Bad Vegan Review: Netflix True Crime Doc Is Tastier Than Other Scam-Based Alternatives

"Some f---ing Netflix documentary now. Jesus f---ing Christ," moans a male voice in a recorded phone call in the opening of Netflix's Bad Vegan: Fame. Fraud. Fugitives., before launching into an expletive-laden tirade. It's the voice of Anthony Strangis, or is it Shane Fox? The scammer with multiple identities is reacting to the fact that he's just been told he'll be the subject of the documentary. It's a harsh reality for a guy who spent years bending the reality of his then-wife Sarma Melngailis, allegedly grooming her to become his personal ATM through severe mental abuse. 

You might already know the story: Sarma was dubbed "the hottest vegan in New York City" after her raw food restaurant, Pure Food and Wine, became a sensation that attracted the likes of Alec Baldwin, Owen Wilson (who supposedly walked around the kitchen without his shoes on), and Tom Brady. Their story went viral in 2016 when Strangis and Sarma were arrested after going on the lam with hundreds of thousands of dollars while employees of Sarma's growing food empire waited for paychecks, headlines adding juice to their tale with details about Strangis promising immortality for Sarma's beloved dog, a romance kindled on Words with Friends, and a fateful Domino's Pizza delivery that alerted cops and drew ire from hardcore vegans everywhere.

But those tidbits aren't what makes Bad Vegan one of Netflix's better true crime docuseries in recent memory (though they sure don't hurt!). Bad Vegan goes beyond the "what" to focus on the "how," as in: How could Sarma, a gorgeous, successful chef on her way to stardom in New York's culinary scene, fall under the spell of Strangis, a domineering schlub, and hand him over a million dollars while cheating out investors and employees? Like HBO's excellent The Vow, the docuseries about NXIVM, became a crash course in cults and brainwashing, Bad Vegan does the same with corrupt relationships built on lies and control. Director Chris Smith (an executive producer on Tiger King) uses deep access to Sarma's inner circle and employees, phone calls and text messages between Sarma and Strangis, Sarma's journal, and, most importantly, Sarma herself to detail the frightening effects of mental abuse and domination. 

8.0

Bad Vegan: Fame. Fraud. Fugitives.

at Netflix

Like

• Excellent use of access to Sarma and her inner circle
• Goes beyond the story to detail how abusive relationships take hold
• At just four episodes it doesn't drag things out

Dislike

• It brings up questions of Sarma's responsibility in everything but doesn't go deep enough into them

Bad Vegan is essentially a redemption story for Sarma, with Smith taking cues from a 2016 Vanity Fair article written by Allen Salkin ("that Vanity Fair cocksucker," as Strangis calls him), who appears frequently in the miniseries, explaining how Sarma went from the talk of the culinary world to fugitive on the lam. It follows the standard "everything was going great... until" format of true crime stories, and Smith uses interviews with Sarma's staff, investors, and friends to invite the viewer in by forming a virtual gossip circle as they recall how Sarma's relationship with this stranger ate away at her core and her businesses.

Sarma deservedly gets most of the camera time, and as a subject she is riveting. Blonde, beautiful, and successful, we expect a vivacious charmer but quickly learn Sarma, when she's not performing in the kitchen or at the restaurant, is reserved and insecure. She confides in her dog, Leon, who is a vital part of the story. She takes hundreds of selfies all over the world, but rarely smiles in any of them. She's able to recount the horrible things that happened with little emotion — which is why when she does begin to crack and tear up, it feels like a hard-hitting confessional that's able to drop Sarma's guard and get to the truth. Through Smith's storytelling and details of Strangis' alleged relentless abuse, it's impossible not to feel sympathy for Sarma, yet Sarma doesn't play the victim and appears to only want a few things out of Bad Vegan: to drag Strangis and show how easy it is to get trapped in a toxic relationship. (There are some nudges toward questioning Sarma's motives, however. Phone video that Strangis shot shows different sides to Sarma than what she allows in interviews, and some employees still put blame on her, but Smith doesn't go much further than that.) 

The side players are also key here. Anyone who has worked in a restaurant knows that the gossip is served hotter than the food, and hearing the different sides to what was going on from bohemian hipsters who worked at Pure paints a picture of how Sarma's decisions affected so many. There's also Anthony Caruana, a homeless New Yorker befriended by Sarma, who defends Sarma's generous heart and vows to do many worse things to Strangis'. There's the Eastern European bartender who nearly got trapped by Strangis, the jilted investor who supported Sarma until Strangis' control became too much, and the mysterious online financial adviser who helped Sarma manage her money, among others. It's a story built from different perspectives, which helps establish just how far the abuse hurt others.

But it's the step-by-step indoctrination from Strangis and the slow loss of control by Sarma, and how Smith pieces it altogether, that's the real meat of Bad Vegan. While most true-crime documentaries rely on the heinous, grisly, and gruesome for kicks, Bad Vegan captures a substantive story with a lesson we can all chew on. 

Premieres: Wednesday, March 16 on Netflix
Who's behind it: Chris Smith (Tiger King)
For fans of: True crime, stories about gaslighting, lasagnas with cucumber instead of pasta
How many episodes we watched: 4 out of 4