TV Review: "Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story" (Episodes 1-5)
The new series from Ryan Murphy offers a shattering, if sometimes sensationalistic, look at two of the most infamous murderers of the 20th century.
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I must admit that I was quite blown away by Dahmer–Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story which, for all of its Ryan Murphiness, still managed to be a wrenching, devastating, and deeply disturbing drama about one of the most notorious serial killers of the 20th century. Yes, there were some sensationalistic moments, but overall I found it to be a surprisingly sophisticated look at Dahmer and the horrors of his crimes. And, whatever others might say, I don’t think it shied away from showing the impact of his crimes on his victims and their families.
Now, the series has moved into its second season, and this time around the focus are the Menendez brothers, Erik and Lyle, whose murder of their parents José and Kitty caused a media frenzy. In nine episodes–the first five of which I’ve seen and will review here–the series looks at the crimes, the brothers’ lives under the tyranny of their father, and their bond.
From the outset it has to be said that the series does take a rather sensationalist view of the brothers, particularly by rendering them into objects of viewer desire. At numerous points in the first five episodes the camera dwells with almost prurient attention on their scantily clad bodies as they work out or swim or just…parade around showing off their bulges and muscles. While a generous reading of this approach might argue that Monsters is using this to make some clever point about the way that American culture tends to fetishize and beautify the serial killers in its midst–and that is a point that does come up occasionally–the truth is, I think, much more mundane. Cooper Koch and Nicholas Alexander Chavez are, quite simply, beautiful to look at, and the series wants us to see them as objects of desire.
While some may take issue with the series’ sensationalist approach to its subject material, one thing that is not in doubt is that it doesn’t shy away from a deep dive into the brothers’ lives and the abuse they claim to have suffered at the hands of their father. In separate interviews, Lyle and Erik go into excruciating detail about just what their father did to them. These are difficult moments to watch but all the more necessary for exactly that reason.
Moreover, Monsters also features some truly extraordinary performances. Koch and Chavez are both, in their different ways, perfectly cast as the brothers, with Koch seeing intensity and energy juxtaposed to Chavez’s more restrained and introspective approach. Their chemistry is remarkable, allowing them to convey the many emotional states the two brothers experience before, during, and after the murder. Just as Evan Peters did with Jeffrey Dahmer, these two actors allow us a glimpse behind the “monster” appellation to see the tortured human souls beneath.
Javier Bardem is likewise truly terrifying as José. With his towering physique, his deep voice, and his brooding presence, it’s easy to believe this man capable of tormenting and brutalizing his sons, all in an effort to break their will and mold them into what he wants them to be. Though the first five episodes don’t give her much to do, Sevigny nevertheless manages to project the ice queen persona that has become her stock-in-trade in so many Murphy productions (including, most recently, Feud: Capote vs. The Swans). Her most devastating line occurs during Lyle’s flashback, in which she admits that she knew everything but chose to say nothing because she felt it her duty to keep the family back together. It’s one of those moments that lands like a punch in the gut, devastating for both characters and viewers alike.
Of the first five episodes, there’s no question that the fifth is by far the best. Running at just about 35 minutes, it eschews the more traditional narrative utilized by the rest of the preceding episodes in favor of one long take, in which Erirk’s attorney, Leslie Abramson (played by Ari Graynor in yet another remarkable performance, blonde permed hair and all), asks him probing questions about what he suffered at his father’s hands. As the entire sequence unfolds the camera zooms closer and closer, each of Erik’s admissions more devastating than the last. The episode is aptly titled “The Hurt Man,” the name that he gave himself to make sense of his own fractured, broken self. As his entire confession makes clear, his life has been one torment, so much so that he’s lost even the barest sense of self or identity. Given that, is it any wonder that he resorted to murder?
This is, I think, the crux of Monsters’ argument, if something so coherent and unified can be wrangled from a series that, as its own creator suggests, takes a Rashomon-like approach to the murder of José and Kitty Menendez. As a result of the abuses–physical, psychological, sexual–that they suffered at their father’s hands and as a result of the imminent threat that he posed to their well-being, they felt like they had no choice. Their mother likewise had to die for the crime of being complicit in the horrors, though both brothers (particularly Erik) try to paint her in a more sympathetic light than she deserves. For that matter, both brothers clearly still loved and revered their father, as much as they also hated and feared him.
Given all of this, it’s all the more striking that their brutal murder of their parents takes place so early in the series, long before we learn the true extent of what Lyle and Erik endured. The sequence is jarring and visceral and terrifying, but this is precisely why it’s so powerful. Because Monsters, rightly, doesn’t show the actual abuse, the righteous fury the brothers feel is channeled instead–and made explicable to the audience–through this violent sequence. I rather think it would have been more effective had it come later but, then again, it does at least have the advantage of being the crisis from which the rest of the narrative proceeds.
There are other elements of the first five episodes that work less well, particularly when it wanders off to focus on various other characters, such as Dallas Roberts Dr. Oziel, whose adultery ends up being a key element of the brother’s apprehension, or Nathan Lane’s Dominick Dunne, a journalist who takes an interest in the case. Don’t get me wrong: I love both Roberts and Lane but, in the first five episodes at least, they sometimes feel more like a distraction than an integral part of the brothers’ story.
All in all, though, I found the first five episodes of this series compelling viewing, and I eagerly await the concluding four.