Confused, Brilliant, and Disgusting: Monsters Season II, A Review
A Review of the TV Show 'Monsters' out now on Netflix
Confused, Brilliant, and Disgusting: Monsters Season II, A Review
Note: This review contains spoilers. I also do not discuss the historical accuracies or inaccuracies of the show and whether the characters are faithfully represented. I take the show as a standalone, as one who had no idea this case existed before I watched it.
Monsters Season II, a nine episode true crime drama on Netflix, and follow up to Dahmer, by Ryan Murphy and Ian Brennan, follows the lives of Kyle and Erik Menendez, who murdered their parents in 1989. It details the murders, the sons’ allegations of sexual abuse at the hands of their father, and the court case which decides their fate.
I have chosen three words I believe best describe the show. Confused refers to its poor structure due to the inclusion of too many perspectives and time periods, likely as a result of creativity for creativity’s sake, and a weak final act. Brilliant refers to the expert manipulation of the viewers emotions towards the two brothers in the first five episodes. Disgusting refers to theme of vicious intergenerational incestuous homosexual rape, likely chosen by the show runners to secure wide commercial success, and also their failure to transcend the common tragedy genre of the day, which is sympathising with weak, tyrannical, and evil masculine characters.
Feel free to skip to the subsection you’re most interested in. The first two, Confused and Brilliant, are mainly technical critiques of the show, whereas the third, Disgusting, is a cultural critique.
This is my review of Monsters Season II. Please subscribe to read more articles like this and help me achieve my dream of becoming an independent writer:
Confused
As someone who prefers linear, traditional story telling, without too much use of flashbacks, mechanisms like time-travel, and plot discombobulation, I become frustrated when writers unnecessarily complicate the flow of narrative. Frankly, story telling needs less of this activity, not more. While it can be effective, it has become mainstream to start at the end, or the middle, or in another universe.
Monsters Season II was no different: It was structurally was all the place, containing multiple perspectives and five time periods. The first three time periods and most of the first five episodes, are from the perspective of the Menendez brothers, and include the story they told to their defense lawyer, Leslie Abramson. Time period one is the main thread that does, admittedly, hold the narrative together, and starts in episode one with the boys going to their father’s funeral, and ends in episode nine with the reading of the jury’s verdict. Time period two is interspersed over the first few episodes, which is the telling of the murders and variations of the murders as nightmares. Time period three is the flashbacks that occur throughout the first five episodes, and detail the characters of the parents from the point of view of the brothers, in the months leading up to their murder.
The last four episodes include other perspectives and at least one, and arguably two, more time periods. Time period four is contained almost entirely in episode six, which is a more charitable character representation of the parents, from their point of view. It also contains a few flashbacks from the point of view of the father when he was a teenager, which could also be categorised as another time period. Toward the end of the show, time period two returns to show the murders, this time depicted less favourably for the brothers, to represent the prosecution’s argument of premeditated murder rather than self-defense. Finally, the perspectives of Leslie Abramson and Dominic Dunne are occasionally injected.
If you are confused after reading that - which I have in fact simplified for your sake - then my use of the word ‘confused’ is a good one. To be fair, the show runners juggled the first three time periods in the first five episodes well, even though the ‘jumping around’ felt unnecessary. When episode six begins, which is a hard cut to the perspective of the parents, the show disintegrates. Even with my not knowing the outcome of the court case, tension had been released - I did not care for the parents and the increasing use of Dominic Dunne’s perspective in the following episodes.
The pacing contributed to the lack of flow. When I went to bed after watching the first five episodes straight, I was confounded that it took them that long to tell me what had happened. The narrative was stretched and lacked tightness, with repeated dialogue that while at times added to realism, made it seem messy. Combined with the time skips and perspective switching, I was left agitated. The show runners had unnecessarily complicated the telling of the story to seem ‘creative’. The ego of the artist had been given too long a leash.
Finally, the third act ended with a whimper - though by that point I wasn’t expecting much. The show runners attempted to slowly twist the narrative against the brothers in the second half of the second act, which - as I will describe below - they had quite brilliantly encouraged the viewer to side with in episodes four and five. Though this arc makes sense, given that in real life, the brothers are still in prison after being accused of making much of the abuse up, one could argue the limp ending was inevitable and the show runners had chosen the ‘wrong true story’ to dramatise.
However, on a purely technical level, cultural themes aside (that we’ll get to in the Disgusting section) - if the story arc had been executed well, by exposing the sons’ characters and potential lies while still largely staying with their point of view and eradicating unnecessary characters and their perspectives, the show would have been far superior.
Brilliant
Upon finishing the show, reflecting upon the awful structure, limp ending, and pessimistic themes, I wanted to erase this section. But it was true, there were times the show did move me.
Though the production sets, realistic dialogue, great soundtrack were notable positives, the word brilliant best describes how the viewer’s emotions were expertly manipulated in the first five episodes. The viewer was right at the beginning to feel a range of negative emotions toward the brothers due to their actions, from distant and guarded, to repulsed and horrified. They are evil protagonists, compelling yes and often funny and likeable, but evil. After all, they had blasted their parents to pieces with shotguns.
Yet - and maybe this was stronger for me given I had no idea what to expect - as the brothers story of brutal sexual abuse at the hands of their father, with their mother not bothering to intervene, is told to their lawyers, I felt sympathy for them and anger toward the parents. I began to wonder if their shocking premeditated murder of their parents was justified. No person should be allowed to walk on this Earth if they have physically and sexually abused their children hundreds of times over two decades. Maybe these young men are heroes.
Despite the unnecessary time skips in the first five episodes, the perspective stays with the brothers, and so the unravelling of this arc feels natural and not forced. In episodes four and five, the acting capitalises on the only period of great writing, with incredible performances from Nicholas Alexander Chavez (Lyle), and Cooper Koch (Erik). Episode five, a heart rending one shot scene of Erik detailing his horrible experience, is cinema mastery and the peak for the show.
As a result, I would recommend the first five episodes and not bother with the final four.
Disgusting
The show runners attempted to challenge the assumptions of all viewers, but frankly, ended up reinforcing the grand narratives of the day. Upon switching the television off after episode nine, I was despondent, disturbed, and disgusted.
Why, I asked myself, why did this show - which has as one of its central themes vicious intergenerational incestuous homosexual rape, debut at number one on Netflix? How does this reflect on our culture today? What consumers want? How they view the world?
Recently Ted Gioia wrote a piece called How Did Pop Culture Get So Gloomy? He argues the rise in demand for oppressive environments and psychologically disturbed characters in film, is the result of a thoroughly pessimistic and depressed culture. He supports this with trends in music, and the 60 year decline of the positivity in popular songs.
Monsters, Season II is the epitome of a gloomy pop culture. Like Dahmer, which was Season I, the show runners are acutely aware of the how consumers want their pessimistic worldview reinforced. They don’t bother with your average horror or dystopian science fiction film. They pick the most gruesome of true stories they can possibly find, and depict it in as much disturbing detail as the production company will allow. Despite having at times superb technical acumen and artistic flair, they are not interested in the transcendent and inspiring audiences toward a greater ideal, they want people to vaguely accept that whatever suffering they are feeling, it’s because of this world and these people, depicted in shows like Monsters, Season II.
But what do the show runners mean by ‘this world’ and ‘these people’?
, in reviewing the Joker II film, wrote an incredibly insightful essay, about how the political left has subliminally convinced audiences to associate right-wing ideals with villainy.One of the Left’s favorite tricks is to invest psychopaths and demented crazy people with RW ideas and aesthetics. It’s the ultimate catch-22 to give your villains a point because if the Right adopts the frame, they also associate themselves with the horrendous things those characters do on screen. It prevents a noble vision of the Right from ever fully manifesting, distracting people in digital clown games. No matter what the Joker movie had to say about incels or the corruption of society or whatever—he’s worse. It’s not just his mental instability. He’s a pathetic loser with no moral compass, and his solution to decline is to accelerate it.
In other words, he’s a villain. He’s an actual bad guy.
Lyle and Erik Menendez are the privileged sons of an incredibly wealthy couple who live in an enormous house in Beverly Hills. They have had paid tennis coaches since birth and can demand all sorts of material gifts. Their father wants them to become senators, even the president. Despite their Cuban ancestry, they are presented as the most entitled young white men imaginable. The worst members of our society. In fact, they’re so horrible they kill their parents. What could be worse than that?
But, there’s a reason they’re so horrible. Their behaviours are explained by the rape at the hands of their father - who himself was raped. It is a story of systems that are deeply flawed, of intergenerational sexual violence by men. We have heard this story before, it has been blasted in our culture’s faces for sixty years. Here it is once more, exaggerated in its most vicious form, this time with a slight twist: The victims are men.
And the one we’re supposed to feel the most sympathy for is apparently a closeted homosexual, Erik Menendez, who often behaves more like a victimised female than a male. The heterosexual brother, Lyle, despite a receiving a sprinkling of sympathy, is framed as someone who continues the violence on - after-all, he also molested his brother when he was a child.
Part of the brilliance of
’s insight, is the subliminal acceptance of the frame created by the left, by members of the right. I could see similarities in my own life in the boys. Though grossly exaggerated in the show, my own brothers and I had special sports coaches, went to a private primary school, and we would find some of Lyle and Erik’s aesthetics appealing. Yet that doesn’t mean I’ll exterminate my parents because my father raped me while my mother drugged herself to sleep. But I wonder how many people, lacking the conscious awareness of the left’s trickery, will thus be lulled into believing the determinism of such a message: That a masculine world inevitably devolves into debaucherous rape and murder.The Left do not play for money. They play for the message. And that message is:
You’re the bad guy. And also, lol, you got gangraped.
Literally, in this instance.
Now of course, men, like those presented in the show, can and do perform hideous physical and sexual acts in society. And art can expose this fatal flaw in the psyche of men. The issue is that this presentation is currently appearing in a vacuum. The image of the noble man, triumphing over evil, for the greater benefit of his family and society, is rarely seen. In fact, we are told, both explicitly in the education system, and implicitly in popular culture, that this story was a lie all along.
Monsters, Season II is a common tragedy of our time, and despite definite artistic brilliance in parts, whatever meaning can be garnered may be better extracted from a Wikipedia entry, than a grueling nine-episode ‘drama’.
I give it a 5/10.
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The Delinquent Academic