‘Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story’ series review: Ryan Murphy’s hack job collapses into a pile of ‘female serial killer’ stereotypes

Brennan helmed the writing charge for this project alone, and the story starts by revealing the murder, and the murderers. In the late 19^th century, Andrew Borden (Charlie Hummam), and his wife Abby (Rebecca Hall) were found brutally hacked to death at their house in Fall River, Massachusetts. Andrew’s younger daughter, Lizzie (Ella Beaty), was charged and then eventually acquitted of the crime. However, public interest in the more sensational details of any ‘true crime’ has driven profit margins for all media since man first started disseminating news. It is what attracted Brennan and Murphy to this case as well, and it is what restricts them from making a more impactful show.

With the more technical details about the Borden murders out of the way, the rest of the eight-episode show becomes free for Brennan to chalk out the more human details of the case. The writing of the show mistakes human for horrid. Lizzie was accused of murdering her parents with an axe. Brennan’s writing revives the blunt force of that axe to deliver a choppy saga about family and feminism. The show proceeds to delve into the rocky and abusive relationship between Lizzie and her parents. Though Lizzie finds companionship with the newly-hired housemaid Bridget (Vicky Krieps), the family dynamics deteriorate to a point of no return.

Rebecca Hall acting as the constantly condescending stepmother to Lizzie makes some sense of a half-hearted script, while Ella Beaty as Lizzie delivers a pretty decent transition from the sheltered victim to an axe-wielding liberator. However, Brennan’s interests lie so far beyond the Borden family, that the actors barely get time to breathe in their character before the scene chops away. The Monster series has been Murphy and Brennan’s way of trying to reimagine how ‘true crime’ folktales can be repackaged in new variants. The conclusion they have arrived at is: you deliver the naked sensationalism that the audience is too shy to ask for. As with the previous instalments involving Jeffrey Dahmer, the Menendez brothers, and Ed Gein, Lizzie Borden’s story spends much of its time zooming on the blood, gore, and the violence. Often this happens at the expense of establishing the socio-cultural contexts for the Borden family – this job is then carried out by paras of expositional monologues.

Ella Beatty in ‘Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story’
| Photo Credit:
Netflix

If that’s not enough, Lizzie’s story encounters more distractions when the writing jumps time and place to show the audience the life of the 1990s serial killer Aileen Wuornos (Sarah Paulson). Murphy and Brennan establish the connection as Aileen being some kind of Lizzie Borden superfan. The show also jumps back in time to show the alleged crimes carried out by the 16^th century Hungarian Countess Elizabeth Báthory, whom Lizzie gets fascinated with. Murphy and Brennan attempt some kind of cross-temporal journey to link one female killer to another, but in the process flatten all the women to represent the sum of the crimes committed against them, and the crimes they subsequently committed against others.

Through the several instalments of Monster, Murphy and Brennan have perfected their creative niche, when it comes to the technical aspects of showmaking. The Lizzie Borden Story, invites the audience in with impressive visuals, and nifty ideas. However, they continue to fail at locating the soul of any character they are trying to explore. They seem to aim at ambitions of showing the humanity that lies within the criminal, but struggle to move past the sensationalist violence they thrive of.

Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story is available to stream on Netflix