Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story (2024)

Brought to you by the creators of 'Glee' and 'American Horror Story', among other things, is this 9-part anthology about the real-life story of the infamous Menendez Brothers. 

For anyone unfamiliar, Lyle and Erik Menendez took 12-gauge shotguns to their parents in the summer of 1989, blasting them into what prosecutors called "shapes almost unrecognizable as human from the amount of damage sustained".

The story itself is pure Hollywood - two rich, handsome, young Beverly Hills suburbanites kill their parents to claim their estate and fortune, committing the almost perfect murder. When the case went to trial in 1992 it was the first in what is now (annoyingly) an all too common 'media circus'.  Helicopters buzzed overhead, fans bayed for blood, or autographs, in the street and full television coverage beamed across the world from inside the courtroom. This was one of the seminal reality TV sensations. 

As for this show itself, it is obviously a highly-stylised, fictionalised account of what happened. However, because we are dealing with a real-life occurrence, you can't help but hold it up against what actually happened. The question of how much creative license is acceptable smoulders constantly in the background. When watching series' like these, I personally take the assumption that the show creators must have done the appropriate research to know that these things were said and these people truly behaved in these ways. But, then again, having worked in Hollywood for some time, that may be a pipe dream. 

So it's important to try and judge this show on it's merit as a piece of art, and by that criteria it is a winner. The first episode is probably the weakest and, while compelling, leans too heavily on the tried and true campy, Ryan-Murphy-spook-fest-3000 vibes that have become his brand over the years. That said, however, once it gets over it's attempts at pastiche and starts to settle into simply a true-crime drama, the show really begins to soar. There is no black and white here. Everyone and every situation is displayed with a delicious ambiguity so that you really don't know who to believe. All sides of every story could be true. This is a nuance that was certainly true of the real case and is portrayed excellently here. 

A large part of the reason this is executed so well is the acting. Javier Bardem and Chloe Sevigny are spectacular as the parents, subtly dwelling in the grey space of uncertainty. Are they horrendous monsters? Are they loving parents? Are they both? Their performances throw all of this out there and yet keep the answers a complete mystery throughout. Nathan Lane is excellent as usual, Ari Graynor is outstanding as Erik's dynamo lawyer and there also features what is surely the best guest spot turn in some years from Paul Adelstein. For someone who suddenly turns up in the story and is tasked with basically carrying the entire last episode, he puts in an incredible shift arguing for the prosecution. 

The real stars of the show, however, are Nicholas Alexander Chavez and Cooper Koch as the brothers grim. Chavez portrays Lyle as a swaggering, drug-abusing, remorseless murderer and, sometimes within the same sentence, a lost little boy completely in over his head. It is compelling to watch and Koch as the younger, potentially even more damaged, Erik completely shines. Especially in episode 5 - 'The Hurt Man'. This episode has apparently been the subject of many an internet meme, debate, and movement since it's release and rightly so - it really is a masterful bit of filmmaking. The camera never cuts away from Cooper Koch for the entire 47-minute episode. The whole thing consists of one man in a dingy room talking to his lawyer - not the most spectacular set-up - yet it is nothing short of utterly mesmerising and is a must watch for any aspiring actors out there. It is, by far, the highlight of the show and these kinds of flourishes regularly elevate this series above standard fare. 

For every moment of brilliance there are also some missteps. As mentioned earlier, try as we might, it is impossible to separate fact from fiction when it comes to the true-crime genre and you simply cannot take the leaps that this show does without the risk of the audience pulling away and going "hang on a minute, how do they know this happened?". When we go down this road, generally the story loses some of it's punch. There is a scene between Sevigny and Bardem, for example, that would have been a very private conversation between two now dead people and therefore must be fictional. This might not detract from a lesser work, but here - where so much of it is meticulously correct and doesn't need to take creative liberties - it feels like an unnecessary dip into melodrama.

Overall, as a crime-saga this series works very well. It is often wildly over the top and heavily stylized and if I were attached to the case in any way, shape, or form, I'm sure it would be absolutely mortifying. But as a popcorn munching member of the peon masses, I found it, for the most part, a beautifully executed piece of Americana. Proving once again that when Murphy and his team tone down the campy spooky thing, they are really capable of creating great work. 

★★★☆☆

JB.