'Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story' Review: A Chilling Exploration of Trauma and Violence

Created by Ryan Murphy and Ian Brennan, the latest installment in their Monster anthology for Netflix, Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story revisits the infamous Menendez murders, unraveling the complex web of events and potential motives that led the brothers to kill their parents, José and Mary Louise “Kitty” Menendez. Long before the O.J. Simpson trial dominated American media, the Menendez brothers captivated the nation with the shocking brutality of their crime and their explosive courtroom defense, which alleged years of sexual and physical abuse by their father, delving into the impact of one of the most controversial family tragedies in modern history.

Ryan Murphy has long been drawn to notorious true crime cases, particularly those that combine grisly details with sensational media attention, often reflecting society’s obsession with consuming real-life horror stories. However, his ability to balance thought-provoking storytelling with responsible representation has varied. His 2016 miniseries The People vs. O.J. Simpson, a critically acclaimed drama praised for its depth and stellar performances. And 2022’s The Jeffrey Dahmer Story, the first installment of the Monster anthology, which many criticized for its exploitative focus on the killer’s gruesome acts. The series sparked backlash from the families of Dahmer’s victims, who objected to how their loved ones were portrayed. So where does Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story fall on this spectrum? It lands somewhere in the middle of his previous works.

The series delves into the Menendez brothers’ childhood, the brutal murders, and the aftermath, but its pacing drags, particularly during the extended middle section between the killings and the courtroom drama. Jumping back and forth in time, it attempts to unravel the complex factors leading to the crime while shedding light on Erik and Lyle’s traumatic experiences.

In particular, the fifth episode features Erik’s graphic and detailed explanation of the sexual abuse inflicted by his father, delivered to his attorney Leslie Abramson, in what feels like a long, drawn-out one-shot scene. It’s a tough watch, but it starkly illustrates the brothers’ motive for murder, rooted in ongoing abuse. However, the overall narrative often feels disjointed and surreal, despite these shortcomings, the show excels in its portrayal of the brothers relationship without diminishing the gravity of their guilt.

When we first encounter Lyle and Erik Menendez, played by Nicholas Alexander Chavez and Cooper Koch, they appear to be nothing more than obnoxious, entitled, privileged young men, riding through Los Angeles in the back of a blacked-out limousine. However, Erik’s unexpected and uncontrollable sobbing immediately hints at the emotional turmoil beneath the surface. This opening scene perfectly sets up the brothers’ distinct personalities—Erik, fragile and overwhelmed by emotion, and Lyle, tightly wound and seething with anger just below the surface.

It provides a chilling examination of trauma and violence, yet uneven pacing and filler-laden middle episodes disrupt the overall narrative flow.

Javier Bardem is chilling as José Menendez, portraying him as a domineering, terrifying figure, while Chloë Sevigny’s portrayal of Kitty Menendez highlights a woman devoid of warmth, almost pitiable in her coldness. The Menendez household, before the murders, is depicted as a powder keg of simmering tension, with an atmosphere that feels almost unbearable in its volatility. In some moments, like Kitty violently yanking off Lyle’s toupee, the drama veers into camp, though Murphy and Brennan maintain a steady balance of salacious storytelling.

As the series progresses, it delves into the murky motivations behind the murders. Were Lyle and Erik driven by a thirst for financial gain, or were their actions the desperate result of years of alleged sexual abuse at the hands of their father? The show doesn’t shy away from the provocative and risqué aspects of the crime, presenting the murders through a lens that both intrigues and disturbs.

Despite its compelling subject matter and stellar performances, Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story struggles to find its identity, often devolving into a mere recounting of horrific abuses and violent crimes. While the series avoids the graphic excesses of Dahmer, it still embodies a blend of Ryan Murphy’s strengths and shortcomings. It provides a chilling examination of trauma and violence, yet uneven pacing and filler-laden middle episodes disrupt the overall narrative flow. The tone feels inconsistent, and while the show may resonate with Murphy’s devoted fans, its erratic storytelling is likely to leave many viewers feeling unsatisfied.