“Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story” is an ominous retelling of the infamous crime. Created by Ryan Murphy and Ian Brennan, the second in their “Monster” anthology for Netflix follows brothers Lyle (an incredible Nicholas Alexander Chavez) and Erik (an outstanding Cooper Koch). Having endured emotional, physical and sexual abuse — the series argues — at the hands of their father, José (Javier Bardem) and mother, Mary Louise, aka “Kitty” (Chloë Sevigny), the pair murder their parents in cold blood. Chronicling the brothers’ upbringing, the murders and everything thereafter, the series is overlong and exhausting. The show attempts to unpack the circumstances that led to the crime while highlighting Erik and Lyle’s trauma. But in the end, the narrative feels futile and bizarre.
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“Menendez” opens in October 1989, two months after Kitty and José’s deaths. Riding in a limo as Kenny G’s “Songbird” plays on the radio, Lyle and Erik head to their parents’ memorial service. Lyle, the older brother, seems unbothered and controlled, but Erik begins sobbing uncontrollably, seemingly out of nowhere. The scene immediately illustrates who the men are. One brother is emotional and all-feeling, and the other is tightly wound and rageful.
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From there, the narrative oscillates back and forth in time. It unpacks the reign of terror that permeated the Menendez household, and pushed the brothers to parricide. Bardem is terrifying and vile as José, while Sevigny portrays a compassionless, pathetic woman. For their part, Erik and Lyle are a grotesque blend of entitlement and prey.
The killings are rendered in highly graphic and gory detail, and the plot recounts various police mishaps, which initially enable the brothers to avoid suspicion. In the months following the murders, deeply suicidal and tortured by images of his dead parents, Erik confesses to his therapist, Dr. Jerome Oziel (Dallas Roberts), which eventually leads to his and Lyle’s detainment. Judalon Smyth (a perfectly cast Leslie Grossman) delights as Dr. Oziel’s mistress and former patient who plays a pivotal role in the brothers’ arrest and 1993 trial. The series also introduces defense attorney Leslie Abramson (Ari Graynor), whose tenacity and talent are pigeonholed by the misogyny in the legal field, the court system and her fondness for Erik.
The first half of “Menendez” is excellent, but Episode 5, “The Hurt Man,” is the standout. Though no sexual abuse is explicitly depicted, Erik speaks to his lawyer Leslie at length and in vivid detail about the lifetime of rape and abuse he endured at the hands of his father. The episode is cleverly shot in one long take as the camera slowly zooms in on his face.
Unfortunately, following its fifth episode, the show falls into the deep end. The unwieldy tone, which teeters between ominous and light camp (there’s a shocking toupee and overdone homoeroticism), implodes on itself, and the rest of the episodes are a repetitive slog.
Episode 6, “Don’t Dream It’s Over,” recalls José and Kitty’s relationship, from their courtship through their increasingly tense marriage. While this chapter shows the couple’s respective childhoods (both marred by abuse), and allows Bardem and Sevigny to showcase their robust talents, it does little to add to the tension or texture of the series overall. The overloaded episode should have been edited out entirely, integrating these flashbacks into the first half of the series.
The remaining episodes are equally taxing. In addition to the Menendez family, just as they did in “Dahmer — Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story,” Murphy and Brennan platform some major players orbiting the brothers and their trials. Vanity Fair reporter Dominick Dunne (Nathan Lane) fixates on the case’s details. After losing his only daughter to an act of violence, he becomes consumed with making sure Erik and Lyle are punished, especially in the court of public opinion. Episodes 7, “Showtime,” and 9, “Hang Man,” reimagine Kitty and José’s murderers through Dominick’s perspective. He also narrates how the brothers navigate prison, including their relationships inside and outside the prison walls. Though Lane is great, his character adds little to the story overall.
In the series, as in real life, the brothers have two trials spanning seven years — and the courtroom scenes in “Menendez” are tiresome and grating. Because the tone is already so off-kilter, these sequences are a strange, never-ending exercise boasting innumerable witnesses, legal maneuvering and testimony.
Los Angeles in the late ’80s and early ’90s was a distinct place. Rodney King’s beating, the resulting riots, California’s death penalty and even O.J. Simpson’s arrest and acquittal all swirled around the brothers’ time in the spotlight. However, instead of subtly infusing these plot points, Murphy and Brennan insist on clobbering the audience over the head with these facts. At one point, Erik even speaks to Simpson from his adjoining jail cell, suggesting that the accused former football player take a plea bargain.
Despite the gripping subject matter and the outstanding performances, “‘Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story” has no idea what it wants to be. Therefore, it just dissolves into a retelling of unspeakable abuses and gruesome crimes. However, the bigger issue is who and where we are as a society. When we engage in the platforming of murderous and unwell people, no matter how heinous their upbringings may have been, we lean into our own unchecked monstrosities.
“Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story” is now available to stream on Netflix.
