Wylie, Texas, 1980. It’s the kind of place where everyone knows your name, your business, and probably what you’re bringing to the church potluck. Then, a woman is found in a utility room, struck 41 times with a wood-splitting axe. Most people expect a drifter or a monster to be the culprit. They don't expect a suburban housewife who sings in the choir. That’s the chilling reality behind Love and Death HBO Max, a series that somehow manages to make the mundane feel more terrifying than any slasher flick.
You've probably heard the name Candy Montgomery before. Maybe you saw the Hulu version with Jessica Biel, or perhaps you remember the 1990 TV movie. But the Max (formerly HBO Max) take on this case does something different. It lingers. It gets uncomfortably close to the sweat and the linoleum floors of the late 70s. Elizabeth Olsen plays Candy with this sort of high-strung, polite desperation that makes you realize just how thin the line is between a "perfect life" and a total psychological collapse.
The Affair That Started With a Smell
Let’s be real: most true crime shows jump straight to the blood. Love and Death HBO Max takes its sweet time. It spends almost two full episodes just showing us how bored Candy was. She was a woman who did everything right—the marriage, the kids, the church—and she was dying of boredom.
The affair with Allan Gore didn't start with some grand, cinematic spark. Honestly, it started because Candy liked the way he smelled after a volleyball game. It was a business arrangement. Literally. They sat down and mapped out the logistics: who pays for the motel, who brings the lunch, and what happens if someone catches feelings. It was cold, calculated, and weirdly domestic.
Jesse Plemons plays Allan Gore with this incredible, doughy awkwardness. He isn’t a Casanova. He’s just a guy who’s also bored and a little bit lonely in a marriage that has gone stale. When you watch them together, it isn’t sexy. It’s sad. They’re two people trying to use sex to fill a hole that was actually caused by the stifling expectations of 1970s suburban Texas.
What Really Happened in That Utility Room?
June 13, 1980. Friday the 13th. You couldn't write a more cliché date if you tried.
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Betty Gore knew. That’s the consensus, right? She confronted Candy while Allan was away on a business trip. In the show, and according to the actual court testimony from the 1980 trial, Betty was the one who initially brought out the axe. She was struggling with postpartum depression, she was isolated, and she was rightfully angry.
But 41 times?
That’s the number that stops everyone in their tracks. One or two hits could be self-defense. Forty-one is a frenzy. Love and Death HBO Max depicts this scene with a brutal, visceral honesty that avoids the "glamour" of typical Hollywood violence. It’s clumsy. It’s loud. It’s exhausting. By the time it’s over, you’re left wondering how Candy just... walked out. She took a shower in the Gores' bathroom, went to vacation Bible school, and ate lunch with her friends.
The psychology here is what fascinates experts. Dr. Fred Fason, the psychiatrist who testified for the defense, famously used hypnosis on Candy. He claimed he uncovered a "dissociative reaction" triggered by a childhood trauma—specifically, her mother shushing her after she cut her foot on a piece of glass. The theory was that Betty Gore shushing Candy during the struggle triggered a suppressed rage that had been building for decades.
The Trial That Divided a Town
If you think modern social media dogpiling is bad, you should look at what happened in McKinney, Texas, in 1980. The town was split down the middle. Some saw Candy as a victim of a "crazy" woman, while others saw her as a cold-blooded sociopath who literally got away with murder.
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The legal strategy was risky. Her lawyer, Don Crowder, was a flamboyant guy who had never tried a murder case before. He leaned into the self-defense angle hard. He didn't try to say she didn't do it; he tried to explain why she had to. And it worked.
The verdict? Not guilty.
Even today, forty years later, that verdict feels wrong to a lot of people. How can you strike someone 41 times and call it self-defense? The jury in the real case argued that once the "dissociative state" kicked in, Candy wasn't in control of her actions. It's a controversial legal precedent that still gets debated in law schools.
Why This Version Hits Differently
- The Tone: It feels like a Wes Anderson movie that slowly curdles into a nightmare.
- The Script: Written by David E. Kelley, it has that sharp, legal-drama bite, but it’s softened by the Texas drawl.
- The Focus: It’s less about the "who" and more about the "how." How does a "good person" do something so horrific?
- The Era: The production design is flawless. You can practically taste the casseroles and smell the hairspray.
The Lingering Questions of Love and Death
There’s a scene in the final episode where Candy is leaving town. She looks back, and you can see the weight of what she’s carrying. She didn't go to jail, but she didn't exactly get off scot-free either. She had to live with the fact that she killed her friend and left a child motherless.
Critics often point out that the show is very sympathetic to Candy. Maybe too sympathetic. It treats Betty Gore (played by Lily Rabe) as a difficult, prickly person, which some feel unfairly justifies Candy's actions. But the reality is that life is messy. People aren't just "villains" or "victims" in the way we want them to be. Betty was a hurting woman. Candy was a frustrated one. And their collision was a tragedy that didn't have to happen.
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Where Is Candy Montgomery Now?
After the trial, Candy moved to Georgia. She changed her name back to her maiden name, Wheeler, and ironically enough, became a family counselor. She’s still alive today. She has never spoken publicly about the Max series or the Hulu series. She just disappeared into a new life, which is perhaps the most "Texas suburban" thing she could have done.
Allan Gore remarried quickly—actually, he married someone else while the trial was still looming. He eventually lost custody of his children to Betty's parents. The fallout of that Friday the 13th morning rippled through generations.
How to Watch and What to Look For
If you’re sitting down to binge Love and Death HBO Max, don’t look at it as just another true crime show. Look at the background details. Look at the way the characters interact in the church pews. It’s a study of a specific time and place where "keeping up appearances" was more important than mental health.
- Watch Elizabeth Olsen’s eyes. Her performance is all about the micro-expressions. The way she flips from "perky neighbor" to "hollow shell" is masterclass level.
- Listen to the sound design. The ticking clocks, the humming of the refrigerator—it all builds the tension of a domestic cage.
- Compare the facts. If you’re a real nerd for this stuff, read Evidence of Love by John Bloom and Jim Atkinson. It’s the definitive book on the case and served as the primary source for the show.
The fascination with this case isn't just about the axe. It's about the terrifying thought that the person living next door to you—the one who babysits your kids and brings you cookies—might have a breaking point you can't even imagine.
Actionable Steps for True Crime Enthusiasts
To truly understand the depth of the Candy Montgomery case, start by watching the seven episodes of Love and Death HBO Max to get the emotional narrative. Once finished, read the original 1984 "Texas Monthly" articles titled "Love and Death in Silicon Prairie" (Part 1 and 2) by Jim Atkinson and John Bloom. These articles provided the blueprint for the series and offer granular, real-time reporting from the trial that helps separate the cinematic flair from the stark, cold evidence presented in the McKinney courtroom. Finally, look into the "castle doctrine" and self-defense laws in Texas as they stood in 1980 versus today to see how a similar case might be handled in a modern legal setting.