Set against the suffocating stillness of rural Kentucky, Above Suspicion (2019) is not a crime thriller that relies on spectacle. Its horror is quieter, slower, and far more unsettling. Directed by Phillip Noyce, the film tells the true story of Susan Smith, a woman whose hope for escape became the very thing that sealed her fate. At the center of it all is Emilia Clarke, delivering one of the most emotionally punishing performances of her career.
Gone is the mythic armor of Game of Thrones. In its place is coal dust, poverty, addiction, and the grinding reality of a town where everyone knows everyone—and no one truly gets out.
Clarke plays Susan Smith, a struggling woman in Pikeville, Kentucky, trapped by circumstance and poor choices. When FBI agent Mark Putnam (Jack Huston) arrives to investigate local crime, Susan becomes his informant. The relationship begins under the guise of law enforcement cooperation, but the imbalance of power is clear from the start. Putnam holds authority, mobility, and institutional protection. Susan has none of those things.
Their affair is not framed as romance, but as illusion. For Susan, Putnam represents possibility—a future beyond addiction and small-town despair. For Putnam, she is leverage. Useful, disposable, and ultimately dangerous.
The film’s most harrowing turn comes when Susan becomes pregnant. The pregnancy is not treated as melodrama, but as threat—specifically, a threat to Putnam’s career, marriage, and reputation. At that moment, the story pivots from bleak drama into psychological nightmare. The man assigned to protect her becomes the one she must fear.
What makes Above Suspicion so disturbing is its refusal to sensationalize violence. There is no monster lurking in the woods. There is no sudden betrayal. The terror comes from recognition—the slow realization that the system Susan trusted is closing in on her, and that the badge offers Putnam protection she will never have. When he drives her into the Appalachian hills, the audience understands the danger long before she fully does.
This story is rooted in real events. In 1989, Mark Putnam murdered Susan Smith and disposed of her body in a remote ravine. Years later, he confessed, becoming the first FBI agent ever convicted of murder. He served 10 years of a 16-year sentence. The facts are chilling on their own, but the film’s power lies in how it contextualizes them within structures of power, gender, and desperation.
Clarke’s performance is the film’s emotional anchor. She captures Susan’s volatility, hope, and growing fear without ever asking for pity. Her Appalachian accent, frantic energy, and emotional unraveling feel lived-in rather than performed. Critics rightly noted how fearless the role was—especially in portraying a woman whose biggest mistake was believing escape was possible.
Above Suspicion leaves the viewer with an uncomfortable truth: in places built on silence and inequality, hope itself can be fatal. Love, the film suggests, does not die loudly. It dies quietly—where bodies are buried, and lies are protected.