Over the centuries, true crime narratives have migrated across mediums—from tabloids and books to documentaries, films, and, most recently, podcasts. Despite these evolutions, one constant endures: the storytellers’ drive to detail the darkest corners of human behaviour and the insatiable curiosity of their audiences.
"Work can be mundane, repetitive, and monotonous—a series of cookie-cutter days in pursuit of the same goals. February 9th was no different for the employees of the Passaic Valley Water Commission treatment facility, including their senior engineer, a talented 43-year-old Indian American woman. Yet, no one could have anticipated that this seemingly ordinary day would descend into tragedy and death, with a murderer hiding in plain sight. This is the story of that day, that office, and that woman. This is the story of Geetha Angara," narrates Aishwarya Singh, co-host and co-founder of The Desi Crime Podcast. Seated beside co-founder Aryaan Misra against a somber backdrop, she sets the stage for recounting a gruesome true story of a woman who was allegedly drowned to death.
True-crime podcasts delve into the real-life horrors of some of the most heinous crimes. Their inherent mystique draws a flood of curious listeners eager to immerse themselves in these stories. But what sets these podcasts apart from traditional news broadcasts? It’s the art of storytelling—a craft that allows creators to explore every detail, transforming listeners into participants in the investigation. Carefully woven narratives, punctuated with dramatic pauses and deliberate pacing, captivate audiences until the very end.
However, the freedom afforded by “storytelling” can sometimes stretch into dangerous territory. Creative liberties may morph into sensationalism, blurring the line between responsible reporting and entertainment. At their core, these podcasts deal with the stories of real victims, and when sensationalized, they risk trivializing the tragedies they aim to highlight. This duality often leaves true-crime podcasts straddling the delicate balance between journalism and entertainment.
The Roots of True Crime and Its Guilty Obsession
The fascination with true crime is far from a modern phenomenon, and neither is the guilty pleasure it inspires in its audience. As literacy rates soared in 17th-century England, British writers and printers began documenting real-life crimes in vivid detail. Crime pamphlets—often cheaply made and poorly written—provided elaborate accounts of grisly events that captivated readers. Meanwhile, single-sheet broadsides featuring infamous criminals were plastered across urban and rural areas alike, serving as macabre announcements of murders, disappearances, and court trials.
Among the early pioneers in this grim literary niche was Henry Goodcole, a prison chaplain in London’s Ludgate and Newgate prisons. Tasked with ministering to inmates, Goodcole gained unparalleled access to their stories. He transcribed their confessions, weaving them into pamphlets that he sold to the public. These broadsides, however, often took liberties with the truth. Goodcole’s works reportedly exaggerated prisoner accounts, embellishing last confessions and interviews to heighten their dramatic appeal, making him one of the era’s most recognized true crime authors.
Following in Goodcole’s footsteps, many others chronicled the exploits of both victims and perpetrators of shocking crimes, feeding a growing public appetite for tales of horror. Over the centuries, true crime narratives have migrated across mediums—from tabloids and books to documentaries, films, and, most recently, podcasts. Despite these evolutions, one constant endures: the storytellers’ drive to detail the darkest corners of human behaviour and the insatiable curiosity of their audiences.
Goodcole’s works reportedly exaggerated prisoner accounts, embellishing last confessions and interviews to heighten their dramatic appeal, making him one of the era’s most recognized true crime authors.
The Case for Journalism
When narrating crime stories of actual victims and offenders, truth-seeking must be the core intention. Thus, putting a journalistic lens on true crime podcasts becomes imperative.
The golden gospel of true crime podcasts as a journalistic entity is the Serial podcast. Hosted by Sarah Koenig, Serial played a pivotal journalistic role in re-examining the 1999 murder of Hae Min Lee and the conviction of her former boyfriend, Adnan Syed. In 2014, over the course of its first season, Serial meticulously investigated the case, highlighting inconsistencies in evidence and surfacing an alibi witness for Syed. Through interviews, court documents, and re-examinations of timelines, Koenig and her team raised critical doubts about Syed’s conviction. This led to widespread public attention and legal appeals, ultimately contributing to the reopening of Syed’s case in 2022. That same year, Serial Productions was acquired by The New York Times Company, cementing the show’s reputation as a journalistic milestone.
The success of Serial gestated the true crime genre in the podcasting space, which has now blossomed across countries and languages. However, journalistic pursuit often competes with entertainment factors to different degrees in different podcasts.
Though primarily identifying The Desi Crime Podcast as entertainment, Misra acknowledges having journalistic benchmarks. "We try our best to ascertain the facts we include, the way we research, and the way we write," he states. "But having journalistic standards is different from being a journalistic undertaking."
"Some episodes are more journalistic than others," Misra confesses. "When we have access to the primary source — that ends up making the case a journalistic piece in some regard. For example, when Aishwarya covered the Uphaar Cinema Fire case, we went down to the burnt cinema and talked to the mother of the victim; so it can become more journalistic."
While also inclining more towards entertainment, Taz, the co-founder and co-host of Sistas Who Kill podcast, says, "I think the fact that MaRah and I don’t always share opinions helps a lot with objectivity. One of us plays devil's advocate when storytelling which leads to discussions about both sides of the story," emphasizing how she and her co-host MaRah try to maintain journalistic objectivity.
The Entertainment Factor
“So much can be conjured by the sound of the human voice,” Christopher Goffard, host of the true-crime podcast and print series Dirty John, tells The New Yorker. Narration is paramount to capturing listeners’ attention and keeping them engaged. "Most of our listeners are not coming to us as morning news. They listen to us while falling asleep or driving so I think we are entertainment primarily and I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing," affirms Singh. It makes sense, then, for podcasters to experiment with techniques and narrative styles. "We almost never go linear (with our narration)," confirms Misra on how they structure stories for their podcast.
Although sensationalism remains a concern, storytelling is the backbone of true-crime podcasts. Some manage to walk the fine line between truth and recreation, while others cross into problematic territory by dramatizing tragedies for views.
Crime Junkie, one of the most popular true-crime podcasts, has faced criticism for sensationalizing cases to maximize listener engagement, often presenting rumors or unsubstantiated theories as facts. Cathy Frye, a former journalist for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, accused Crime Junkie of plagiarizing her work on the 2002 murder of Kacie Woody, a case she had extensively covered. Frye noted that Crime Junkie used specific details, and even verbatim excerpts, from her award-winning narrative series, Caught in The Web, without giving her any credit. Beyond plagiarism, Frye was outraged by the podcast's casual, gossip-like tone, which she felt disrespected the gravity of Kacie Woody’s story. She described it as an audience-fetching amusement piece rather than a compassionate retelling. "It served no purpose whatsoever except to serve as ‘entertainment’ for your audience and as a moneymaker for your podcasts," Frye wrote in a social media post.
While it may be true that most audiences drawn to true-crime podcasts are seeking entertainment, it is vital to remember that these are stories of real people and their very real pain.
Ethics at Play
With the ease of producing and distributing a podcast today, balancing journalism and entertainment has become an individual obligation. "We take a relaxed approach to storytelling. We make sure the information is accurate, but we stay away from the 'scary true crime voice.' Our conversations are relaxed and informal, which keeps the audience engaged," says MaRah on the storytelling approach of the Sistas Who Kill podcast. "I think our biggest consideration is not disrespecting the victim or their families but also ensuring that we tell the story of the murderess like she’s a human being. We are cautious of making sure that (the) casualness of our storytelling doesn’t do a disservice to the victims and their loved ones," adds Taz, emphasizing their ethical considerations.
The sentiment of the audience is another crucial factor when presenting facts. "When I covered the Curry & Cynide case, I mispronounced Kozhikode (a city in Kerala, India) throughout the episode, and our southern listeners didn't take that well. I was endearingly crucified, mostly banter. But there was a load of it until I went to Kerala and recorded a video with a few locals asking how to pronounce it," recounts Misra, highlighting how a minor verbal inaccuracy sparked an immediate audience reaction.
"Over four years of writing the podcast, we have ended up with certain guardrails. We never cover a recent or ongoing case because it feels insensitive towards people who are on the ground making sense of what has happened. That feels like sensationalizing. Second, we always tell victim-centric stories and make it a point to not direct any kind of humour towards the victim or the criminal," Singh explains, describing the ethical boundaries observed at The Desi Crime Podcast.
A Final Word
It is undeniable that story and storytelling are inseparable. Having seen the journalistic triumph of Serial alongside Crime Junkie’s occasional overreach into creative liberties, whether a true-crime podcast is perceived as journalism or mere entertainment ultimately hinges on its intent and execution. Making a sweeping generalization would be unjust.
The most commendable true-crime podcasts prove that these two objectives—journalism and entertainment—can coexist. A moral compass must guide the retelling of events that profoundly altered lives. Careful reporting, ethical considerations, and compelling storytelling can combine to create content that not only informs and captivates audiences but also honours the seriousness of its subject matter. At the heart of every true-crime narrative lies an unrelenting truth waiting to be told.
