By Melanie Hayward
In a support group for serial killers, the real work starts when the meeting begins. That’s the premise of Serial Killers Anonymous, a darkly comic vertical web series by Logan and Brisbane co-creators Suzanne Webcke and Lucinda Bopf, where the homicidal and misunderstood gather to commiserate, and survive.
But unlike a typical support group, these characters are caught between a rock and a secret government agency intent on eliminating them. It’s comedy wrapped in genre, and it’s exactly the kind of clever, character-driven content that shouldn’t work on short-form digital platforms. Yet Webcke and Bopf have managed to pull it off with high production values and a cast and crew drawn entirely from Queensland’s talented pool of filmmakers and performers.
For a lot of emerging creators, the choice is stark: pursue traditional pathways to television, or go direct to audience via digital platforms. Webcke and Bopf chose neither approach entirely and created something that collapses the distinction. The series is made for Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube Shorts. It’s bite-sized, optimised for scrolling. But it doesn’t look or feel like a short-form project constrained by budget or ambition. The creative tension of making cinematic television for platforms known for content clutter sits at the heart of why Serial Killers Anonymous works as both a production story and a piece of filmmaking.
“We wanted to create opportunities both for ourselves and for our friends,” Webcke explains. Both had been acting for years and, like many actors, they eventually wanted to control their own narratives. “We realised that writing and directing gave us agency we didn’t have as performers. So we started making short films together.” Those early projects won festival attention and built their confidence, but they felt like stepping stones. What they really wanted was to make something bigger. Something that could employ their friends, that could showcase Queensland talent, and that could exist on its own terms as a finished piece.
The genesis of Serial Killers Anonymous came from a simple observation: support groups are inherently dramatic spaces. People gather, they confess, they clash, they find common ground (or don’t). It’s a contained setting with built-in conflict. Bopf and Webcke saw the potential immediately. The serial killer angle added genre flavour and gave them permission to be funny in ways a standard therapy drama couldn’t. “We wanted to make something that didn’t take itself too seriously,” Webcke says, “but that also had real character work underneath. Dark comedy needs heart, or it’s just mean.”
Writing the series meant walking a tonal tightrope. They needed the characters to be sympathetic (viewers had to care about a group of murderers) while keeping the premise absurd enough to justify the comedy. What helps is that none of them are very good at their jobs. “They’re incompetent killers caught in an incompetent situation,” Bopf explains. “That’s the sweet spot. It’s not cruel humour; it’s situational and character-based.”
The production itself became a deliberate act of ecosystem-building. “We knew exactly which crew and performers we wanted to work with in Queensland,” Webcke says. “We weren’t looking to hire externally. We wanted to create an opportunity for people we believed in, people who were doing good work but maybe hadn’t had the chance to work on something with this kind of production value.” The crew included cinematographers, editors, sound designers, and production coordinators; the full infrastructure of a professional production, but scaled for digital. It’s a model that’s gaining traction in other film communities, but it requires trust, shared vision, and a willingness to take on more production load than usual.
The web series format presented a strategic advantage. “Digital platforms give you the agency to go direct to audience,” Webcke notes. “You’re not pitching to networks, negotiating with broadcasters, waiting for a commissioning process. You can make something, finish it, and release it on your own terms.” But that freedom came with unforeseen constraints.
The biggest challenge wasn’t creative, but platform policy. Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube all have content guidelines, and when your premise involves serial killers, those guidelines become very real very quickly. Captions containing certain words get flagged, so descriptions need careful language. Visual content like gore, violence, even suggestions of violence trigger algorithmic warnings or demotion. “We had to learn how to be horrifying in a way that the algorithms wouldn’t penalise,” Bopf says with a laugh. “That sounds ridiculous, but it’s a genuine constraint.”
The blood and gore that typically signify the horror genre became particularly thorny. “Horror leans on visual viscerality,” Webcke explains. “But on short-form platforms, graphic content gets suppressed. So we had to find alternative ways to suggest violence, to create a sense of danger and dark humour without relying on what audiences normally expect from the genre.” That meant practical creativity: clever angles, editing techniques that imply rather than show, sound design that carries weight. It’s the kind of problem that forces filmmakers to get inventive and to remember that what you don’t show can be more powerful than what you do.
“It forced us to be better storytellers,” Bopf argues. “Because you can’t hide behind visceral shock. You have to earn the comedy and the tension through character and dialogue and structure. A healthy amount of confetti also went a long way.”
The series also required them to think differently about pacing and episode structure. Traditional web series, even ones made for YouTube, often run 8-15 minutes per episode, giving creators time to breathe. But the WeBop Productions model is different. Each “episode” is optimised for the infinite scroll: shorter, punchier, designed to stop someone’s thumb from swiping. “It’s a different grammar,” Webcke says. “It’s not television broken into smaller pieces. It’s a format with its own rhythm and rules.”
What emerged is a series that feels neither diluted nor constrained by its platform. Characters feel fully developed. Jokes have setup and payoff. The production design, cinematography, and sound all feel considered and purposeful. It’s cinematic in the ways that matter: in clarity of intention, in technical execution, in the quality of performance.
For Queensland’s film community, the series represents something important: proof that high-quality independent production doesn’t require international co-financing, or a traditional development pathway. Webcke and Bopf did it by being clear about their goals, strategic about their platform choice, and deliberate about building a crew and cast they believed in. They didn’t wait for permission to get started. They didn’t chase a broadcast deal. They made something on their terms, for an audience that exists where they created: online, scrolling, looking for something worth stopping for.
“That’s what excited us most,” Webcke says. “Making something that could include our friends, that could showcase what Logan and Queensland filmmakers and actors could do, and that could exist as its own thing. A series we were proud of.”
You can watch the full series on YouTube Shorts here: https://www.youtube.com/@Serial_Killers_Anonymous/shorts
Serial Killers Anonymous is supported by the Regional Arts Development Fund (RADF). RADF is a partnership between the Queensland Government and Logan City Council to support local arts and culture in regional Queensland.
