Castle Drive

Rain and sirens greet Jeffrey MacDonald as he’s wheeled, bleeding and half-naked, from his house on Castle Drive. Nine years later, journalist Joe McGinniss—restless and fading—drives the California coast, desperate for a project that will restore his acclaim. A tense call with his agent, Sterling Lord, makes the stakes clear. So when defense attorney Bernie Segal offers exclusive access to MacDonald’s upcoming North Carolina trial, Joe bolts east. He first meets Jeff at a sparkling Long Beach condo: ocean views, a yacht named Recovery Room, and a flirtatious hostess project success. Over huevos rancheros, Jeff complains about “gotcha journalism.” Joe accepts an invite to a fundraiser, begins jogging with the former Green Beret, and records offhand remarks about masculinity, diet pills, and hangovers—casual disclosures that will come to haunt both men. Inside a Raleigh fraternity house converted into a legal bunker, Joe watches the defense team’s bravado dissolve under Judge Dupree’s strict rulings and prosecutor Brian Murtagh’s methodical case. Fibers, splinters, and a reconstructed pajama top point to a staged crime scene. Courtroom flashbacks play out against Jeff’s nightly jogs and solitary moments, Scotch in hand, listening to A Summer Place. Joe’s notebooks multiply, red then blue, while finances fray and his wife Nancy gives birth in distant hotel rooms. When a waiver dispute nearly ejects Joe from the house, a midnight apology from Jeff on the lawn cements their complicated bond. Joe stays, but defense team member Wendy Rouder grows increasingly wary of his presence. Murtagh’s blood-soaked opening rattles the jury—and the Kassabs, Jeff’s in-laws. Bernie responds with fiery rebuttals that often alienate jurors. Over pizza, Joe tells the team their lack of a motive defense is fatal. Wendy is both impressed and uneasy. Privately, Joe and Jeff grow close. Clandestine drinks on campus lead to confessions—fears about fatherhood, doubts about the future. They rewatch Jeff’s Dick Cavett interview: media-polished charm, contrasted with crime-scene photos so graphic Nancy has to leave the room. Joe vacillates between empathy and suspicion. Testimony links pajama fibers and a blood-smeared club to the children’s bedrooms, not intruders. The defense bets on Helena Stoeckley, but her courtroom performance, dulled by drugs and trauma, fails to deliver. Dupree rules her multiple confessions unreliable. Jeff erupts when he hears—smashing furniture, losing control. Wendy asks Joe to calm him before the jury sees. Outside, Jeff accuses Joe of betrayal. Their confrontation turns physical—then emotional—as Joe begs him to show grief, not bravado. Later, Freddy Kassab, once Jeff’s greatest ally, unlocks Castle Drive for Joe after dark. Room by room, Freddy reenacts Jeff’s version of events, revealing contradictions: a ceiling too low, children turned the wrong way, a pajama top too shredded. Mundane details unravel—dishwashing, flickering lights—and Joe remembers Jeff once recommended Eskatrol for headaches. Back in Long Beach, a spilled drink reveals Jeff’s handwritten admission of diet-pill use. Joe flips through his old red notebook—Eskatrol, circled. As Joe pieces together a new narrative, publishing pressure mounts. Sterling loves the title Fatal Vision but pushes for motive over legal minutiae. Advance copies circulate. At Terminal Island prison, Jeff learns of Joe’s betrayal via a 60 Minutes segment. Mike Wallace reads from the book: Jeff’s narcissism, stoked by amphetamines, is presented as the spark for murder. Jeff stares, stunned: “How did you get an advanced copy?” Meanwhile, Joe dines in Manhattan, toasting literary society. Nancy watches; Chris Schaeffer never arrives. A congratulatory card replaces her, and Sterling teases another murder case. Fatherhood offers Joe momentary grounding. But a rocking horse gift from Jeff—Kristen’s replica—unsettles everything. On a late-night call, Chris diagnoses Jeff as a narcissist and forces Joe to choose: truth or story? In prison, Jeff counts pushups, stares at a changing stain, haunted by beach memories. His calls to Sterling go unanswered. Joe’s dreams unravel: a carefree road trip with Jeff becomes a stalled Cadillac on train tracks. Joe jumps clear. Jeff screams, belted in. Jerking awake in a hotel, baby in arms, Joe tells Nancy he must re-review everything. She urges him to find something—if anything remains. Alone, chain-smoking in Jeff’s condo, Joe replays hours of taped monologues. Notes and evidence plaster every surface. The circled “Eskatrol” becomes the linchpin. The image of Jeff—disciplined, confident—fractures. Joe’s thesis crystallizes: pathological narcissism, a medicated veneer, and a consuming need to control how he’s seen. Appeals grind forward, but Dupree’s verdict holds. Jeff’s letters go unanswered; Joe’s book tour surges. The bond once fraternal is now betrayal. On Castle Drive, truth has no fixed shape. Prosecutors trust fibers. Freddy trusts voids. Sterling trusts sales. Nancy trusts the bills. Joe, finally, trusts what he’s created: a narrative forged from admiration, fear, and a word scribbled long ago in a diner—Eskatrol. As A Summer Place drifts over a cellblock speaker, Jeff stares at the stain on his wall. On a Manhattan marquee, Joe’s bestseller climbs. Both men are captive—one behind bars, the other behind a narrative too successful to escape.