February 12, 1999 -- It was late. But after watching PBS's Frontline documentary, "The Execution," I wandered around my house, fidgeting.

I wasn't just thinking about writing this review. I was disturbed, upset. This 90-minute documentary had worked. It was compelling me to think about my feelings about the death penalty. Correspondent Alan Austin had asked in the film, did it make sense to kill Clifford Boggess? The question left me uneasy.

My uncomfortable pondering was the point of this mystical, but disturbing tale. For many of us, there are no easy, clear, concise reasons to either support or oppose the issue of capital punishment.

In 1986, in separate instances, Boggess murdered, in cold blood calculation, two elderly men in Texas. He did it for a few hundred dollars. Although intelligent, he bragged about his crimes to his girlfriend, who later turned him in. He was captured a short time later in Gainesville, Texas.

Rather quickly, he was tried, convicted, and sentenced to death. After eleven years on Death Row, on June 11, 1998 and at the age of 33, he was executed. At his request, his ashes were cremated and spread at a monastery near St. Remy France, a place where his favorite artist, Vincent Van Gogh, was once incarcerated.

In 1995, Producer-Director Mike McLeod and Austin had set out to make a film about capital punishment. They sought a "typical" murderer, one who freely admitted to his crimes and would talk frankly about himself, his crime, and his destiny with death.

They would find out everything about him, his family, the relatives of his victims, and even the warden, chaplain, and guards within his prison. I'm not sure what a typical murderer is. Maybe even McLeod and Austin didn't know.

Boggess was certainly not a celebrity criminal. Until this film, few ever heard about him. His method of killing was vicious, but there was no mutilation. He hadn't killed a cop or a judge or sexually abused young girls. His victims weren't famous, nor were they rich. Perhaps this case was ordinary, involving a killer who was not a gang member or mentally "deranged."

Maybe Boggess seems like a typical murderer, but in the end, he was anything but that. He was intelligent, a creative and accomplished pianist and artist, a born again Christian, well spoken, and always had that friendly southern grin (or was that a smirk?). Throughout his interviews, he attempts to convince Austin, and us, that he is remorseful.

This documentary is not strictly an objective, journalistic approach. Austin is a contemplating narrator, listening more than questioning. This is a search for him. He speaks in the first person, "I," and "we" (for the film crew), never speaking directly to the viewer on camera. It's a diary form similar to Australian filmmaker Michael Rubbo's "Sad Song of Yellow Skin."

McLeod's camera is close, but respective of the pain felt by the film's participants. Boggess waits for his fateful day. McLeod captures lonesome images, Texas weeds bending in the wind, the dust blowing down the dusty streets of Boggess's hometown, Saint Jo, where the first murder took place.

There are re-creations, a documentary element that usually disturbs me when not made clear to the viewer. But here, watching dramatized scenes of a young boy running away from home to "find my mom," playing the piano, practicing football, we are not misled. Rather we are discovering both the bright and talented young boy, and the roots of his cold and calculating persona, his evil detachment.

We feel bad for the boy, but we want the monster man to pay for his brutal crimes. The film's mood finds a strange, fairy tale atmosphere with the musical score. Its not just the western "twangy" guitar over the streets of Saint Jo, but the ever present renditions of Judy Garland's "Somewhere over the Rainbow," Boggess's favorite song, a song he continuously played on the piano when a small boy. Are Garland's hopeful lyrics for us? Would this comprehensive examination of one murderer and his impact on others lead to some answers? Did executing Boggess make sense? Was justice served? Did we, society, gain more than we lost?

Gainesville is my birthplace. Even after my father's death, I continue to visit my aunts and uncles and cousins. I've probably driven through Saint Jo. I wouldn't be surprised that Boggess ate in my father's truck stop café. I can see Boggess and the grin. He looks a lot like us, just another "good old, little Texas boy." But he became a murderer. And we, all of us, took his life. Like Austin, it leaves me a little satisfied, a little sad, and real fidgety.

Click here for links to places to buy this movie in video and/or DVD format, the soundtrack, books, even used videos, games and lots of other stuff. I suggest you shop at least two of these places before buying anything. Prices seem to vary continuously. For more information on this film, click on this link to The Internet Movie Database. Type in the name of the movie in the search box and press enter. You will be able to find background information on the film, the actors, and links to much more information.

Mike McElreath can be reached via e-mail as MikeM@uwyo.edu