Human nature is grounded in storytelling, from cave drawings, to epic poems, fables, theater, print, folk songs, film, and digital art; communities have long absorbed modern storylines into narrative forms. Narrative storytelling allows us to construct meaning and preserve memory. Public figures often become the subjects of this impulse to capture narrative, consequently giving narrators a responsibility to balance a thin line of creative endeavors versus integrity.
A perfect example of this encapsulation is displayed through the recent Love Story series, with the first season capturing John F. Kennedy Jr and Carolyn Bessette Kennedy. The controversy surrounding Love Story underlines the balance creatives walk on between artistic freedom, public narrative ownership, and the private realities of those left behind.
Once a life is publicly lived, it becomes historically significant, no matter one’s social status, which just seems to amplify ideas of narrative entitlement. Kennedy was born into an immediately public life. Bessette, marrying into such an acclaimed family, was absorbed into this publicity. Their partnership consumed not only New York City, but the world. They were the pinnacle of youth and celebrity glamour, a perfect storyline for an American fairytale.
The new Hulu series depicts the high society life of the couple, but also highlights their infamous moments such as their fight in Washington Square Park. Glamorizing the life of celebrities is not a new concept in this day and age, but the controversy surrounds the couples tragic ending and their family’s lack of consultation during the creation of the series. Despite their fairytale beginning, the relationship of Carolyn and John ended in abrupt tragedy when an aircraft, piloted by John, crashed into the Atlantic Ocean on a trip to Martha’s Vineyard.
Family members have been outspoken on their disapproval of the series, making it known that the director, Ryan Murphy’s, tale of the couple is highly fictional, stating that he knows nothing about the relationship he forefronted a series storyline with. Despite their disapproval, there is not much the family can do to uphold the name, image, and likeness of John and Carolyn. Instead, they ask that those participating in watching the show exemplify the causes the couple stood for through advocacy, in an effort to keep their memory alive in an affluent way.
This is not an isolated case. As mentioned, media has long adapted real-life stories, frequently drawing criticism from those closest to their headliners. These portrayals raise a broader ethical question: at what point does public life become public property? While creatives may argue that storytelling preserves history, families often view these interpretations as intrusions; infatuations that reshape intimate truths into dramatized distorted narratives.
Ultimately, the lives of public figures may belong in history, but that doesn’t make them public property. Storytelling has the power to preserve legacies, but as individuals we carry the responsibility to honor the humanity lived within them. The story of John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette serves as a reminder that behind every widely consumed narrative are real lives, real relationships, and real grief that cannot be fully captured on screen. As audiences and creators navigate the space between infatuation and respect, it is essential to remember that ethical storytelling is not just about what can be told, but how it should be told.