The Most Baffling Part of ‘Monsters’ Is All Those Dang Dinner Parties
Less than a week after its Netflix premiere, “Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story” has already stirred up its fair share of controversy. Erik Menendez himself was quick to slam the series, along with his family. In later episodes, it’s suggested that the brothers (played by Cooper Koch and Nicholas Chavez) were actually lovers and killed their parents to keep it a secret. The series has been accused of re-traumatizing victims with its detailed accounts of rape and child abuse, and creator Ryan Murphy has already given public statements to defend it. IndieWire’s Alison Foreman called the series a “vicious piece of onscreen cruelty.“
But what infuriated me about this adaptation was all the damn dinner parties.
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They start in Episode 4, with Vanity Fair journalist Dominick Dunne (Nathan Lane) discussing the Menendez brothers in a group setting (prior to this, he does it at a private lunch in Episode 3). This was undoubtedly something happening all over the country at the time of murders and trial, with the public highly engaged via Court TV and eager to discuss their own theories, emotions, and reactions.
Then it happened in Episode 7. And Episode 8. And Episode 9. The series’ bloated nine-episode run can be blamed almost squarely on dinner party sequences, which present Dunne as unhealthily obsessed with the Menendez brothers beyond the point of reporter-subject intrigue. He starts to act more like a town gossip or a high school mean girl eager to spew vitriol just for the attention. As details from the case and the brothers’ abuse allegations emerge, Dunne — as characterized in the show — feels more and more out-of-place.
Episode 7 has the longest stretch of dinner party interludes as Dunne rehashes the case and presents a range of theories — it’s the closest “Monsters” ever comes to being self aware of this runner, but amounts to no added value. Even the guests start to appear uncomfortable and jaded, indulging their friend’s hyperfixation because hey, it’s a free meal. He ends up alone at the table, his mind consumed by Menendez, getting vulnerable about his daughter’s death with one of the party’s wait staff.
As documented in the series, Dunne’s daughter Dominique was killed in 1982 and her ex-boyfriend convicted of manslaughter (not murder) after citing a history of abuse. “Monsters” uses this to turn Dunne into a conduit for the prosecution, the doubters, and probably a portion of the Netflix audience. It’s a crude manipulation, and an uninspired framing device. Nathan Lane is an actor that you use if you have him, and he finds gravity in Dunne’s flashbacks and even descriptions of the murders back in Episode 4. But when he is — by his own admission — indulging in a little gossip, it’s a bad look for both character and show. Lane tries hard to stay connected to the memory of Dunne’s daughter and her killer, but the Menendez connection never quite lands.
In Episode 8, the Northridge earthquake of 1994 prompts Dunne’s character to entertain once again, and to drop this elegant transition: “You know who’s terrified of the earthquakes? Erik Menendez.” He spends 80 percent of his time talking about the Menendez brothers and the other 20 percent he’s praying for someone else to bring them up so he can talk about them more. He regales (debatable) his cocktail companions with nuggets like Erik’s new girlfriend and the memorable Judalon Smyth (Leslie Grossman). He ends this one by saying that if the jury acquits the brothers, they will be haunted by José and Kitty’s ghosts (Javier Bardem and Chlo? Sevigny).
Episode 9 opens with the sentencing of O.J. Simpson (Trae Irland), a verdict which appalls Dunne — and he says as much at the night’s party! This time, the needle isn’t hard to thread; Simpson was imprisoned along with the Menendez brothers and the trials were close together. “If I’m being honest, I’m a little over the Menendez brothers,” Dunne says, before relishing the opportunity to share the latest updates on Erik and Lyle’s love lives with his guests. As Ben Travers described in his review of the series, Dunne is “always so clearly framed as the one in the wrong — like a Bond villain, constantly in monologue, but swigging a drink instead of petting a cat.”
“Monsters” doesn’t shy away from trauma, and Dunne is one of many characters haunted by what they’ve seen and experienced. But he’s also on an island, barely interacting with anyone in the main story and clunkily present in courtroom proceedings like some sort of fan fiction insert. His gossip-mongering dinner parties are a narrative element that presents “Monsters” in poor taste. After nine episodes, everything Dunne says and does in those scenes comes off exactly as presented; as an attention-seeking gimmick that diminishes the show’s more pressing themes.
“Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story” is now streaming on Netflix.
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