Netflix’s fourth season of the true-crime anthology Monster tackles the infamous 19th-century murder case of Lizzie Borden. Titled Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story the eight-episode arc attempts to fuse historical mystery with hyper-stylized horror. While the series offers moments of visual flair and a standout lead performance, it also grapples with a convoluted narrative that interweaves three disparate female killers. The result is a show that feels both daring and disjointed, prompting viewers to question whether the artistic risks paid off.
Casting choices that elevate an otherwise chaotic script
At the centre of the series is Ella Beatty portraying Lizzie Borden with a mix of feigned innocence and simmering menace. Beatty, daughter of Annette Bening and Warren Beatty, delivers a performance that glides seamlessly between public flamboyance and private darkness, anchoring the series when other elements waver. Equally compelling is Vicky Krieps who assumes the dual role of Bridget, the Borden household maid, and the infamous Hungarian countess Elizabeth Báthory. Krieps imbues Bridget with a whisper-of-witchcraft charm, using subtle gestures and a lingering stare to suggest hidden intelligence. Their on-screen chemistry fuels the show’s most persuasive moments, especially during the charged scenes that hint at a nascent romantic tension.
Ambitious storytelling that stitches together three murder legends
Creator Ian Brennan described the season as a “fever dream” that was birthed once the team settled on Lizzie as their “monster.” The narrative does not stop with the Borden family; it branches into the macabre lives of Elizabeth Báthory and serial killer Aileen Wuornos portrayed by Sarah Paulson. These parallel storylines are intended to explore themes of misogyny, class, and sexuality across eras. In practice, the insertion of Báthory’s blood-bathing obsession and Wuornos’s modern-day killings feels more like a thematic garnish than an integral ingredient, occasionally diluting the focus on Lizzie herself.
Visual excess and the series’ contentious treatment of gender
The production leans heavily into a surreal aesthetic: bright crimson blood, exaggerated vomiting sequences, and grotesque banquet scenes dominate the visual palette. While some montages achieve an artful horror vibe, others descend into gratuitous shock value, especially the graphic depictions of sexual violence that have little grounding in the historical record. The series also attempts a feminist angle, foregrounding women’s agency, yet many of its choices—such as misattributing certain violent acts to male characters or inserting a spurious suffragist montage—undermine that intention. Even the dialogue occasionally slips into anachronistic slurs without contextual justification, creating dissonance between the show’s modern sensibilities and its period setting.
Behind the scenes: a ten-season vision and the limits of ambition
In a recent interview, Brennan revealed that the Lizzie Borden season fits within a broader ten-season plan for the Monster franchise. He noted that early considerations, like the Brian Thompson murder case, were set aside because they felt too fresh. Instead, long-standing folklore like Lizzie’s trial offered a canvas for exploring entrenched gender dynamics. However, the execution shows the difficulty of balancing historical speculation with the show’s trademark excess. The series demonstrates that even seasoned creators can overreach when they attempt to cram multiple mythic figures into a single narrative arc.
Ella Beatty’s magnetic portrayal and Vicky Krieps’s nuanced turn provide enough intrigue to keep viewers engaged, but the series’ chaotic structure, unnecessary subplots, and sometimes exploitative imagery prevent it from achieving the cohesion it promises. For fans of stylized horror who appreciate bold reinterpretations, the show offers flashes of brilliance; for those seeking a tighter, more historically respectful true-crime drama, the experience may feel more frustrating than rewarding.
