Maniacal melodrama: The Monster Lizzie Borden story review
When you look for true crime drama, you often expect stark realism. But the latest venture from Ryan Murphy and Ian Brennan, Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story, throws a spectacular splash of blood, melodrama, and high camp into the genre, proving that sometimes the most compelling horror is found in the theatrical exaggeration of the darkest truths.
This anthology series delves into the infamous 1892 murders of Andrew and Abby Borden, but it quickly pivots from historical fact into a far more visceral exploration of guilt, hysteria, and the messy aftermath. Far from offering subtle introspection, the show unleashes a torrent of blood-splattered fun, imagining the events leading up to the axe-murder that shattered the Massachusetts home.
The true genius of the series lies in its thematic breadth. While focusing on the Borden tragedy, it steps effortlessly into the shoes of other notorious female killers, positioning Lizzie alongside figures like Jeffrey Dahmer and Ed Gein. This series successfully recontextualizes the narrative, demonstrating how history’s darkest acts often demand a more flamboyant, hysterical retelling.
The cast brings the chaos to life with compelling performances. Ella Beatty embodies the inscrutable blankness of Lizzie, while Vicky Krieps captivates as Bridget, the soft-spoken schemer, and Rebecca Hall provides the sharp, shrill energy of Abby, whose arrogance defines her character. The dynamic between these women, and their complicated relationship with the violence surrounding them, forms the emotional core of the unfolding drama.
The show does not shy away from the gore. Charlie Hunnam, playing Andrew, is presented not as a gentle patriarch, but as a character whose own dark appetites and casual violence—including his collection of axes—are brought into stark, bloody focus. Murphy and Brennan embrace a style of heightened hysteria, ensuring the melodrama and the stark reality of violence are inseparable.
The narrative is punctuated by delightfully irreverent moments that shatter the solemnity of true crime. Scenes featuring the Bordens, such as the sup on poisoned Bouillabaisse, flirt with pure absurdity, offering a stark contrast to the brutality. The show’s musical score swings wildly, moving seamlessly from sublime tracks like Kate Bush’s ‘Hounds Of Love’ to irreverent covers and even a comedic injection of Monty Python’s sensibility during moments of extreme violence.
Further deepening the series’ willingness to dig into the periphery of true crime, the story takes a surprising, manic detour. By episode four, the narrative flashes forward to 1988 Florida, introducing Aileen Wuornos, immortalized by Charlize Theron in Monster. Sarah Paulson portrays this killer with a thousand-yard stare, bringing a spectral, unsettling energy to the frame, exploring the strange, fragile boundaries between friends and fatal history.
Ultimately, Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story is a masterful exercise in spectacle. It tosses the audience into a world where the historical weight of the Borden case is amplified by graphic visuals and theatrical excess. It reminds us that while we may not know exactly what happened that day, the story of those who carry the burden of murder—whether in the 1890s or later—is always a spectacle waiting to be explored with passion and a little bit of glorious, bloody mayhem.
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