The Iceman

Mug shot of Richard Kuklinski on the day of his capture, 1986.

My involvement with the Iceman story started in 1986 when I first learned about Richard Kuklinski, a mass murderer who claimed to have killed scores of people while maintaining an outwardly normal, suburban lifestyle with a wife and three children. The police had nicknamed him “the Iceman” because he had frozen one of his victims for two years to see if he could disguise the time of death. Clearly this was not a run-of-the-mill killer. I was intrigued, but at the time I had no idea how deeply his story would affect my life. What a long strange trip it has been.

While serving as executive producer on
A Deadly Business
, a CBS Television dramatic special, a friend and adviser on that project told me that a dangerous killer had just been arrested in New Jersey, and he felt that this man’s incredible story would make a great film
. A Deadly Business
delved into organized crime’s involvement in the illegal dumping of toxic waste in the Garden State. The killer, Richard Kuklinski, had been apprehended on the quiet suburban street where he lived. My adviser, who at the time was the director of New Jersey’s Organized Crime Task Force and later became a deputy attorney general of the state, told me that Kuklinski would have to be tried before I could approach any of the principal individuals in the case about doing a film,
but he would help me get the cooperation of the police and prosecutors. Approximately two years later, in 1988 after Kuklinski’s conviction, I started my quest to turn his story into what I hoped would be a powerful and successful motion picture.

What attracted me to this project was the opportunity to explore the dark side of human behavior. Kuklinski claimed to have killed more than 100 people. I wanted to know what created this monster. Was he born this way, or had his upbringing shaped him? I set about to secure the rights to the stories of the people who knew him best: his wife and children, as well as the federal undercover agent who had gotten close to him and secretly taped him talking about his crimes. After several months of negotiation, I was able to obtain options on those rights.

Shortly after, I received a call from the director of the New Jersey Division of Criminal Justice, who had prosecuted the case against Kuklinski, asking if I would be interested in interviewing Kuklinski at Trenton State Prison, where he was incarcerated. Naturally I accepted, with the understanding that at a later date I would be allowed to conduct an on-camera interview with him.

My initial meeting with the Iceman lasted two and a half hours. I was first struck by his size—six-foot-four, well over 250 pounds—and immediately recognized how intimidating he must have been on the street. We met one-on-one in a room reserved for lawyer/client conferences. I found him to be straightforward, cordial, and articulate. I felt that his dark story could potentially become a compelling, frightening, and unforgettable documentary, but first I had to see how forthcoming he would be and if he could cinematically sustain a one-hour program. I needed to discover what buttons, if any, I could push to elicit emotional responses on camera. When I asked him about his relationship with his son, he showed deep sadness, and tears came to his eyes. Later on, I realized this line of questioning might show the human being beneath the killer.

The very next day I pitched the idea to executives at HBO. I convinced them that Kuklinski was not just a thug with a gun and a chip on his shoulder. There was a real story here, I told them, an
important
story. They felt my passion and agreed to move forward with the project.

My first meeting with Kuklinski at the prison laid the groundwork for our on-camera interview, which lasted a total of seventeen hours. In the early spring of 1991 I took a film crew to the prison and, over a three-day period, interviewed Kuklinski for fifteen hours. The prison gave us a room next to the execution chamber, which hadn’t been used in fifteen years. Officials from the attorney general’s office simultaneously taped the interview for their own use. Their hope was that Kuklinski would provide information regarding unsolved murders he was suspected of having committed. I met with them at the end of each day, and over pizza and wine we discussed what I would ask Kuklinski the next day. My challenge was to ask him questions that might provide factual information while making sure that his responses were visually compelling for the camera.

On camera, Kuklinski was sly but frank. He spoke of many murders, some at great length, but he was often stingy with the kind of specifics that might lead to new indictments. Perhaps he didn’t want to go through another trial. I suspect he enjoyed the attention I gave him, and perhaps he feared that if he told me everything, I would lose interest in him. But his matter-of-fact retelling of his crimes was mesmerizing.

Several months later I went back into the prison with my film crew and a representative from HBO and conducted two more hours of interview, but something had changed. Unlike our previous experience, Kuklinski was uncooperative, and the effort was a waste of time.

I envisioned the Iceman project taking several forms—first, as a documentary, then as a book, then as a feature film—and I proceeded with this in mind. As it turned out, the first two stages of my plan were accomplished in relatively quick succession.
The Iceman Tapes: Conversations with a Killer
was first broadcast in the spring of 1992. The book,
The Iceman: The True Story of a Cold-Blooded Killer
, written by crime writer Anthony Bruno, was published in hardcover in 1993. Both were very successful.
The Iceman Tapes
became one of HBO’s highest-rated
documentaries and was nominated for a Cable Ace Award. The book stayed in print for many years, and foreign editions were published in the United Kingdom, Germany, and Japan. I felt confident that a movie deal would soon follow.

Unfortunately the toxic nature of the Kuklinski material seemed to infect the project itself. Success should have engendered further success, but instead it created greed, bruised egos, frustration, and enmity. The relationships I had worked so hard to build eroded around me. Suddenly I was seen as a “Hollywood producer” with all the negative attributes that phrase implies, and my motives became suspect. While my goal never changed and my intentions were exactly what they had been when I started, the tainted perceptions of others put obstacles in my path and kept me from making the film.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised that the rights holders (the cops who investigated and arrested Kuklinski, the prosecutor who tried him, and Kuklinski’s family) could not maintain the degree of solidarity I needed to make a feature film. I suspect the law-enforcement side wasn’t comfortable being on equal footing with the family of a mass murderer, and those who had lived under Kuklinski’s roof must have learned from him not to trust anyone. Securing options on their rights had been time consuming and labor intensive, requiring a great deal of legal wrangling. But it didn’t take long before mistrust altered their thinking. They sought out attorneys and agents to protect their interests. Ironically, one member of the Iceman task force was represented by a former girlfriend of mine!

The rights holders were perfectly within their rights to seek representation, but as the saying goes, too many cooks spoiled the soup. “Hollywood” pockets are seldom as deep as most people think, but the rights holders failed to understand that. And none of them wanted to be paid less than anyone else. Rumors spread that HBO had compensated Mrs. Kuklinski handsomely, and the cops understandably felt the criminal’s family had profited from his evil deeds. HBO’s actions in effect stuck a large knife into my efforts. I did my utmost to secure funding to keep the project afloat, but as option periods ran out and
agreements had to be renegotiated, the demands became unrealistic. Some of the principals went their own way and attempted to sell their rights to other producers. All
Iceman
and
Iceman
-related projects failed to get off the ground, including mine.

A lawsuit filed by Mrs. Kuklinski followed, which further hindered my efforts. It dragged on for years and was not settled until 1996. I couldn’t help but think that Richard Kuklinski’s noxious presence hovered over the project. While HBO executives reveled in his demonic qualities, I, like many members of the Iceman task force as well as his family, felt that we were poisoned by his influence. As silly as it might seem, anyone who came into contact with him was liable to be affected.