Girl in the Picture review

“Girl in the Picture,” oh boy, where do I even begin? If you thought “Abducted in Plain Sight” took you on a wild journey, brace yourself because this one’s a head-spinner. 

Picture this: a woman’s body is discovered by the roadside, seemingly the victim of a hit-and-run. The paramedics rush her to the hospital, but the plot thickens when an older man shows up, claiming to be her husband. He tells the hospital staff that she’s his wife, “Tonya Hughes,” a stripper from Tulsa, and the bruises that mar her body—both fresh and fading—start to tell a darker story.

Tragically, “Tonya” succumbs to her injuries, and her colleagues set out to track down her family to break the news. But here’s the kicker: the woman they mourned wasn’t “Tonya Hughes” at all.

Enter Karen Parsley, a fellow dancer and close friend to “Tonya,” who reminisces about their bond back in 1989 in Tulsa, OK. They were as close as two friends could be. Karen recalls meeting “Tonya” and her husband, “Clarence,” around the same time, along with their toddler, Michael. 

Despite the facade of a normal life, Karen couldn’t help but notice the tell-tale signs of abuse on “Tonya.” She was trapped, unable to flee without her son, who never left “Clarence’s” side. And it was “Clarence” who broke the news to Karen about the so-called accident.

It’s a tale that unravels with more twists than a mystery novel, pulling you into the depths of a chilling real-life drama.

Karen’s Spidey senses started tingling, and she dove headfirst into her own investigation. Fast forward a bit, and young Michael finds himself in foster care, where he stays for four years. “Clarence” tries to swoop back into the picture to reclaim custody, but even under watchful eyes, it’s clear as day—Michael is petrified of him. That’s when Child Protective Services steps in, sensing that something’s off. They run a DNA test, and bam! “Clarence” isn’t Michael’s dad, and just like that, his visitation rights vanish.

Now, hold onto your hats. In '94, “Clarence,” who’s actually a guy named Franklin Floyd, pulls off a brazen kidnapping, snatching Michael right from school, principal and all, at gunpoint. He ditches the principal, cuffed to a tree, and vanishes. The principal’s found, the F.B.I. jumps on the case, and they uncover that “Clarence Hughes” is just one of Floyd’s many fake names. This guy’s been abducting and assaulting young women for 20 years, staying one step ahead of the law.

The plot thickens when the news airs a photo of “Tonya,” and a high school buddy, Jenny, recognizes her as Sharon Marshall. Now we’re really spiraling down the rabbit hole. Jenny whips out a yearbook photo of Sharon, looking like she stepped right out of a Glamour Shots catalog—yeah, that’s a throwback reference for you. People start whispering, wondering what kind of dad dresses his daughter up to look “sexy” for a school photo. Described as odd and overbearing, Sharon had once confided in Jenny that her mom was killed in a hit-and-run. Talk about a story that keeps getting stranger by the minute.

Alright, strap in because the news just cranked this saga up to eleven. They flash a photo of “Tonya,” and Jenny, an old school pal, recognizes her as Sharon Marshall. Now we’re tumbling down the rabbit hole. Jenny pulls out a yearbook snap of Sharon that screams Glamour Shots—yep, that’s a blast from the past. Folks start to wonder, what kind of dad dolls up his daughter to look “sexy” for a school pic? This “dad” is now pegged as peculiar and overbearing. Sharon had once spilled to Jenny that her mom was a hit-and-run victim.

But wait, there’s more. After Sharon’s death, Jenny uncovers a bombshell: Sharon and Warren—or should I say Clarence, or is it Floyd?—were hitched, not father and daughter. Yep, this tale’s just as twisted. With aliases galore and a nomadic life, even the documentary had us questioning if Sharon was her real name. How did she and Franklin cross paths to end up married? How long were they together that everyone bought the father-daughter act? And the million-dollar question: where’s Michael? Trust me, I was scratching my head right along with you.

Let’s revisit the scene with a touch of nuance and sensitivity. Franklin, who claimed the role of Sharon’s father, took a heavy-handed approach in managing her affairs at the club. His involvement extended beyond business, crossing boundaries that should never be blurred. The only certainty amidst the chaos was Michael’s identity as Sharon’s son. As the story unfolded, a chilling pattern emerged. Within their social sphere, compromising images and videos surfaced, casting a shadow over the relationship between Franklin and his supposed “daughter.” His coercive behavior toward Sharon’s acquaintances became a disturbing motif. Whenever tensions escalated, they’d vanish, seeking refuge in a new town.

The narrative spiraled into darker territories the more you delved into it. Franklin, a specter evading justice, left a trail of fear among the young women in each place they settled. A particularly harrowing account came from a friend of Sharon’s, who shared a memory steeped in fear. On a night she stayed over, an unsettling encounter occurred: clad only in their undergarments, the girls were confronted by Franklin brandishing a firearm. Her friend, gripped by terror, fled the scene. Sharon’s reaction, a nervous laugh, was a defense mechanism to trivialize the gravity of the situation. The ordeal escalated when Franklin returned, gun in hand, forcing her friend to witness an unspeakable act against Sharon. 

In the aftermath, it was Sharon who offered comfort, downplaying the severity to soothe her friend. Tragically, such violations had become a normalized part of her existence, a testament to the depth of her desensitization.

Could you picture a life so marred by abuse that it becomes the norm. That’s the grim reality the investigators pieced together while digging into Floyd’s past—a past littered with a chilling array of assaults, kidnappings, and violence. 

A neighbor’s interview turned the case on its head with the discovery of a photo—a snapshot capturing a man and a little girl, no older than five. That’s when the pieces fell into place; Floyd couldn’t possibly be Sharon’s father. She was yet another one of his prey, and ‘Sharon’ wasn’t even her real name.

The detectives were on a mission, a race against time to track down this man and find Michael. Sifting through Floyd’s tangled web of past identities, they hit pay dirt—he’d revived an old alias. That was their in. They located him, swooped in, and he was behind bars. But Michael’s whereabouts remained a mystery. Floyd claimed he’d given the boy away, but given his history of deceit, that seemed far from the truth.

By the documentary’s end, you’re left reeling, the weight of the revelations hitting you like a ton of bricks. It’s a must-watch, truly. It’s the kind of story that stays with you, hauntingly etched in your mind.

I give this documentary 5 out of 5 acorns.