TV Writer Rida Hasan questions the ethics of Ryan Murphy’s true crime storytelling
Content Warning; Mention of murder and abuse
It is easy to see what attracted producer Ryan Murphy to adapt the Menendez case in Netflix’s Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story. Opulence, gore, privilege, and trauma, all in a glitzy late 1980s landscape; were there for a shocking addition to the true crime genre. However, the controversy surrounding the case destined the series to be hit or miss. Unfortunately, I would say this was a resounding miss. The nine-part series thrives on certain riveting moments but undercuts these with inconsistent pacing, a hazy moral lens, and a frustratingly uneven narrative. Seemingly, Monsters aims to achieve a multifaceted approach. Instead, it delivers an exhausting repetition between sympathy and condemnation, with no destination.
it delivers an exhausting repetition between sympathy and condemnation, with no destination.
Monsters’ greatest strength is undeniably the performances that the star-studded cast deliver. Javier Bardem and Chloë Sevigny, playing Jose and Kitty Menendez, complement each other perfectly. Bardem’s haunting performance as the abusive tyrant dominating the family dynamics leaves just enough room for Sevigny to embody the blurred line between victim and villain. The depictions of Erik (Cooper Koch) and Lyle (Nicholas Chavez) are equally gripping. Chavez’s explosive performance injects the show with an unpredictable, occasionally humorous, intensity. Alternately, Koch imbues Erik with the quiet vulnerability of a fragile, haunted younger brother, balancing innocence with an unnerving edge. This is best demonstrated in episode five “The Hurt Man”, as he delivers 33 minutes of harrowing dialogue in one unbroken take.
Furthermore, Defence Attorney Leslie Abramson (Ari Graynor) is electric, swinging between steely determination and composed empathy. Graynor’s gravitas alone saves the courtroom scenes from becoming repetitive write-offs. While Dominick Dunne (Nathan Lane) adds little to the plot, Lane is unforgettable; his wry commentary adds cynical humour with the emotionally charged depiction of grief, rage and injustice, being a shining point.
However, the serious pacing issues undermine the quality of the acting. It starts strong by drawing the audience into the gaudy veneer of 1980s Beverly Hills, done via the Tom Cruise-esque styling of Lyle (Nicholas Chavez). The soundtrack features Milli Vanilli and Vanilla Ice, and some references to Zsa Zsa Gabor and OJ Simpson thrown in. It carefully mirrors the constructed façade of the Menedez family, showing glimpses of the horror beneath. While these early episodes are taut and suspenseful, the pacing and narrative drifts. The show becomes mired in repetitive dramatics and irrelevant subplots that dissipate the tension, leaving later episodes feeling tedious. It fails to capitalise on the goldmine of tension that a courtroom can hold in high stake situations. Instead, it becomes dull, ebbing the energy when it should be building, leaving the final episodes oddly anticlimactic.
While these early episodes are taut and suspenseful, the pacing and narrative drifts.
The failure of Monsters to live up to its potential also lies in the refusal to take a clear stance. It simultaneously portrays the brothers as desperate victims, and as calculated killers. This could have been an opportunity to reflect the moral complexity of the case. Instead, the series does not seem to explore these juxtapositions meaningfully. It leaves the audience unsure of what to think. Rather than intentional ambiguity, it seemed more like an indecision from the writers to commit to a perspective.
Also adding to the confusion and the ethical questions surrounding the series is the seeming over-sexualisation of the brothers. The homoerotic tension between the two could have been used to demonstrate the unnatural trauma bond and co-dependency born of abuse. Instead, it was tasteless. There was a notable repeated focus on the actors’ bodies, particularly in the early episodes, for example, with repeated shots of Lyle (Nicholas Chavez) in speedos. None of this functioned to serve the plot and overall felt gratuitous and lacked the sensitivity it needed, considering the sexual abuse themes.
While the raw emotional performances are worth watching, the muddled objectives of the show culminate in a frustrating journey for viewers
Overall, Monsters is ambitious but flawed. The stellar moments attempt to sustain it, but it falters at its many contradictions. Simultaneously it is atmospheric but uneven, empathetic but exploitative, and compelling at points but ultimately unsatisfying. While the raw emotional performances are worth watching, the muddled objectives of the show culminate in a frustrating journey for viewers, and raises questions about the ethics of true crime storytelling for others.
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