For a series called ‘Monsters’, Ryan Murphy does a fine job keeping us guessing—are the real monsters the parricidal brothers or their ‘alleged’ abusive parents? But what starts as a dark, promising dive into trauma and tragedy slowly unravels into a bloated, exhausting slog. While it tries to piece together the brothers’ motives, the narrative gets so tangled that it loses its way, leaving viewers stuck in a drama that feels both futile and strangely off-kilter.

Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story drags viewers into the murky waters of true crime with Ryan Murphy and Ian Brennan at the helm. Nicholas Alexander Chavez and Cooper Koch deliver powerhouse performances as Lyle and Erik Menendez, but even their talent can’t save this exhausting plunge into trauma and tragedy. The show claims to expose the horrors the brothers endured under their parents, played chillingly by Javier Bardem and Chloë Sevigny, only to leave us wondering: was all this emotional heavy-lifting worth it? With its bloated runtime and chaotic storytelling, Monsters feels less like an insightful deep dive and more like a crime scene you wish you hadn’t stuck around for.

The show kicks off in October 1989, with Lyle and Erik cruising to their parents’ memorial in a limo to the smooth jazz of Kenny G. Lyle, cool and composed, contrasts sharply with Erik, who breaks into uncontrollable sobs out of nowhere. This early scene sets up the dynamic: one brother is all emotion, the other a coiled spring of rage. From there, the narrative jumps between timelines, exposing the terror that festered within the Menendez household and culminated in parricide.

Javier Bardem is chillingly despicable as José, and Chloë Sevigny nails Kitty’s cold, pitiful demeanour. Meanwhile, Erik and Lyle come off as an unsettling mix of pampered privilege and psychological prey. The murders are depicted with grisly precision, and the plot digs into police blunders that initially let the brothers off the hook. Dallas Roberts plays Erik’s therapist, Dr Jerome Oziel, whose loose-lipped mistress, Judalon Smyth (a scene-stealing Leslie Grossman), ultimately triggers the brothers’ downfall.

The show’s high point is the fifth episode titled The Hurt Man, which zooms in—literally and figuratively—on Erik as he confides in defense attorney Leslie Abramson (Ari Graynor) about years of sexual abuse by his father. Shot in one uninterrupted take, the episode is hauntingly intimate. But just when it seems the series is finding its stride, it dives headfirst into tonal confusion. What follows is a muddled blend of camp (yes, there’s a toupee gag) and over-the-top homoerotic subtext that derails the narrative.

Episode 6, which rewinds to José and Kitty’s tumultuous marriage, feels more like a filler flashback than a meaningful addition, despite solid performances from Bardem and Sevigny. Nathan Lane pops in as Vanity Fair reporter Dominick Dunne, hell-bent on seeing the brothers punished after his own daughter’s tragic death. While Lane’s performance is delightful, Dunne’s presence feels unnecessary, adding little to the story.

The courtroom scenes, spanning two trials and seven years, drag on interminably, with a parade of witnesses, legal wrangling and testimony that quickly grows tiresome. To make matters worse, Murphy and Brennan shoehorn in every major event from ’80s and ’90s LA, from Rodney King to OJ Simpson—complete with a bizarre jailhouse chat between Erik and Simpson about plea deals.

In the end, Monsters gets lost in its own ambition, teetering between a dark character study and campy spectacle, without fully committing to either. Despite stellar performances and a disturbing narrative at its core, the series feels more like a collection of unsettling moments than a cohesive whole.