Creator Ryan Murphy released his second “Monster” segment in 2024 with the story of brothers Lyle and Erik Menendez, who brutally killed their parents in 1989. Murphy released his first “Monster” series in 2022. That entry delved into serial killer Jeffery Dahmer, renowned for drugging homosexual men and—ultimately—eating his victims. There was hardly any debate (despite inaccuracies) that Dahmer was a monster.
That series was about the how and why. “The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story,” by contrast, is about the what. And it’s messy. “Monsters” saves the brothers’ sensational trials for the last two episodes. And most of the series recants events from so many points of view it becomes hard to follow. Just when you think you have it figured out it shifts gears. One minute you think Lyle and Erik are profound victims of abuse, the next that they’re sociopaths and their parents were saints. I think that’s the point of Murphy’s series: the only ones that know the true story are serving life sentences. We’ll likely never know the actual truth, save an honest confession from the brothers, which isn’t likely to come given their now chances at parole and lack of imperative. But “Monsters,” this time around, makes us question that word. Are Lyle and Erik the monsters? Were their parents? Or is the reality somewhere in the middle, known only to four people, two of who are now dead?
What is Truth?
In this way, the series shifts gears tonally from the first “Monster.” It opens—and closes—to ‘90s artists Milli Vanilli, and the irony of two fakers is not lost on the audience. Erik (Cooper Koch) and Lyle (Nicholas Alexander Chavez) are in the backseat of a limo, escorted to a work event after their parents’ death. Erik looks lost, defeated, while Lyle looks animated, power-hungry, and angry. Lyle is the epitome of an entitled youth. He doesn’t mourn his parents, but thinks about the family name now that they are in charge. We don’t know what to make of Erik’s defeatist attitude. Lyle tells him not to “be a pussy” and promises a good life “once they have gotten away with it.” Yet “Monsters” is not definitive in the timelines. In actuality it would take six months—and a confession to his therapist (Dallas Roberts) by Erik Menendez—to eventually land the boys under arrest.
“The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story” is intoxicating for its first 2/3rds, a credit to its directing and style. It follows the thematic and musical elements of “The Jeffery Dahmer Story,” adding eeriness. However, it avoids the deep, trance-like synthesizers of that series and makes it feel wholly ‘90s. The aforementioned Milli Vanilli, Crowded House, and others add an impersonal vibe to the series (at nine episodes) which makes you feel like you don’t know what to expect. This is furthered by what we do see, from different points of view. In our opening vision, Lyle and Erik seem like casual sociopaths who care only about themselves and money. In the second point of view, we witness severe physical, emotional, and sexual abuse towards the brothers by their father (an expert Javier Bardem) and their mother (a compelling Chloë Sevigny). And in the third act, “Monsters” throws in so many lies and misdirections we don’t know what’s fact or fiction. Its closing sequence does nothing to vindicate this.
Amazing Performances Obfuscate Reality
And I think that’s the general thesis of “Monster” this time around: who is/are the monsters and what is truth? Add to this is a pretentious journalist who has major bias against the system after his daughter was murdered (Nathan Lane) and a high-profile defense attorney (Ari Graynor) who has a penchant for getting guilty clients off, and the lines become further blurred. As Lane’s Dominick Dunne pontificates in one scene, “either those boys experienced abuse no one on this earth should suffer, or you coached that boy to a perfect performance. I don’t know which is more terrifying.”
For its part, the first half of “Monster” does make us think José and Kitty Menendez are monsters. We witness verbal abuse (“you faggot”), physical abuse (slaps, dragging across halls, threats), and sexual abuse (molestation, grooming, and overt rapes). Bardem absolutely kills his scenes. Throughout, I knew it was Bardem, the actor, but forgot. He became only José, this ruthless, tyrant of a father who made his sons cower with gaslighting, condescension, and insults. It’s hard to watch the first half and not think Kitty and José had what was coming to them—despite its brutality. Kitty wasn’t innocent either, lamenting she “hated her sons” to a therapist and that they “took the love of her life away from her.”
Who Are the Real ‘Monsters?’
But then the second half happens, and we don’t know what’s real. We see scenes of Lyle entreating friends and family to lie for him, writes letters to fans to send him money, and shares with a woman who writes him how “brilliant” his testimony was and how he practiced crying and became really good at it. This turn from Lyle—in the beginning manic and drug-addled, in the middle vulnerable and weak, and at the end as sociopathic as they come, mark Alexander Chavez as a phenomenal actor. He was passed over for award nominations, which I find egregious. Meanwhile, Erik’s complacence is palpable, and Koch is doing a great job here. One scene as he details sexual abuse to his attorney—shot in a steady camera shot that slowly moves forward, uninterrupted—is one of the best acting sequences I’ve ever seen. Sevigny is convincing as a detached and entitled mom, and I was literally afraid of José myself for most of the film’s run due to Bardem’s acting masterclass.
Yet what I think Murphy and his fellow creators are doing here is creating plausible doubt that any of these people’s accounts is factual. The Menendez Brothers were sentenced to consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole (which changed recently), and “Monster” makes us question whether this is just or not. It makes us wonder whether they were the victims of extensive abuse or made it all up. It also makes us question whether Kitty and José were loving parents—albeit rich and privileged—or monsters themselves. The series further complicates matters in its third act by referencing the acquittals of the police officers who beat Rodney King and of O.J. Simpson, and by showing the Brothers’ last trial as clearly biased against them. Were they monsters? The sad truth is we’ll never know. But Ryan Murphy and company make us—at different points—hate them, like them, believe them, and then damn them. It recreates the circus that surrounded their arrest and trials to a T.
Leaves the Verdict in the Minds of the Beholder
There are very few criticism of “Monsters.” Koch, Alexander Chavez, Bardem, and Seivgny are all amazing, as are ancillary players. Graynor is convincing as a cutthroat lawyer who earnestly cares about her clients… but maybe she drank the Kool-Aid too. Its assaults on the legal system are apropos, and its attacks on systemic bias are appropriate and necessary. The only thing that irked me was the continual pontification by Lane’s Dominick Dunne, but it’s forgivable. “The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story” serves as its own advocate. It recreates the fervor around the trial, features phenomenal performances, and makes us question our reality. Its facts may not be perfect but its heart is in the right place. It sets the stage for October 3rd and the release of the 3rd “Monster,” focusing on serial killer Ed Gein. It draws us into an event that at first seems impossible to care about, then becomes intoxicating, and finally lets us feel numb from it all. All-in-all a solid effort and one worth checking out on Netflix, streaming now.
