Joe Exotic gets close with his big cats in the Netflix docuseries “Tiger King.” (photo courtesy of Netflix)

Ever heard of Godwin’s law? All online arguments eventually devolve into a shouting match that invokes a Hitler or Nazi comparison, it states. Crime news has a similar problem for enthusiastic readers. We encounter a rather innocuous headline relevant to our community. What’s that link below, something even more nefarious? Even further down, an ad parades as a story with the sexiest paring of words for a news junky: “Florida man.”

Not all crime occurs there, but the Orange State finds the best somehow, including Joseph Allen Maldonado-Passage, who ran the Oklahoma-based Greater Wynnewood Exotic Animal Park dedicated to rescuing abandoned big cats. That would all change once he took on the name Joe Exotic and began breeding tigers. Eventually, the call of Florida finds him – that’s the Florida Man law, after all – in a truly bizarre true crime story, “Tiger King: Murder, Mayhem and Madness,” a seven-part docuseries on Netflix.

David Letterman made Jungle Jack Hanna a household name on “The Late Show,” with the zookeeper’s many animal guests. Hanna’s easygoing and charming demeanor never hurt either.

Enter Joe, an animal guy so over the top that a Hollywood producer would balk at his outlandish characterization in any work of fiction. We’re talking gun-toting, country music singing zoo owner with two husbands, one of whom later married the woman running the cash register. Too good to be true? Partially.

First, he actually lip syncs those country ballads about his lovers and beloved tigers while a ghost band performs unseen. But he does own way too many guns and frequently makes threats against his naysayers with them. And he’s just one of the batty characters in the big cat game.

“Tiger King” also portrays Bhagavan Antle – or Doc Antle – who runs Myrtle Beach Safari, still operating today. He ain’t much better, especially for one former employee who describes him as a cult leader who sexually preys on his younger female staff. The safari isn’t too thrilled with “Tiger King,” especially since the website logo still reads “Doc Antle’s Myrtle Beach Safari.”

“We are very disappointed that our facility was mentioned in the new Netflix series,” read a now-deleted statement from Antle’s Instagram. “We can only assume it is because Doc Antle has been such a high profile wildlife personality for so many decades that his association would create more buzz.”

The safari is a professional enterprise, unlike the G.W. zoo, the statement continues. It’s “experts” are so trustworthy that the safari “is not planning to cancel any tours,” according to a separate March 30 statement by the safari detailing how (little) the coronavirus will affect park operations.

For podcast savants, this story might sound familiar. It was previously told in serial-form last year as the second season of the “Over My Dead Body” podcast, subtitled “Joe Exotic.” But seeing is something else. Joe and his crew might sound like regular, well, Joes. Not so on screen. From meth mouth to folks with missing limbs, this story unfolds in completely new ways (pay special attention to Joe’s wardrobe changes during events that should require immediate attention).

Never will you come across a series without a single sympathetic character. Even the heroine Carole Baskin, who seeks to end private ownership and exploitation of big cats through public policy and her own sanctuary (caged lions, tigers and other big cats can rarely return to the wild), finds herself shrouded in the mystery of her previous husband’s disappearance. On her own blog, she takes issue with her portrayal and how the series did not become “the big cat version of Blackfish.”

“There are not words for how disappointing it is to see that the series not only does not do any of that, but has had the sole goal of being as salacious and sensational as possible to draw viewers,” writes Baskin, who owns Big Cat Rescue. “As part of that, it has a segment devoted to suggesting, with lies and innuendos from people who are not credible, that I had a role in the disappearance of my husband Don in 1997.”

Those discredited sources, however, include her missing husband’s longtime assistant and in-laws with very poor opinions of Baskin. Certainly, the docuseries raises significant ethical concerns regarding the inclusion of conjecture, but it also ensures other voices are included as well, namely family and friends who feel wronged. And for that matter, “Over My Dead Body” doesn’t approach the disappearance that differently, though Baskin believes it did so less salaciously.

Beyond Baskin, everyone interviewed weathers a degree of madness. “Joe Exotic T.V.” producer Rick Kirkham should know better. Once a renowned journalist, he settles for misrepresenting the zoo and its owner while he enjoys the “power” of encountering those caged animals. Meanwhile, the G.W. zoo crew are disturbed misfits, from Joe’s first husband John Finlay to Joshua Dial, who ran Joe’s political campaigns first for president in 2016 and then for Oklahoma governor (he placed third on the Libertarian Party ticket).

Baskin is hardly the only obstacle for Joe. Jeff Lowe, to whom Joe eventually signs over the G.W. zoo, believes he channels a “Sons of Anarchy lifestyle,” he posted on Facebook in response to the series, while describing him as questionable is the softest spin possible. In one scene, he pores over photos of prospective nannies for his newborn based on whether they’re “enjoyable to look at,” indifferent to how skeevy that sounds.

As a piece of journalism, “Tiger King” cowers in the shadow of much better research and reporting heard on “Over My Dead Body” and written by others, including New York magazine’s Robert Moor, who recently noted in a March 23 tweet that G.W. zoo worker Saff, perhaps the only sympathetic person in the whole series, is a transgender man, even though everyone misgenders him. “Tiger King” never clarifies this, instead focusing on melodrama without an eye for factual details.

Ultimately, it’s a wacky hybrid of documentary and reality TV that avoids the horrors of animal captivity, instead appealing to viewers’ base desires.