All blood, no pulse — Ryan Murphy’s Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story just drags

Here we go again with Ryan Murphy and his merry band of true-crime dramatists—this time taking their axes (pun very much intended) to Lizzie Borden. If you recognise the nursery rhyme—'Lizzie Borden took an axe...'—then you already know roughly where this is headed. But if you thought you were in for a forensic look at the real case, think again. Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story hits Netflix as the newest season in Murphy’s splashy anthology, but it's less crime doc and more gothic soap—complete with buckets of blood, wobbly accents, and a Victorian house of horrors aesthetic that would make Hammer Studios proud.

Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story is now streaming on Netflix.

A Gore-Soaked Fairy Tale

The opener wastes no time—there’s poor Charlie Hunnam (as Andrew Borden) and Rebecca Hall (Abby Borden) getting axed by Ella Beatty’s Lizzie in a sequence absolutely dripping in blood and macabre nursery rhyme lines splashed across the screen. From there, it jumps back in time, screaming 'childhood trauma' from the rooftops, but not much interest in historical accuracy. Abby is painted like something straight out of Cinderella as the ghastly stepmother, flinging insults at Lizzie, trying to fob her off on any half-blind suitor with the patience to endure a dinner scene, and generally acting like she's auditioning for panto. Lizzie herself is recast as a mopey, ghostly young thing (actually thirty-two in real life, but early 20s here—because of course, she is).

Most of the character work lands somewhere between melodrama and, frankly, weird fan fiction. When housemaid Bridget Sullivan (Vicky Krieps) arrives, the narrative pivots hard into forbidden romance and queer awakening, which is boldly foregrounded, although the real Bridget was much younger than depicted. Minor historical footnotes like this are trampled over gleefully as the series leaps from the famous murder, through Lizzie’s trial (the Victorian OJ if you like), to a post-acquittal tour through women’s suffrage and, for reasons nobody can quite explain, a subplot about serial killer Aileen Wuornos (Sarah Paulson doing proper chameleon work).

The show brushes past anything like a 'true' account—opting instead for maximalist, sexed-up drama that's so far away from what actually happened, it may as well have been set on Mars.

The Usual Murphy Mayhem

Let’s run through the cast, because that’s where most of the fun is. Ella Beatty makes a valiant go of Lizzie, presenting her as a twitchy, half-formed creature who’s all hidden motives and wilful naïveté. Rebecca Hall, though, absolutely steals her scenes as Abby, chewing up the scenery in every sense. Hall previously popped up in Murphy’s The Beauty and clearly relishes hamming it up as Mrs Borden. Hunnam is back too after the Ed Gein season, but mostly keeps out of the way.

Then there’s Sarah Paulson, who pops in as Aileen Wuornos. Her presence is very welcome (she’s one of Murphy’s genuine secret weapons), but thematically, shoehorning Wuornos in feels more clever-for-clever’s sake than organically worked into Lizzie’s story. Still, Paulson transforms again—if you need proof she’s a top-tier shape-shifter, compare this with Charlize Theron’s Oscar-winning Wuornos in Monster (for my money, both are brilliant, just from different planets).

Flirting with History, Running from the Truth

All the signature Murphy elements are present—lavish sets, period detail that swings between authentic and fever-dream, and a tone that veers from camp horror to true crime pastiche. Ian Brennan writes all eight episodes, Max Winkler directs most, and the flashiest parts (including a bizarre detour to the 16th century for some Elizabeth Bathory lore) are all handled with maximum bravado. But for all the production values, what’s missing is any real understanding of the actual Lizzie Borden or her world. The series cares much more about Lizzie and Bridget’s relationship than about the crime itself or the other genuine suspects. Even Lizzie’s dynamic with her sister Emma (played by Billie Lourd) is pure invention—here it’s all sniping and rivalry, which the historical record simply doesn’t support.

• Lead: Ella Beatty (Lizzie Borden)
• Supporting: Rebecca Hall (Abby Borden), Charlie Hunnam (Andrew Borden), Vicky Krieps (Bridget), Billie Lourd (Emma Borden), Sarah Paulson (Aileen Wuornos)
• Writers: Ian Brennan (all 8 episodes)
• Directors: Max Winkler (6 episodes), Sarah Adina Smith (2 episodes)
• Platform: Netflix
• Format: 8 episodes

If you’re after a faithful bit of historical drama and a careful unpicking of the Borden case, you’ll be absolutely infuriated. For everyone else, it’s a stylish but empty ride—shiny, loud, and relentlessly interested in shock over substance. Murphy’s track record these days is quantity over quality: big audience, lots of gifs, but with the law of diminishing returns firmly in play. Hall and Paulson are the only ones with a clue where the line between camp and terror actually is, and each makes a meal of what they’re given.