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Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story – Forcing a Feminist Narrative

 

Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story

I went into Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story expecting a disturbing psychological drama. What I got was something closer to a poorly executed satire. It seems more interested in turning a horrific crime into a feminist statement than in exploring the people and circumstances behind it.

The problem isn't the decision to explore the lives of women in a society that offered them very little freedom. There's plenty of material there. The problem is how shallowly the show handles it.

A Family Worth Hating

Lizzie's stepmother (Rebecca Hall) is introduced as a horrible woman, and her father (Charlie Hunnam) doesn't offer much of a sympathetic alternative. He's an imbecile who seems to care very little about his daughters or their well-being. The family environment is clearly miserable, but the show struggles to turn that misery into something emotionally meaningful.

There are attempts to give the stepmother more depth by revealing her unhappiness, but they never quite work. Understanding that someone is miserable doesn't automatically make them a compelling character, and the show seems unsure what to do with the complexity it introduces.

Lizzie (Ella Beatty), meanwhile, appears to have a surprisingly good understanding of her stepmother's mental struggles. It's an interesting detail that could have led to a more nuanced psychological exploration, but the series rarely digs deep enough to make the most of these relationships.

Even the scene with the doves, which should be genuinely heartbreaking, somehow feels slightly ridiculous. It's a recurring problem: the show introduces situations that should carry considerable emotional weight, only to undermine them with its own strange tone. And then there's the vomiting scene, which is both disgusting and hilarious. I'm still not entirely sure that's the reaction the show intended.

Lizzie, Maggie, and the Problem With Female Empowerment

Maggie (Vicky Krieps) is an intriguing presence. She's intelligent, unconventional, and seemingly far ahead of her time. Unfortunately, what begins as an interesting character gradually turns into something resembling a caricature.

She also plays a significant role in convincing Lizzie to act, but their relationship has a strange imbalance. Maggie does much of the persuading while Lizzie is the one who actually does things, leaving Maggie to watch from the sidelines. It's an interesting dynamic, but the show doesn't explore it.

More frustrating is the attempt to frame the story as a fight for female empowerment. Apparently, if a woman suffers enough, her trauma becomes a sort of free pass for whatever she does next. That's not psychological complexity; it's an excuse for avoiding the difficult questions.

A story can explore the ways women are oppressed without pretending that oppression erases personal responsibility. In fact, that tension could have made this a much more compelling series.

What Was Aileen Doing Here?

Then there's Aileen (Sarah Paulson). Why?

I struggled to understand what her presence was supposed to contribute to the story. Is it a spiritual connection? An attempt to create a parallel between women across different periods? A fan's fascination with Lizzie Borden taken to an absurd extreme? 

Whatever the intention, it feels unnecessary and distracts from the story that actually deserves attention.

Rather than adding meaningful psychological depth, this storyline makes an already unfocused series feel even more confused. Not every historical story needs an additional connection to the present, especially when that connection doesn't seem to serve a clear purpose.

And what was the show's problem with Portuguese people? I genuinely don't understand the choices made here, and the result only adds to the feeling that the series is more interested in being provocative than in making its ideas work.

The One Question Worth Asking

Interestingly, one of the most thought-provoking parts of the series comes from the Nance O'Neil (Jessica Barden) lessons for the courtroom scenes.

They raise a genuinely fascinating question: how easily can a jury be persuaded by a convincing performance?

Lizzie Borden's trial took place in 1893, long before modern DNA testing and many of the forensic techniques we now take for granted. The legal system had to work with the evidence available at the time, and courtroom persuasion inevitably played a significant role.

The series briefly touches on something worth exploring: the difference between what happened, what can be proved, and what a jury can be made to believe. And that question is still relevant today, even with all our technological advances.

When a Horrific Crime Becomes a Message

Ultimately, Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story feels like a missed opportunity.

There's a fascinating historical crime here, a dysfunctional family, complicated female relationships, psychological suffering, and a trial that raises questions about evidence and justice. The ingredients are all there.

Yet the series never develops them into a satisfying emotional or psychological narrative. Instead, the characters often feel as though they exist to serve a predetermined message. The result is a strange mix of melodrama, dark comedy, and feminist commentary that doesn't quite cohere.

Turning a horrific crime into what feels like a tribute to feminism doesn't automatically make it insightful. If anything, it can diminish both the crime and the very issues the show claims to care about.

The ending only reinforces that impression. After all the opportunities for nuance and psychological exploration, the series leaves me wondering what it was ultimately trying to say.

I don't need a historical drama to give me a moral lesson, and I certainly don't need it to make its characters likable. I do, however, expect it to say something meaningful about them.

Unfortunately, this Monster doesn't.

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