‘Murder in Galicia’ Netflix Review: A Chilling Case of Gender-Based Violence

The three 40-minute episodes that make up Murder in Galicia offer a fairly clear indication of what we’re dealing with here: what used to be called «a movie». Perhaps packaging it as a series makes more sense in today’s streaming landscape, but if length is the criterion we’re using to distinguish between the two formats, this one is much closer to a feature film than a conventional TV show. It doesn’t necessarily change the end result, but there’s something curious about the fact that, in a market increasingly dominated by series, even a story that isn’t really one has to be presented as such. These days, it seems, cinema isn’t setting the pace for television. It’s the other way around.

Whatever its format, Murder in Galicia revisits a notorious case from Spain’s crime files, one that took place in the Galician town of Pazos in 2015. One night, a man named Aniceto (Miguel Borines) knocks desperately on his neighbors’ door, claiming that burglars have broken into his house and beaten his wife, Isabel, to death. The neighbors call the Guardia Civil, who arrive at the scene and begin investigating. They soon discover that Isabel is still alive, though comatose, and that she has been repeatedly struck with a hammer.

Under the command of Elías (Tristán Ulloa), a Guardia Civil officer recently transferred from Madrid who hasn’t quite adjusted to the slower pace of policing in this rural community, the investigation begins to suggest that the burglary may have been fabricated and that Aniceto himself is responsible for the attack. But the legal system is slow to take that possibility seriously, leaving Elías with little room to maneuver beyond pursuing his own suspicions. Meanwhile, he grows increasingly concerned for Isabel’s safety as she lies hospitalized, with Aniceto continuing to visit her, playing the part of a seemingly devastated husband.

Murder in Galicia (El crimen de Pazos) doesn’t spend much time trying to turn the identity of the perpetrator into a mystery. Not only is this a well-known case in Spain, but it’s also fairly obvious from the start that there’s no burglar lurking somewhere in the background. The real focus is on what happens next: the bureaucracy, the oversights, the mistakes and institutional failures that turn what should have been a relatively straightforward investigation into something far more complicated.

At its core, this is a story about gender-based violence and the many ways it manifests itself. There’s the most immediate, brutal form of it, of course: what may have happened inside that house, between that married couple, and those hammer blows. But perhaps even more disturbing is the collective inability of almost everyone involved — the authorities, the courts, the neighbors and the local community — to recognize the danger, act on their suspicions and protect this particular woman, let alone women in general.

What’s particularly striking about the case is that, in a sense, the series is dealing with three crimes rolled into one. In fact, Murder in Galicia eventually becomes less interested in the individual crime than in the broader social one: the failure of an entire system to protect women who are being abused, even when there are strong reasons to suspect who’s responsible. Elías repeatedly tries to sound the alarm about the risks Isabel is facing and the lack of adequate protection around her, but nobody seems particularly interested in acknowledging what’s right in front of them. Until, that is, things take a turn for the worse.

A more conventionally structured series would probably spend considerably more time exploring Aniceto’s family, Isabel’s background, the possible motives behind the attack and Elías’s growing frustration and anguish. But none of that is really necessary here. It’s true that, once again, we’re looking at a story that places the investigator rather than the victim at its center. In this particular case, though, that choice makes sense: the role of the authorities and their responsibility for what happens will eventually become central to the story. In fact, Elías himself becomes an essential figure in a case that went on to acquire emblematic status in Spain, helping galvanize the fight against gender-based violence.