a gripping film, *Aneta* is still fundamentally a constructed narrative. It features a structured distribution, budget considerations, and a script—elements designed to entice audiences and underscore a particular narrative surrounding Aneta’s death, perhaps aligning with the theory implicating Ahmad.
Conversely, the suicide theory, which some experts revisit, seems increasingly implausible as the film progresses. In search of a compelling resolution, the filmmakers circle back to the enigmatic figure of Ahmad, posing thoughtful questions without direct accusations, inviting viewers to contemplate his role. Tension mounts as the film wraps up, hinting at unanswered inquiries—why did Aneta’s partner Jakub decline to participate, and where has he disappeared to?
By merely raising such questions, a cloud of suspicion inevitably looms. Could Jakub be reeling from trauma? Is he simply unwilling to engage with a group of foreign filmmakers? The implications are left tantalizingly ambiguous, inviting viewers to draw their own conclusions.
Ultimately, *Aneta* encapsulates the essence of true crime, employing its engaging elements while also inherent pitfalls. At its most insightful, it demonstrates rigorous investigation, shedding light on systemic failures. Yet at its weakest, it risks coming off as the handiwork of creators with a messianic complex, skilled at extracting emotions from their audience. In the end, whether one finds value in this film remains a personal choice.
Tribute to the narrative in a way that could distort the very facts she seeks to illuminate? The emotional weight of a mother’s grief often clouds the perspective, compelling viewers to contemplate the fine line between justice and obsession.
While *Aneta* showcases Anna’s heart-wrenching journey, it simultaneously invites skepticism regarding the narrative’s reliability. Psychological anguish and the search for closure may morph into a quest for blame—an act of scapegoating that distracts from wider systemic issues, such as inadequacies within law enforcement. It begs the question: is Anna, in her quest for truth, simply a grieving mother, or is she influenced by the voyeuristic nature of the genre itself, which thrives on narratives that sensationalize suffering?
As the documentary unfolds, we encounter a roster of experts offering their opinions on Aneta’s case, contrasting with Anna’s firsthand experiences. This interplay serves to emphasize the disconnect between personal grief and empirical evidence—a duality that underscores the documentary’s complex layers. Viewers are left probing their own interpretations, and as Anna grapples with her loss, the film invites us to become spectators, complicit in the act of consuming tragedy.
In examining the myriad perspectives presented in *Aneta*, one cannot help but reflect on the broader context of true crime storytelling. Are we, as an audience, merely passive consumers, or can we engage more meaningfully with the stories that captivate us? As viewers become invested in Aneta’s fate, they are challenged to confront their own curiosities about crime, justice, and the ethical implications tied to this gruesome fascination.
This documentary does not just recount the grim tale of Aneta Rodová; it invites an introspective journey through the myriad emotions that color our understanding of crime and tragedy. Are we merely witnesses, or do we play a role in shaping the legacy of those like Aneta? In a world where crime stories become spectacles, it is imperative to question our motivations and responsibilities as consumers of such narratives.
as we wrap up our thoughts on *Aneta*, we are forced to acknowledge that the intrigue of true crime goes beyond mere entertainment—it touches upon the human condition, our flaws, our thirst for justice, and our sometimes morbid appetites for the darker facets of life. So, as we close the chapter on this exploration, let’s carry forward the questions it raises, ensuring the intrigue of murder doesn’t overshadow the humanity of those who lived—and ultimately lost—those tragic stories.
