The screen fills with grainy archival footage, a young German tourist laughing in the sun-soaked streets of Rome, moments before his life is brutally cut short. This is the haunting opening of The King Who Never Was, Beatrice Borromeo’s documentary series that dives headfirst into one of Italy’s most infamous unsolved crimes and its tangled connections to the deposed royal family.

Borromeo’s series isn’t just a retelling of the 1978 killing of Hans Meyer; it’s a meticulous dissection of the power structures that allowed his killer to evade justice. The docuseries shines when it juxtaposes the raw, unfiltered grief of Birgit Hamer—Meyer’s sister—against the calculated evasions of Vittorio Emanuele di Savoia and his son, Emanuele Filiberto di Savoia. This contrast isn’t just thematic; it’s visual. Hamer’s interviews are shot in intimate close-ups, her face often streaked with tears, while the Savoias are framed at a distance, their expressions inscrutable behind polished facades of privilege.

The series’ strongest moments come from its raw, unfiltered interviews. Hamer’s grief is palpable as she recounts her brother’s final hours, recalling how he had looked forward to visiting Rome and how his life was senselessly taken. Her testimony serves as the emotional anchor of the series, grounding what could otherwise be a dry recitation of facts in visceral humanity. In stark contrast, Emanuele Filiberto di Savoia’s performance—if it can be called that—is a masterclass in evasion. His shifting statements, especially his on-camera admission of involvement followed by claims of memory lapses, are damning. One particularly chilling moment comes when he casually admits to killing Meyer but then backtracks, claiming he “doesn’t remember” the incident. This kind of contradictory testimony is not just a narrative device; it’s a window into the arrogance of entitlement that the Savoias embody.

Borromeo’s direction excels in weaving this personal tragedy into a broader critique of power and impunity. The series doesn’t just present the facts; it contextualizes them within Italy’s post-war history, particularly the 1946 referendum that abolished the monarchy and exiled the Savoias. This historical backdrop is crucial for understanding why the Italian legal system seemed to bend over backward to protect the Savoias. Borromeo smartly incorporates never-before-seen footage, including police recordings and private conversations, which lay bare the bias and incompetence that plagued the investigation.

However, where The King Who Never Was stumbles is in its pacing. At times, the series feels bogged down by its own ambition, lingering too long on tangential details or repetitive interviews without adding significant new insight. The structure could have benefited from tighter editing to maintain the tension and urgency that the subject matter demands. For instance, the series spends considerable time delving into the Savoias’ exile and their attempts to regain influence, which, while relevant, sometimes dilutes the focus on Meyer’s murder.

The performances—or lack thereof—from the Savoias are a mixed bag. Vittorio Emanuele di Savoia’s on-screen demeanor oscillates between defiant and dismissive, making it difficult to sympathize with his claims of innocence. Meanwhile, Hamer’s raw emotion grounds the series in humanity, serving as a stark reminder of why this story matters.

One of the most compelling aspects of The King Who Never Was is its exploration of memory and denial. The Savoias’ repeated assertions that they “don’t remember” key details are not just convenient; they’re symptomatic of a broader refusal to acknowledge responsibility. This theme resonates particularly strongly in the context of Italy’s fraught relationship with its royal past, making the series relevant beyond just the crime it documents.

In comparison to other true-crime documentaries like Making a Murderer or The Jinx, The King Who Never Was holds its own but doesn’t quite reach the same heights. While those series excel in their narrative pacing and emotional impact, Borromeo’s docuseries sometimes feels weighed down by its own ambition. However, where it truly shines is in its unflinching portrayal of how power can corrupt even the most fundamental aspects of society—like the pursuit of truth and accountability.

The King Who Never Was is a gripping, if flawed, examination of justice denied. Its greatest strength lies in its unflinching portrayal of how power can corrupt even the most fundamental aspects of society—like the pursuit of truth and accountability. The series is particularly poignant for those interested in the intersection of history, power, and personal tragedy.

Ultimately, The King Who Never Was is a must-watch for anyone intrigued by the complexities of justice, the lingering shadows of monarchy, or the raw emotion of a sister’s quest for closure.

Tags: Emanuele Filiberto di Savoia, The King Who Never Was, Vittorio Emanuele di Savoia