Netflix's documentary series "Gunther's Millions" has many of the key ingredients to become a meme-worthy, Twitter trending, and binge-inducing hit. It's based on an infamous 20th-century story, there's a loveable animal at the center of it all, the man responsible for all the madness detailed here is a mercurial and deceitful charmer, and almost everyone interviewed looks and sounds like them. . You're auditioning to become a rising celebrity in the style of jerk Joe Exotic from "Tiger King."
That is also the problem with "Gunther's Millions". While the story is initially engrossing and there are some colorful characters scattered throughout, we often get lost in the weeds as the narrative swings back and forth, and the whole project feels a bit too contrived and gimmicky, and it is populated with interviewees who are not as interesting as you think they are. After four episodes, we are left with as many questions as answers.
Creators: Emilie Dumay, Aurelien Leturgie
Star: Lee Dahlberg
Maybe you remember reading about the dog who bought Madonna's Miami mansion in 2000 and recently sold it for about $29 million, or if you've been around for a while like certain critics, you have vague memories of the 1990s news about the german dog shepherd named Gunther known as the richest animal in the world. Director Aurelien Leturgie takes us through Gunther's saga, which is both fable and pop culture hoax.
In 1992, German Countess Karlotta Leibenstein left her entire $80 million trust to her beloved dog Gunther III, and her will ruled that the money would go to Gunther's descendants for years to come. . Sure why not. Maurizio Mian, a scion of an Italian pharmaceutical manufacturer and a close family friend of the countess, as well as his late son (also named Gunther), who had committed suicide, was put in charge of finances, effectively speaking for Gunther.
To say that Mian is an eccentric character is putting it so mildly; As we see in archival footage, old news and current interviews, Mian is a publicity-seeking hedonistic missile who formed pseudo-pop gangs of great-looking people who lived in Gunther's mansion, were under 24-hour surveillance and they were encouraged to engage in free love experiments as part of Mian's "vision" to create some kind of scientifically engineered super race. And if that sounds creepy, cultish, eugenics to you, I'm all for it.
Oh, and Mian also bought a soccer club and put Italian porn star Cicciolina in charge, and he's into cloning, and so on.
We receive a constant stream of interviews with former Mian employees and associates, who recount the craziness surrounding Gunther and Gunther's descendants and Gunther's doppelgangers who sometimes filled in for Gunther on TV. There's a dark detour where we learn about Gunther's horrific abuse of German Shepherds, and some slow revelations about Countess Karlota and her son, and seeing how news organizations have been digging into the Mian story for years, it's not a spoiler. to reveal that they did not exist. Mian made up the whole story to publicize his various companies, and his real money came from his family company.
Near the end of the story, Mian pets a German shepherd who could be a descendant of Gunther or maybe just a really good kid being used as a prop, saying, "I think this animal can... show the humans a more adequate way of living, closer to nature, closer to joy and happiness.” Great, that's a lovely sentiment, but by now, Mian, your trick has worn off.
Watch Gunther's Millions 2023 Trailer
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