How “Monsters” sexualized the Menendez brothers – True story

After Kyle and Erik Menendez brutally murdered their own parents in 1989, the brothers temporarily moved out of the Beverly Hills mansion where they committed the crime and began running up enormous bills at local hotels. Monster: The Story of Lyle and Erik Menendezthe second part of the Netflix anthology series about famous American murderers, produced by Ryan Murphy, describes their addiction to pleasure during a stay at the Hotel Bel-Air in LA, where Lyle persuades his sibling to order an absurd amount of room service.

In the scene, both Menendezes are wearing skimpy Speedos that provocatively display their hairless, tanned and muscular torsos. “From now on, we're going to demand more from life,” says Lyle (a Zac Efron-esque Nicholas Chavez) as he wraps his hands around Erik's neck in a way that is simultaneously sensual and intimidating. He puts an end to the conversation by leaning forward and kissing his brother on the mouth. It doesn't seem to be the first time he's had this impulse and acted on it, and Monster would like to point this out.

The real Menendez brothers, who are currently serving life sentences for the murder of their parents, José and Kitty Menendez, have never said they were involved in an incestuous relationship, although during their murder trials Lyle confessed to abusing his brother and apologized for it, an emotional moment that was recorded in Monster. Yet this fictionalized work of “true crime” cannot resist the idea of ​​a long-standing Cersei-Jamie situation between the two, lightened by scenes of them dancing provocatively at parties and being caught showering together. The level of homoeroticism makes the volleyball scene in Super shooter seem subtle by comparison. Lyle described everything that went on between them as abuse stemming from her father's sexual harassment, so why would Murphy and series co-creator Ian Brennan feel compelled to portray it as a secret romance, even to the point where Vanity Fair writer Dominick Dunne (Nathan Lane) nonsensically suggested it was a motive for her parents' murder?

The simplest and most obvious answer to that question is that Ryan Murphy's shows generally do just that. They revel in the unspeakable, adding an extra dose of obscenity to stories that are already pretty shocking. But when Murphy and his collaborators are at their best, they can balance out those over-the-top tendencies with careful, nuanced character work that opens our eyes to aspects of a narrative we hadn't considered, even though we've heard the same story before. The story of Lyle and Erik Menendez The series achieves this most effectively in the sixth episode, in which, in a single 36-minute shot, Erik, played with great discipline by Cooper Koch, describes the years of emotional and sexual abuse his father inflicted on him.

One could argue that the incest story was recorded with a higher goal in mind. The first two episodes of Monster paint a portrait of the brothers that matches the first impression most people got of them from the media: They're spoiled, rich, preppy, muscular guys who drive around Los Angeles in limos. And yes, they're extremely fit, with extremely visible abs to prove it. Despite the gruesome crime they committed, the Netflix original casts them in an aspirational light that can be seen as an indictment of our own fascination with cases like this one. The Menendez trials — the first of the two ended in a miscarriage of justice due to a hung jury — became such a sensation in part because of the heinous nature of the crime, but also because of who Lyle and Erik were. They rose to fame as the 1980s drew to a close, seeming like personifications of what Americans learned to covet during that decade: wealth, physical attractiveness, obvious access to all the amenities the good life has to offer. That was the fascination: that two boys who looked like that could possibly The.

As the series shows, the Menendez brothers had many admirers who sent them loving letters and provocative photos while they were in prison awaiting trial. These women – the series suggests that they were almost exclusively women – were not afraid of these guys. They idolized them, and Monster first nudges us to understand these feelings. Then it tries to go a step further by adding an erotic layer to the nature of the relationship between the brothers. Murphy and co. make a special effort to make us horny for murderers, which they have done more than once American Horror Story and in Dahmer. But they've been in this territory so many times that it's difficult to see this as a meaningful meta-commentary on the perverse appeal that murder stories have for the public. You can't honestly criticize people for watching porn while simultaneously giving them more pornography to watch.

In the course of the episodes The story of Lyle and Erik Menendez takes a more serious turn, focusing more on the horrific nature of their father's abuse and showing genuine compassion for both of them. The drama never absolves them of murdering their parents, but it does depict a home life so miserable that it's understandable, if not forgivable, that they wanted to get rid of their mother and father. Particularly in the aforementioned sixth episode, “The Hurt Man,” the details of José's abuse of Erik are handled bluntly but also with obvious sensitivity. When Lyle admits on the witness stand that he penetrated his brother with a toothbrush, the same thing their father had repeatedly done to them both, he sobs while repeatedly saying “I'm sorry.”

But Monster also shows both brothers admitting that they lied or embellished information they shared with their lawyers and the public, raising legitimate doubts in the audience about whether their stories of abuse could also be fabricated. These doubts are raised in the series by prosecutors and Dunne. Lyle's toothbrush story in particular is at odds with the consensual, intimate moments between him and his brother that Monster has shown it to us almost gloatingly before. That Lyle admits to the sexual abuse, especially so late in the series, makes it all the more strange and confusing that these sexually charged scenes exist at all, especially since they don't seem to be based in fact and aren't really necessary to the story.

At best, the passion between the brothers was an attempt to show how difficult it is for victims of child abuse to have normal relationships, an attempt that doesn't hit the right note. But at worst, it undermines the severity of the abuse and blurs the lines between what is “hot” and what is totally inappropriate and wrong. If we believe the two were lovers on any level, it robs Lyle's confession of abuse of its meaning and impact. The same goes for the conclusion that Lyle was lying when he said he co-abused his brother. Monster refuses to take a definitive position on the nature of their relationship, and when it comes to the brothers' guilt, she ultimately comes to the same conclusion as Dunne: “Regardless of what happened to them, Lyle and Erik are not entitled to our forgiveness.” That may be true. But viewers of this series should be entitled to a more nuanced, less exploitative portrayal of the relationship between these two notoriously complicated men.