The story of Lyle and Erik Menéndez, when true crime goes too far

After the success of Dahmer, a ten-episode story about the Milwaukee cannibal, Netflix has turned Ryan Murphy and Ian Brennan's miniseries, collaborators since the days of Glee and Scream Queens, into an anthology container where all the most aberrant events that have punctuated the United States will gradually be included. Monsters is a parallel saga to American Crime Story, where Murphy is the executive producer, and a cousin of the horror-filled American Horror Story, also created by Murphy. The project is expected to embody a more mainstream version of Mindhunter, the Netflix series about the psychological analysis of serial killers and the birth of profilers, created by David Fincher, which was canceled after just two seasons despite its prestige. Recently, Fincher's series has returned to the platform's radar for a possible revival. From a “mini” series, Murphy’s work thus succumbs to the more canonical definition of a “series,” dedicating the second season to the murder of the parents by brothers Lyle and Erik Menéndez, giving a nine-episode analysis of what happened, why it happened, with a thesis and antithesis that lead to reflections on the role of the media and the resonance that brutal murders can have in the real world. A case far from the initial choice of Dahmer, both for the type of writing applied and for a staging that seems much closer to The Assassination of Gianni Versace – it's amusing to think that in the role of Donatella is Penélope Cruz, while for the abusive father, Jose Menéndez, her husband Javier Bardem was chosen – and that prompts much thought on what it means to draw from mass culture, which over time has incorporated figures like Dahmer and the Menéndez brothers into its fabric (through references in films, sitcoms, songs), turning them into portraits. The thin line between storytelling and the allure of depravity, with Monsters: The Story of Lyle and Erik Menéndez, places us in the position of the curious, the voracious, those who want to know. At times making us more monstrous than the monsters themselves.

The buzz around the Dahmer season had several arrows in its quiver: multiple murders, body parts dissolved in acid, a familiar face – Evan Peters, winner of the 2023 Golden Globe for the role – and a claustrophobic setting facilitated by the killer's past and crimes, supported by a dark and equally murky staging. In contrast, The Story of Lyle and Erik Menéndez lacks the general idea of horror narration, which had contributed to the fascination with the Netflix product, to the point that the "Dahmer style" with large glasses and plaid shirts became a fashion trend, leading eBay to ban the sale of the serial killer costume during Halloween. Perhaps this is what drove Brennan to choose the Menéndez case. No longer just recounting what happened, with the usual reference to how someone considered a "monster" often has mitigating factors, but showing at the media level what it means, devising twists and turns in the plot that show the rollercoaster of justice regarding the parricide that marked the transition from the 1980s to the 1990s. The Story of Lyle and Erik Menéndez in fact has only one murder to march on, not multiple, focusing its attention on the influence the two sons of the LIVE Entertainment producer had on public opinion and how it eventually turned against them.

As you watch the episodes on Netflix, the monstrous elements creeping into the story seem to grow more and more within us. The reason is a too linear and unoriginal script, which immediately dampens interest in the series except for one key point: delving into the twisted aspects of the case and uncovering all its darkest secrets. Unable to offer a narrative capable of confidently standing on its own, with the first three episodes serving as an extended preamble that is immediately apparent not to be the heart of the matter, Monsters: The Story of Lyle and Erik Menéndez makes clear the taste for horror to which the audience is primordially attracted. By reserving the most stimulating questions and notes for the end of the season, when it is already evident from the beginning that viewers have kept going only to uncover the sad and painful secrets of the family, the choice of a serialized structure reveals how easy it is to romantically retell a true crime story, without much effort in the script or staging, as it is clear that people will still be eerily drawn to it. This says much more about the audience than the product itself, a trend that has spilled over even on this side of the world, with the upcoming Disney+ release of Avetrana - This Is Not Hollywood about the murder of Sarah Scazzi. And even when the series begins to increasingly flip perspectives, reaching a final trial that is the polar opposite of the first we see, there is a sense that the story has stretched out an event that, in the end, could have exploited the media reception issue more from the start, had it only known how to write it well. Taking its time to the point of weakening the analysis of the killer-celebrity figure, a topic that could have shifted the spectator's mere morbid curiosity. A real-life version experienced by the Menéndez brothers, which is what happened with the success and acclaimed outcome of the Dahmer series. Two sides of the same coin, where fiction and reality are put in contrast.

The Story of Lyle and Erik Menéndez is thus a season with mediocre protagonists, with Nicholas Chavez and Cooper Koch in the roles of the brothers and exaggerated, artificial acting, much like the rest of the series. Javier Bardem and Chloë Sevigny are saved in the roles of the parents, Jose and Kitty – ironically, as we see their deaths over and over again – but it is evident that the story is impure enough not to care about the performances, remaining focused on uncovering every single skeleton in the closet. Perhaps adding one more, such as the alleged incestuous relationship between Lyle and Erik, seemingly a poetic license of the season, to add another layer to a story that doesn’t want to be represented as entirely black or white. And while we continue to wonder who the real monsters are, whether it’s those who plant the seed, give birth to them, torture them, praise them, or exploit them – or those who follow them step by step, series after series – Murphy and Brennan already know who will be the focus of the third season: Ed Gein, born in 1906 in La Crosse, known for necrophilia, dismemberments, and grave desecrations from which he took body parts to make furniture. He will be played by Charlie Hunnam. Another season to look forward to discovering how far humanity can go. And, along with it, the serial format with its devotees.