Director Rachel Mason (2020’s engaging Circus of Books) returns to the documentary fray with My Brother’s Killer. This dramatic, shockingly effective exploration of an unsolved mystery turns the clock back to late 80s/early 90s Los Angeles. When gay bashings and homophobic tensions were at a fever pitch, the unthinkable happened. The severed head of blonde porn star, Billy London, was found in a dumpster. No one knew who was responsible, and with Billy’s wide network of connection, who even made their way onto the suspect list? As the mystery unravels, My Brother’s Killer evolves from decently good to emotionally riveting. By the time we finally get the answers about Billy’s murder, no stone has been left unturned in discovering the disturbing truth.
In a rather surprising way, My Brother’s Killer shares a direct and curious link to Circus of Books. The destination was once a hot spot for gay men that turned into a way to cruise for likeminded hookups. It was here where Billy’s killer first laid eyes on the young man, eventually abducting and murdering him. As Mason traces the roots of the crime back to ground zero, a more complete picture begins to take shape. Sprinkling in vintage home video footage, clips from porn films, and plenty of talking heads, those closest to Billy when he was alive all get to have their say. That Mason’s documentary manages to put fresh eyes on a decades-old case just seems like the cherry on top. Can there finally be justice for such a heinous act of violence?
Narratively speaking, without the resolution that eventually does come, it’s hard to imagine My Brother’s Killer feeling halfway as satisfying. Why were gay males, especially those engaging in sex work, viewed as lesser than? At one point, Mason’s investigation reviews the chunk when the police suspected Billy could actually be a victim of notorious serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer. That monster only got away with what he did for so long primarily because general sentiment at the time was not kind to the queer community. Cops once viewed being gay as some form of deranged sexual deviancy. Seeing a man wandering the street, drugged and dazed, while another saunters in claiming to be his “boyfriend”, was a laughable matter.
Why has it taken so long for Billy’s murder to get close to a lead? It doesn’t appear that it was for lack of trying, but it does make one wonder why more eyes weren’t on the immediate vicinity. It could also have something to do with Billy’s background, which Mason lovingly explores. Yes, he was a sex worker who embraced drugs and partying—such was the way of the times. But Billy was also a writer of poetry, a lover of art, a sweetheart, an admirer of sharp fashion and an aspiring producer and director. Everyone, including his ex-boyfriend who was, naturally, a suspect, has kind words about Billy.
Unless they have a kind of picture perfect ending or unveil a revelatory shocking twist, I tend to gravitate away from narrative-driven documentaries unless the subject interests me immensely. Thankfully, My Brother’s Killer has an excellent conclusion, a capper worthy of Billy and his unsung star power. With the help of a whole team, countless interviews, and multiple viewpoints, Mason eventually ties things up with a bow. In its moving climax, we get everything one could possibly desire out of a movie of this nature. Haunting and horrifying, the themes and larger tragedy of hate crimes linger long after the credits. The only thing worse than homophobia is internalized homophobia, a sad reality especially in the 90s.
My Brother’s Killer screened at 2026’s SXSW Film & TV Festival.
