The Wheels of Time: Monster’s Lizzie Borden Story Takes a Wrong Turn

The Netflix anthology series Monster has been making waves with its latest installment, a dramatization of the infamous Lizzie Borden case. On the surface, it seems like a straightforward retelling of a classic American true crime story. However, scratch beneath the surface and you’ll find a narrative that prioritizes grand statements about female rage and repression over delivering a compelling or accurate portrayal.

The show’s creators likely chose the Borden case because of its enduring popularity. The infamous double homicide in 1892 remains a captivating topic today, and Lizzie’s alleged axe-wielding rampage has become an iconic part of American folklore. Instead of using this rich historical material as a foundation for a thoughtful exploration, the writers seem more interested in shoehorning every possible trope and theme into the narrative.

The show tackles a wide range of topics, from rape to domestic violence, pregnancy and childbirth, housework, and menstrual issues. By linking Lizzie’s story with those of supposed forerunners like Elizabeth Báthory and Aileen Wuornos, the writers aim to create continuity between these different eras and experiences. However, this attempt at grand narrative feels forced and shallow, relying on anachronisms and inaccuracies.

One notable aspect of Monster is its handling of Maggie Sullivan, the Bordens’ Irish maid who becomes Lizzie’s love interest. Vicky Krieps brings remarkable depth and nuance to this character, making her one of the few genuinely compelling elements of the show. Unfortunately, even Maggie’s presence can’t salvage the overall narrative, which feels like a jumbled mess of half-truths and fabrications.

Monster is not the first dramatization to explore the Lizzie Borden story through romance. The 2018 film Lizzie centered on a same-sex relationship between Lizzie and Bridget Sullivan. While that film attempted to ground its narrative in historical accuracy, Monster prioritizes making bold statements about female rage over telling a coherent or compelling story.

As the series reaches its midpoint, it’s clear that Monster is struggling to find its footing. The pacing is clumsy, with long stretches of exposition and awkward attempts to shoehorn in themes and motifs. Even the show’s most sympathetic characters feel like cardboard cutouts, lacking any real depth or nuance.

Ultimately, Monster’s Lizzie Borden story feels like a missed opportunity. With its talented cast and promising premise, this series could have delivered a thoughtful exploration of female violence. Instead, it settles for shallow grandstanding and lazy anachronisms. As we continue to grapple with issues of sexism and violence in our society, we deserve better than superficial posturing.

The real tragedy of Monster’s Lizzie Borden story is not what it says about female rage or repression – but rather what it reveals about our own laziness as storytellers. By relying on tired tropes and half-truths, the show’s creators demonstrate a lack of faith in their audience to engage with complex historical material. As we continue to navigate true crime storytelling, perhaps it’s time for us to re-examine what we’re doing – and why.