Wylie, Texas, 1980. It was hot. The kind of suburban heat that makes everything feel still, quiet, and maybe just a little bit suffocating. Then came the axe. 41 swings. If you’ve watched the Love and Death series on Max, you know that number sticks in your brain like a splinter. It’s brutal. It’s irrational. And yet, decades later, we’re still obsessing over how a "normal" church-going mother like Candy Montgomery ended up in a blood-soaked utility room with her friend’s husband’s wife.
Honestly, the show isn’t just about a murder. It’s about the crushing weight of being "fine." Elizabeth Olsen plays Candy with this sort of eerie, wide-eyed practicalism that makes you realize how thin the line is between a bake sale and a breakdown. People keep asking why we needed another version of this story after Hulu’s Candy came out just a year prior. The answer is simple: Love and Death cares more about the why than the how.
The Affair That Started It All
It started with a collision on a volleyball court. That’s the detail that always gets me. Candy Montgomery and Allan Gore literally bumped into each other, and Candy, bored out of her mind with her suburban existence, decided right then and there to ask him if he’d be interested in an affair. No grand romance. No soulmate energy. Just a checklist. They even wrote out a set of rules. They had a budget for their motels. They brought their own Tupperware lunches to save money.
It was clinical.
Jesse Plemons plays Allan as this incredibly beige human being. He’s not a temptress or a Casanova; he’s a guy who’s just as lost in the monotony as Candy is. Their affair was less about sex and more about feeling like they weren't invisible for sixty minutes a week. But in a small town like Wylie, secrets have a way of rotting. When Allan’s wife, Betty Gore, found out, the mundane world they’d built crashed.
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Why the Trial Still Sparks Arguments
If you’ve finished the Love and Death series, you know the ending feels like a gut punch because of how the legal system handled it. Candy didn't deny killing Betty. She claimed self-defense. Her lawyer, Don Crowder—played with frantic, Texas-sized energy by Tom Pelphrey—brought in a psychiatrist named Dr. Fred Fason.
This is where it gets weird.
Fason hypnotized Candy and claimed to discover a "dissociative reaction" triggered by Betty telling Candy to "shush." Apparently, that shush unlocked a repressed childhood trauma from when Candy’s mother shushed her after she cut her foot on a jar. The defense argued that the 41 axe wounds weren't an act of hate, but a psychological break.
The jury bought it.
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They acquitted her. In 1980, in a conservative Texas town, a woman who admitted to hacking her neighbor to death walked out of the courthouse a free woman. People were livid. They still are. You can find threads on Reddit today where people argue about the physics of the struggle in that utility room. Was it really possible for Betty, who was physically smaller and supposedly "depressed," to initiate an axe attack? The show doesn't give you a clean answer because history doesn't give you one.
The Problem With Betty Gore
One of the hardest things about the Love and Death series is how it portrays Betty. Lily Rabe plays her as someone who is deeply difficult to be around. She’s anxious, demanding, and seemingly perpetually unhappy. This has led to some criticism from people who knew the real Betty Gore. They argue that the media has turned Betty into a villain to make Candy’s "breakdown" more palatable.
It’s a classic true crime trap. We want to find a reason why someone died, so we look for flaws in the victim. But the reality is that Betty was a woman struggling with postpartum depression in an era where people didn't really talk about it. She was lonely. Her husband was checked out. Her friend was sleeping with her husband. If she was "difficult," she probably had every right to be.
Small Town Pressure Cooker
The production design in the show is incredible. Everything looks like it smells like hairspray and wood paneling. But that aesthetic serves a purpose. It shows the enclosure. In the 1970s and 80s, the Methodist church was the center of the universe for these families. If you weren't at the choir rehearsal, where were you?
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Candy was the life of the party. She organized the VBS. She was the "perfect" wife to Pat Montgomery. The show excels at showing the cracks in that perfection. When Candy is sitting in church after the murder, singing hymns with blood still potentially under her fingernails, it highlights the terrifying capability humans have for compartmentalization.
Fact vs. Fiction: What the Show Changed
While showrunner David E. Kelley stuck pretty close to the book Evidence of Love by John Bloom and Jim Atkinson, there are always minor tweaks for drama.
- The Timeline: The affair actually lasted much longer in real life than it feels in the show. It was a slow burn that fizzled out months before the murder actually happened.
- The Kids: The show focuses heavily on the adults, but the real-life tragedy involves the Gore children. Alisa Gore was actually at the Montgomery house when her mother was killed. The thought of those kids waiting for a mother who would never come home is the part the series—and the trial—sometimes glosses over in favor of legal theatrics.
- The Aftermath: Candy didn't just disappear. She moved to Georgia and actually became a family counselor. Let that sink in for a second. The woman who was acquitted of an axe murder because of a dissociative fugue state went on to advise others on their mental health.
What to Watch Next if You’re Hooked
If the Love and Death series left you wanting more of that specific "Texas Noir" vibe, you have options.
- Candy (Hulu): Watch it just to compare Jessica Biel’s performance. It’s a lot darker and more stylized than the Max version.
- The Staircase (Max): Another scripted take on a real-life death where the "truth" is incredibly slippery.
- Under the Banner of Heaven: For more exploration of how religious communities handle extreme violence.
Actionable Steps for True Crime Enthusiasts
To get the most out of this story, don't just stop at the TV show. The real history is often more nuanced than a script allows.
- Read the Source Material: Pick up Evidence of Love. It’s widely considered one of the best true crime books ever written. It gives way more context on the psychological profiles of both women.
- Listen to Texas Monthly: They have incredible archives on this case. Since they were the ones who originally broke the deep-dive reporting on Candy Montgomery, their perspective is the "gold standard."
- Check the Trial Transcripts: If you’re skeptical about the "shushing" defense, looking at the actual testimonies from the 1980 trial reveals just how much of a gamble that legal strategy really was. It shouldn't have worked, but it did.
The fascination with the Love and Death series isn't just about the gore. It’s about the fact that Candy Montgomery looks like someone you know. She looks like a neighbor, a teacher, or a friend. The horror lies in the realization that "normal" people are capable of extraordinary things when they feel trapped by the lives they chose for themselves. Candy chose to walk away, but the town of Wylie, and the true crime community, never really let the story go.
Next Steps for Deep Research:
To truly understand the legal anomaly of this case, look into the Texas "Stand Your Ground" precursors that existed in the 1980s. Understanding the specific jury instructions given during the Montgomery trial explains why the acquittal was legally possible, even if it remains morally controversial.