What’s the point of Monsters? Netflix's graphic series raises big questions about true crime

While I personally do not have the answers to any of those questions, I can almost guarantee that many viewers will be left thinking the same things after making their way through Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story.

The new nine-part Netflix series seeks to chronicle the true story of the Menendez brothers, who were convicted in 1996 for the murders of their parents José and Mary Louise 'Kitty' Menendez. At the time – and still to this day – the brothers maintain that they murdered their parents in an act of self-defence born out of years of sexual abuse.

This second instalment in the Monsters franchise continues on from the controversial Dahmer series, which landed on our screens back in 2022 – lest we forget the many important questions the series raised around the honouring of victim's stories versus the romanticisation of serial killers in the true crime TV genre.

Although the families of Dahmer's victims spoke out against the series and series creator Ryan Murphy, Netflix renewed the series for more – thus making it an entire franchise. Oh, the joy!

So, have the team behind the true crime anthology series learnt their lesson this time round? You'd think so. But it seems as though questions around ethical storytelling fell by the wayside when the original series scooped up Golden Globe Awards, a BAFTA, an Emmy and countless other nominations.

Who cares about viewer reaction when the awards can do the talking, right?

"We’re all one traumatic event away from the worst day of your life being reduced to your neighbour’s favourite binge show," Eric Perry, a relative of Dahmer victim Errol Lindsey, said at the time of the first season's release.

And it seems as though the exact same has been done this time around. Sure, the case of the Menendez brothers doesn't involve victims outside of the family, but even just partway through the first episode of the series, you can clearly tell that this is a production that hasn't been made with the say-so or consideration of any of the parties involved.

Unlike Dahmer, both Lyle and Erik Menendez are still alive and continue to live out their life sentences without parole in prison.

And sure, you may be thinking – why platform the voices of two convicted murderers? Well, this is where the case – and the series as a whole – gets into increasingly murky territory.

When it was announced that Murphy and his team would be homing in on the Menendez case, many thought it would be an ample opportunity to shine a light on the accusations of child abuse that both brothers claimed they lived through.

While the series most certainly does amplify that side of the story, it does so with such a confusing change of tone and pace that it just feels downright distasteful.

As well as the unnecessary gore and violence of José and Kitty's murder scene, multiple episodes of this nine-part series are devoted to graphic and gruelling descriptions of child sexual abuse.

There's no doubt in my mind that Cooper Koch will be the name on everyone's lips after his compelling monologue performance in episode five, The Hurt Man. But it's an episode that deserves a little more than a trigger warning banner at the top of the screen, as it's one of the most haunting representations of child abuse I've ever witnessed on television.

One of the main jarring things about this series is, though, that while you're just about recovering from such stomach-churning details, the next episode, Don't Dream It's Over, flits between the romantic haze of Kitty and José's love story to José employing a sex worker for an Ancient Roman fantasy.

In that very same episode, we also witness Kitty demand to see Erik's penis for physical symptoms of HIV, and also see the claim laid out that José suffered abuse at the hands of his own mother, who was also abused by her uncle.

It's a way of the production literally presenting us with the cyclical nature of monsters and how they continue to develop from learned behaviour in childhood, I know. But it's a pretty callous way of framing this side of the dark story after being subjected to hours of other episodes detailing exactly what José allegedly did to the Menendez brothers.

Humanising an alleged abuser is one thing, but when there's no public evidence of José or his mother's experiences, it just seems to be another unnecessary plot point fictionalised for the purpose of this drama.

In the seventh episode, there's a particularly poignant dialogue scene where it feels as though Nathan Lane's Dominick Dunne is reflecting the expected audience reaction.

He tells Leslie Abramson (Ari Gaynor) that after Lyle's emotional testimony, he now believes the abuse took place, but says that it means one of two things: "Either those two boys endured the most sickening abuse imaginable and their parents got exactly what was coming to them, or you were able to coach that performance out of a lying, murderous psychopath. I don't know which one of those possibilities scares me more."

The point of Monsters isn't to inform and educate viewers on the intricacies of this murder case, the team behind it will say. But with a big budget, glossy nine-part series being released on one of the world's largest streaming platforms, this "fictional, scripted series" will undoubtedly form the basis of knowledge to many people who were unfamiliar with the Menendez case initially.

It's a responsibility that unfortunately, once again, doesn't feel like it's been taken into consideration when thinking about the influence of depicting stories and characters in such a fictionalised universe.

We don't even need to get into the, frankly, disturbing manner in which the brothers' own relationship is characterised, but it all just begs the question: What point does Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story serve?

It's nine very long episodes filled with clunky dialogue, irritating comedy-worthy scenes in among extreme darkness, toupées being ripped off and the characterisation of Lyle especially being evil's incarnate. It doesn't exactly sound like a true crime drama made with heart now, does it?

Nobody owns the story of the Menendez brothers, sure. The 1993 trial was all that anyone talked about at the time and was the first televised true crime sensation of its era. But must we exercise dramatic licence and continue to churn up stories like these for no real gain to the viewers, the victims or any of the people who were involved in the case?

While nobody is forcing the series to pick sides on who the actual monsters were in this tale, there are some episodes that certainly do. Ultimately, though, the series ends on a note that undoes any kind of responsible, two-sided storytelling right at the end with its anti-climactic boat scene.

After all of that – the bloody murder scene, the graphic descriptions of abuse, the emotional breakdowns of both brothers – Monsters ultimately shows that it doesn't really have anyone's best interests at the heart of it.

Perhaps we've reached the point of no return when it comes to the true crime genre – but should we continue engaging with this type of TV? Should we be wanting more authenticity and honesty from our storytelling – not just fake tans, wigs and nine hours of your time you'll never get back?

Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story is available to stream now on Netflix. Sign up for Netflix from £4.99 a month. Netflix is also available on Sky Glass and Virgin Media Stream.

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