In the unofficial handbook of serial killers, David Berkowitz doesn't really stand out at first glance. No clown suits, no cannibalism, no chilling charisma.
Just a chubby-faced postal worker with an odd stare and a terrifying habit of sneaking up on couples in cars and pulling the trigger.
But sometimes the most terrifying thing about a killer is how normal they seem, and that's what makes Conversations With a Killer: The Son Of Sam Tapes such a disturbing watch.
The three-part Netflix docuseries, directed by Joe Berlinger (also behind true-crime hits like Conversations With a Killer: The Ted Bundy Tapes), digs into the twisted mind of Berkowitz, whose 1976-77 killing spree paralyzed New York City, and attempts to understand the man behind the moniker that once sent a shiver through every borough: 'the Son of Sam'.
A Killer With A Nickname And A Parking Ticket
In the summer of 1976, New York was already teetering on the edge: crime rates were sky-high, the city was facing bankruptcy, and distrust in institutions ran deep.
Into this chaos walked David Berkowitz, armed with a .44-calibre Bulldog revolver and deep-seated rage. His targets? Young women and couples, often caught in intimate moments - talking in parked cars, leaving discos or just walking home.
Berkowitz, then a 24-year-old loner working as a postal clerk, would later say he was acting on the orders of a demon-possessed dog named Sam.
But even more chilling than his bizarre explanations were the letters he sent to the police and newspapers, gleefully taunting authorities and calling himself "Son of Sam."
The name stuck, and soon, every headline and every TV bulletin fed into the hysteria of a faceless monster lurking in the shadows. It wasn't until a parking ticket led police to his car-and then his apartment-that the mystery ended.
As cops approached him with guns drawn, Berkowitz smiled and said, "Well, what took you so long?"
"I Was So Angry, I Blamed Others"
The series is built around a series of rarely heard 1980 audio interviews between David Berkowitz and journalist Jack Jones. These tapes are the spine of the show and offer firsthand access to a man who speaks not with frenzied chaos, but eerie calm. From his childhood memories to his killing motives, Berkowitz doesn't rant; he explains (every bit, quite literally).
Born in 1953 and adopted by a loving Jewish couple in the Bronx, Berkowitz's life began with a lie. He believed his biological mother had died in childbirth and that his father had abandoned him.
When he later discovered that she was alive and he was the product of an affair, his world further unravelled. "My whole life, I was wracked with guilt," he says on tape, adding, "I'd walk around with this death wish because I felt I now had to pay for her death."
He acted out violently as a child-setting fires, fighting, destroying his mother's belongings and eventually, turned that rage outward. "I was so angry, I blamed others, and I started committing my crimes to make people pay attention to me," he admits.
A City In Fear
The Son Of Sam Tapes doesn't just focus on David Berkowitz's psychology, it recreates the raw panic that gripped New York during his reign of terror.
Women with dark hair cut it or dyed it blonde. Parents begged their daughters to stop going out at night. Lovers' lanes emptied. The randomness of his crimes created a chilling sense that anyone, anywhere, could be next.
Some of his victims were shot point-blank in their cars. One woman, Wendy Savino, now confirmed by the NYPD as his first target, was shot in April 1976 with a different gun, which led to initial confusion in connecting the dots.
The docuseries vividly captures this era: grainy news footage, Farrah Fawcett hairstyles, tabloid covers and burnt-out boroughs. It was a time when a city on the edge was pushed into collective hysteria, and Berkowitz exploited every second of it.
"The entire city was gripped by fear," Joe Berlinger says. He adds, "Just sitting with your partner in a parked car could get you killed."
He Killed, Then Helped Push A Car Out Of The Snow
One of the most haunting segments in the documentary is when David Berkowitz recalls sparing a couple who had asked him for help.
Gun in pocket, rage boiling, he approached two people struggling to get their car out of a snowbank. They asked him for help. And so he did.
"Even for that brief second, I looked at their faces. And I said to myself, 'Oh, thank God, I mean something to somebody, even if it's just for a second,'" he said.
He let them go. Then he walked to a nearby street and shot Valentina Suriani, 18, and Alexander Esau, 20.
This chilling Jekyll-and-Hyde contrast is what the series captures best. Berkowitz wasn't a frothing lunatic. He was an emotionally broken man who, by his own account, compartmentalised his crimes as acts of vengeance on a world he believed had wronged him.
He was obsessed with stories of other killers, the Zodiac, Jack the Ripper, the Boston Strangler, and used these twisted heroes as inspiration.
"Dave, Run For Your Life. Get Help."
In the final episode, Joe Berlinger includes a rare 2024 phone interview with David Berkowitz, now 72 and still imprisoned at the Shawangunk Correctional Facility.
When asked what he would tell his younger self, Berkowitz's voice softens. "'Dave, run for your life. Get help.' I could have gone to my dad. I could have gone to my sister. But I kept everything to myself... I wish I could start all over again and take a better path in life." It's not redemption. It's a regret-filled whisper from a man who once screamed through bullets.
Berlinger, who debated giving Berkowitz airtime at all, justifies the moment. "Putting that message out there can help somebody realise, 'I'm feeling some of this rage. I need to get help.'"
In that sense, the docuseries doesn't excuse; it warns.
The Final Verdict
The Son Of Sam Tapes doesn't glamorise a killer. It doesn't pretend to uncover unknown facts. What it does do is paint a complete, unnerving portrait of a man who looked ordinary, spoke plainly and still left an entire city paralysed.
David Berkowitz might not be the most flamboyant figure in the serial killer hall of fame, but the sheer banality of his evil is what makes this series hard to shake off. In his own words, "I felt I had to do it." And somehow, that's scarier than any monster in a mask.
Watch it, but maybe not right before you get into a parked car.