(SeaPRwire) – By: Julian Holbrooke
The marketing pitch for the third installment of Ryan Murphy’s Netflix anthology *Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story* is specific. The producers claim the series is an examination of female rage and repression. They position it against the backdrop of post-*Big Little Lies* television and the lingering effects of the #MeToo movement. The intent is to explore gendered frustrations through a true-crime lens. Yet, the execution is a mess. The series offers no new insight. It recycles the same tropes of misogyny found in countless modern dramas. The result is a narrative that feels stale despite the fresh format.
The adaptation takes a loose approach to historical accuracy. It features 26-year-old Ella Beatty as Lizzie, who ages dramatically over the season. The parents are played by Charlie Hunnam and Rebecca Hall, both significantly younger than their real-life counterparts. The show ignores chronology for the sake of visual appeal. It introduces anachronistic elements, such as a fictionalized menstrual blood scene and operatic scenes of oyster poisoning. These additions stretch the thin source material. The core event is a single double homicide in 1892. There is not enough substance to support such broad thematic expansions without feeling forced.
The narrative links three female killers across time. It connects Lizzie Borden to Elizabeth Báthory, a 16th-century Hungarian noblewoman, and Aileen Wuornos, a Florida sex worker from the 1980s and 90s. Vicky Krieps plays Maggie, a Germanic Irish maid, who serves as the bridge between these figures. Krieps’ performance is the strongest element of the season. Her character is flamboyant and ahistorical. She introduces Lizzie to the myth of Báthory. This connection is simplistic. It assumes a direct kinship between a woman who allegedly murdered her family and a countess who massacred peasant girls. The thematic bridge is weak. It relies on the vague concept of responding to sexism to explain vastly different motives.
Aileen Wuornos appears later in the season, played by Sarah Paulson. Her story is tied to Lizzie’s through shared themes of sexual violence and queerness. The show depicts a fantasy sequence where the two couples dance together. This visual choice is ambiguous. It leaves room for dark assumptions about lesbians and murder. The outcomes for these women highlight the role of privilege. Lizzie is acquitted and uses her inheritance to buy a mansion. She learns to perform femininity correctly during her trial. Aileen, deemed unfeminine, is convicted and executed. Báthory remains a myth of power and appearance. The series suggests that survival depends on conforming to patriarchal expectations. It fails to offer a nuanced critique. It merely illustrates a stark and familiar hierarchy.
Author bio: Julian Holbrooke, an overseas international relations analyst who frequently contributes to major European daily newspapers.