As a longtime fan of true crime dramas, I must confess that I approached “Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story” with great anticipation. However, after nine long episodes filled with clunky dialogue, irritating comedy-worthy scenes, and an overabundance of extreme darkness, I find myself questioning the purpose of this series.
Please be advised: This article discusses the sensitive topic of child sexual abuse, which might be disturbing for some readers. Proceed with caution.
Is it a drama? Is it a sitcom? Is it actually even based on fact, at this point?
viewing this series, it’s likely that many spectators may share similar thoughts upon completion – as I myself don’t possess the solutions to those queries.
The recently released Netflix show, split into nine episodes, aims to recount the authentic tale of the Menendez brothers, who were found guilty in 1996 for killing their parents José and Kitty (Mary Louise) Menendez. Even up until now, the brothers assert that they committed the murders as a form of self-defense due to years of alleged sexual abuse.
In this latest addition to the Monsters series, we delve further into the narrative that was started by the Dahmer series, which aired last year, stirring up much debate. This series brought forth significant questions about balancing the portrayal of victim’s stories with the allure of real-life murderers in the true crime television realm.
Despite objections from the families of Dahmer’s victims and creator Ryan Murphy, Netflix opted to renew the series, thereby expanding it into a full-fledged franchise – quite delightful, isn’t it?
It appears that the creators of the true crime anthology series may have overlooked concerns about ethical storytelling after receiving multiple awards such as the Golden Globes, BAFTAs, Emmys, and numerous other nominations. One might expect them to have learned from this situation in their current project, but it seems they haven’t.
Who cares about viewer reaction when the awards can do the talking, right?
Eric Perry, a family member of Dahmer victim Errol Lindsey, stated that one unexpected traumatic incident could make the most devastating day of your life become just another episode, or binge-worthy show, for your neighbor, when referring to the premiere of the first season.
It appears that, much like before, this new portrayal seems to lack input or concern from those directly involved. Although the Menendez brothers’ case doesn’t feature victims outside their family, the series’ early stages indicate it was not produced with the participation or thoughtfulness of any of the parties concerned.
Contrary to Jeffrey Dahmer, Lyle and Erik Menendez are both alive and serving their life sentences without the possibility of parole in prison, as opposed to him who was murdered while incarcerated.
You might wonder, “Why give a platform to two individuals convicted of murder?” The answer lies in the complexities of the case, and indeed the entire series, which delve deeper into ambiguous and questionable grounds.
Upon the announcement that Murphy’s team would delve into the Menendez case, some believed it presented a good chance to shed light on the allegations of child abuse the brothers had asserted they experienced.
Although the show definitely emphasizes that aspect of the plot, it does so in such a disconcerting manner with sudden shifts in mood and rhythm that it becomes rather unpleasant to watch.
In addition to the excessive brutality and grisly depiction of Jose and Kitty’s murder scene, several installments of this nine-episode series delve deeply into vivid and harrowing portrayals of child sexual assault.
Without a shadow of a doubt, Cooper Koch’s powerful monologue in episode five, “The Hurt Man,” is bound to be the talk of the town. However, this episode demands more than just a cautionary notice before viewing, as it presents one of the most chilling portrayals of child abuse I’ve seen on television that I believe warrants deeper discussion and awareness.
One aspect that stands out as particularly disconcerting in this series is the fact that after you’ve managed to stomach some rather intense details, the following episode, titled “Don’t Dream It’s Over,” seems to shift dramatically. Instead of lingering in the tender romance between Kitty and José, it delves into José hiring a sex worker as part of an Ancient Roman fantasy, creating a stark contrast.
In the exact same installment, I too found myself appalled as Kitty insisted on examining Erik’s genitals due to suspected HIV symptoms, and equally disturbed by the revelation that Jose had been victimized by his own mother, a woman who herself endured abuse from 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.
Translating the original statement into a more conversational and easy-to-understand style: It’s alright to humanize an accused abuser, but when there’s no proof or evidence supporting José or his mother’s experiences in real life, it feels like an extra, unjustified element added to the storyline for this particular drama.
In the seventh installment, a striking conversation takes place that seems to echo what viewers might be feeling, as if Nathan Lane’s character, Dominick Dunne, is mirroring our own reactions.
He informs Leslie Abramson (Ari Gaynor) that after Lyle’s emotional testimony, he now thinks the abuse occurred. However, he explains that this revelation implies two scenarios: “Either those two boys suffered the most vile abuse conceivable and their parents deserved their fate, or you managed to elicit that powerful performance from a deceitful, homicidal lunatic. I can’t decide which of these possibilities is more terrifying.
The creators of Monsters would argue that its purpose isn’t about enlightening viewers on the details of the murder case, but rather it serves as an entertaining portrayal. However, given its grand production, nine-episode run on a globally recognized streaming service, this “fictionalized series” will likely shape the understanding of the Menendez case for many who were previously unaware of it.
In this fictional world, it seems regrettable that the impact of portraying stories and characters hasn’t appeared to be given due thought or attention yet again.
Without delving too deeply into the troubling dynamics of the brothers’ relationship, one might ponder the purpose behind the show “Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story”.
This series consists of nine lengthy episodes that include stilted dialogue, humorous yet annoying scenes mixed with intense darkness, instances of wig removal, and the portrayal of Lyle as an embodiment of pure evil. Frankly, it doesn’t appear to be a heartfelt true crime drama at first glance, does it?
Is it not accurate to say that the narrative surrounding the Menendez brothers is a public domain? In 1993, their trial was a topic of widespread conversation and marked the beginning of the first major televised true crime craze. However, should we feel compelled to embellish such stories for no apparent benefit to the audience, the victims, or those connected to the case? Instead, couldn’t we be mindful in our storytelling approach?
As a discerning movie critic, I must confess that this intriguing series cleverly refrains from declaring outright who the true monsters were in its narrative tapestry. However, certain episodes unmistakably lean towards one side or the other. Regrettably, the final episode, with its underwhelming boat scene, seems to undermine the series’ otherwise balanced storytelling, compromising the nuanced perspectives it had so skillfully woven earlier.
Ultimately, despite the harrowing scenes of violence, child abuse depictions, and intense emotional turmoil experienced by both characters, Monsters reveals itself as a story that prioritizes neither its protagonists’ well-being or best interests.
Maybe we’ve delved so deep into the true crime genre that it’s hard to turn back – yet, is it wise to keep consuming this type of TV content? Shouldn’t our entertainment strive for greater authenticity and honesty rather than just superficial elements like tanned skin, wigs, and excessive time investment without substantial returns?
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2024-09-20 17:05