The Evolution of Eric Goode: From Sensationalism to Sober Reflection in 'Monsters of God'
There’s something deeply intriguing about how documentarians evolve over time. Eric Goode, the mind behind Tiger King and Chimp Crazy, has always had a knack for spotlighting the bizarre corners of human obsession. But with Monsters of God, his latest HBO docuseries, Goode seems to be shedding his skin—much like the reptiles at the heart of this story. Personally, I think this marks a turning point in his career, a shift from spectacle to substance, though it’s not without its flaws.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how Goode is recalibrating his approach. Tiger King was a cultural phenomenon, but it felt exploitative, a circus of eccentric personalities and moral ambiguity. Chimp Crazy tried to inject a bit of empathy, but it still leaned heavily on the shock factor. Monsters of God, however, feels different. It’s drier, more linear, and—dare I say—mature. Goode isn’t just pointing fingers anymore; he’s reflecting, even on himself.
One thing that immediately stands out is Goode’s admission of his own complicity in the reptile trade. ‘I was part of the problem,’ he confesses. But here’s the rub: he doesn’t dig deep enough into this personal history. It’s a missed opportunity, in my opinion. If you’re going to call a documentary ‘personal,’ you need to bring more than just a surface-level acknowledgment. Still, it’s a step in the right direction, a sign that Goode is at least trying to move beyond the ‘look at these weirdos’ narrative.
The series focuses on the illegal reptile trade, a world fueled by obsession, greed, and a thirst for the forbidden. What many people don’t realize is that this isn’t just about criminals—it’s about collectors, enthusiasts, and even experts who cross the line. Goode introduces us to figures like Tommy Crutchfield and Hank Molt, rivals whose larger-than-life personalities drive the narrative. But unlike his previous works, Goode doesn’t reduce them to caricatures. There’s a sense of respect here, a recognition that these men are more than just villains.
From my perspective, this is where Monsters of God shines. It’s not about schadenfreude or moral judgment. It’s about understanding the allure of the forbidden. Why do people risk everything for a rare snake or lizard? Is it the thrill of ownership, the prestige, or something deeper? Goode doesn’t provide all the answers, but he asks the right questions.
What this really suggests is that Goode is growing as a filmmaker. The series lacks the overt mockery of his earlier works—no comically-driven soundtracks or unflattering framings. Instead, it’s a straightforward, almost journalistic exploration. But here’s the catch: it’s also repetitive and overly long. Goode’s obsession with landing interviews with elusive traffickers starts to feel like a gimmick. Yes, it’s impressive, but after the third or fourth time, it loses its luster.
If you take a step back and think about it, Monsters of God is a study in contradictions. It’s a thriller without the thrills, a personal journey without the depth, and a critique without the bite. Yet, it’s oddly compelling. The reptiles themselves are the stars—beautifully photographed, mysterious, and dangerous. They’re a reminder of the natural world’s allure and the human tendency to exploit it.
This raises a deeper question: Where is Goode headed next? If Tiger King was his chaotic debut and Monsters of God his sober reflection, what’s the endgame? Personally, I’d love to see him tackle something more mainstream, like the underbelly of the pet trade. Imagine a docuseries exposing puppy mills or the purebred dog industry. That could be culture-shifting in a way Tiger King only pretended to be.
In the end, Monsters of God isn’t perfect, but it’s a step forward. It’s less sensational, more thoughtful, and—most importantly—less likely to leave you feeling dirty. Goode is still figuring out his voice, but he’s getting closer to something meaningful. Count me in for whatever he does next, because one thing is clear: Eric Goode is no longer just a documentarian—he’s becoming a storyteller with a conscience.
