By Sarah Osman

HBO’s docuseries on the illegal reptile trade is less wild than its predecessors, but its sorrowful, criminal undertow makes it unsettling in a different way.

 Monsters of God, streaming on HBO

A scene from Monsters of God. Photo: HBO

In the early 2000s, in my hometown, an enormous creature was unearthed from a drained lake. No one knew what the prehistoric monster was that lashed out at the flabbergasted workers who discovered it. Reptile experts were fascinated by the strange beast, which was later determined to be a 100-pound alligator snapping turtle. Sometime in the 1950s, the turtle, thought to have been a household pet, was dumped in the lake. The turtle was affectionately named Old Bob.

Old Bob should not have been hanging in Southern California, where alligator snapping turtles are illegal. Someone had illegally smuggled Old Bob across state lines so they could keep him as a pet. Alligator snapping turtles live along the Gulf of Mexico. They are not designed for the climate of Southern California. Old Bob was ver much a stranger in a strange land, at least for him.

I thought of Old Bob while watching HBO’s latest docuseries, Monsters of God. Helmed by Tiger King and Chimp Crazy director Eric Goode, Monsters of God delves into the secret, international world of illegal reptile trading. Unlike Tiger King and Chimp Crazy, there aren’t any compelling nutballs at the center of it. Monsters of God feels more like a true-crime series, given that illegal reptile trading goes hand in hand with cocaine smuggling and criminal gangs. And, to no one’s surprise, a good chunk of the nefarious doings take place in Florida.

The first episode details the godfathers of illegal reptile trading: Tom Crutchfield and Hank Molt. In the early 1960s, Molt began traveling the world, trapping and importing exotic, rare reptiles. Some of his most prominent clients were zoos, which were desperate to display the scaly critters because they drew in customers. Crutchfield became Molt’s mentee and later the two became sworn enemies. It wasn’t until the ’70s that the U.S. passed wildlife conservation laws, and those laws eventually brought down the operations of Molt and later Crutchfield. Still, the reptile trade grew and grew, eventually becoming connected with drug trafficking and various mafias. The rest of the series explores these opportunistic “reptile lovers” and the ramifications of their underhanded actions.

I felt sympathy for the reptiles in Monsters of God, just as I felt for the animals in Tiger King and Chimp Crazy. Throughout the docuseries, Goode asks the traders why they got involved in the business in the first place. Their answers are weirdly vague: they just really liked reptiles and wanted to work with them. Considering how absolutely wild the tiger wranglers were in Tiger King, I expected the reptile traders would be equally unhinged. But they seemed to partake of a quieter, more sinister nature — this crew is chiller than it is nutty.

Tonally, Monsters of God differs from Tiger King and Chimp Crazy. There are fewer WTF moments and more sorrowful sequences, giving it the feel of a true-crime documentary. As a true-crime documentary, Monsters of God is fascinating, but be warned, it is also melancholy. Perhaps that is because of Goode’s personal connection to the topic — at one time, he was an avid reptile collector.

Old Bob spent the rest of his life in a turtle reserve. But how many other Old Bobs are out there? How many other animals have had to suffer just because a millionaire wanted an exotic pet to show off? Makes you wonder who the real monsters are.

Sarah Mina Osman is based in Los Angeles. In addition to The Arts Fuse, her writing can be found in The Huffington Post, Success Magazine, Matador Network, HelloGiggles, Business Insider, and WatchMojo. She has an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of North Carolina Wilmington and is working on her first novel. She has a deep appreciation for sloths and tacos. You can keep up with her on Instagram @SarahMinaOsman and at Bluesky @sarahminaosman.bsky.social.