People are obsessed with killers. It’s a weird, slightly uncomfortable truth of modern streaming culture, but Ryan Murphy and Ian Brennan basically cracked the code on how to turn that obsession into a massive, polarizing television event. When Dahmer – Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story dropped in 2022, it didn’t just trend; it dominated the global conversation for months. But it also sparked a massive debate about ethics, the "glorification" of murderers, and whether we should be telling these stories at all.
Honestly? Most people missed the point of the Monsters TV series entirely.
It isn't just a high-budget recreation of police files. It's an anthology that tries—sometimes successfully, sometimes controversially—to dissect the systemic failures that allow these people to exist in the first place. Whether it's the 1990s Milwaukee police department or the wealth-saturated courtroom of the Menendez brothers, the show is less about the "how" and more about the "why did nobody stop this?"
The Shift from Dahmer to Menendez
The first installment focused on Jeffrey Dahmer, played with a terrifying, bone-chilling stillness by Evan Peters. It was gritty. It was grim. It was also criticized heavily by the families of the victims. They felt the show forced them to relive their trauma without their consent. That’s a valid, heavy criticism that hangs over the entire Monsters TV series brand. Murphy’s defense was that the show focused on the victims and the systemic racism of the police, but the line between "social commentary" and "entertainment" is thin. Very thin.
Then came Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story in late 2024.
This was a totally different beast. If Dahmer was a horror movie, Menendez was a psychological Greek tragedy wrapped in 90s kitsch. Nicholas Alexander Chavez and Cooper Koch stepped into the roles of the brothers who killed their parents, Kitty and Jose Menendez, in their Beverly Hills mansion.
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The tone shifted. It was loud. It was theatrical. It leaned into the "Rashomon effect," where different episodes showed the same events from different perspectives. One episode would make you certain they were cold-blooded killers looking for an inheritance. The next would make you weep for two boys who suffered horrific abuse.
Why the Monsters TV Series Keeps People Arguing
The show thrives on ambiguity. That’s why it works for Netflix.
Most true crime shows give you a clear hero and a clear villain. Murphy doesn’t do that. He likes the mess. In the Menendez season, he explicitly included the perspective of Dominick Dunne, the famed Vanity Fair writer, who viewed the brothers as entitled brats. But he also gave us "The Hurt Man," a single-take, 30-plus minute episode of Erik Menendez describing his abuse. It was one of the most harrowing pieces of television in recent years.
The Monsters TV series basically asks the audience to be the jury. It doesn’t tell you what to think; it gives you three different versions of the truth and leaves you to deal with the discomfort. This is precisely why it ranks so high in the "Discover" feeds of true crime junkies and casual viewers alike—it generates "take culture." You can’t watch it and not have an opinion.
The Problem with "Real Life" as Entertainment
We have to talk about the reality of these cases. In the wake of the second season, there was a massive surge in public interest regarding the Menendez brothers' actual legal status. New evidence, including a letter Erik wrote to his cousin and allegations from a former member of the band Menudo, surfaced in the real world.
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The show didn't just reflect the news; it became the news.
This is the power of a series with this kind of reach. It can literally reopen court cases. However, the ethics remain murky. Is it right to use real trauma as a vehicle for stylized, Ryan Murphy-esque cinematography? Some experts, like clinical psychologists who work with trauma survivors, argue that the "campy" elements of the show can trivialize the very real pain of the people involved. Others argue that it brings necessary attention to issues like male sexual abuse, which is often ignored or mocked in the media.
The Future of the Anthology
What’s next? Netflix already greenlit a third season. This time, the Monsters TV series is pivoting to Ed Gein.
Gein is the "Plainfield Ghoul." He’s the guy who inspired Psycho, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, and The Silence of the Lambs. Charlie Hunnam has been cast as Gein, which is a wild choice if you think about it. Gein wasn’t a charismatic "Hollywood" killer; he was a lonely, deeply disturbed man in rural Wisconsin.
This move suggests the series is moving away from the "current event" feel of the 90s and back into the mid-century roots of American macabre. The challenge for Murphy here will be avoiding the "slasher" tropes. We’ve seen Ed Gein’s story told a thousand times in fiction. How do you make it a "Monster" story that fits the brand?
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The answer likely lies in the mother. Augusta Gein. Her influence on Ed is the stuff of psychological legend. Expect the show to spend a lot of time on the repressive, religious atmosphere of the Gein household.
How to Watch (And What to Watch Out For)
If you’re diving into the Monsters TV series, don't expect a documentary. That’s the biggest mistake people make. It’s "inspired by true events," which is code for "we took the facts and turned the volume up to eleven."
- Check the sources: If a scene feels too wild to be true (like the Menendez brothers’ shopping spree), go look up the actual court transcripts. You’ll find that reality is often stranger than Murphy’s scripts.
- Balance your viewing: True crime can be heavy. The "Dahmer" season, in particular, is notorious for being "un-bingeable" because of how oppressive the atmosphere is.
- Look at the background: Pay attention to the sets and the color palettes. The show uses visual cues to tell you whose perspective you’re in. Warm tones often indicate a skewed, "remembered" version of events, while cold, harsh lighting usually signals the "official" version.
Beyond the Screen: Actionable Steps for True Crime Fans
It’s easy to get lost in the drama, but these are real stories with real victims. If the Monsters TV series has sparked an interest in the legal or psychological side of these cases, here is how you can engage more deeply and responsibly:
First, read the primary documents. For the Menendez case, the 1993 trial transcripts are available online. Reading the actual testimony versus the scripted dialogue gives you a much clearer picture of how "truth" is constructed in a courtroom. It also helps you spot where the show took creative liberties for the sake of pacing.
Second, support victim advocacy groups. Shows like this often highlight the ways the system fails. If you’re moved by the stories of systemic neglect in Milwaukee or the handling of abuse allegations, look into organizations like the National Center for Victims of Crime. It turns passive consumption into something that actually matters.
Third, question the narrative. Every time you watch an episode, ask yourself: Whose perspective am I seeing right now? The Monsters TV series is built on the idea that there is no such thing as an objective witness. Understanding that bias is the key to enjoying the show without being misled by its stylization.
The series isn't going away. As long as there are "monsters" in American history, there will be a market for these high-gloss, high-tension retellings. The trick is to watch with a critical eye, knowing where the history ends and the Hollywood begins.