Lizzie Borden's acquittal in the 1892 murders of her father and stepmother remains one of America's most enduring true crime mysteries, yet popular culture has frequently treated her guilt as an established fact. Netflix's Monster takes that assumption considerably further, presenting a fictionalized version of Lizzie as a woman driven to murder by abuse, sexual repression, and patriarchal oppression. The creator behind this critique argues that the series transforms a historically unresolved case into a sensationalized feminist revenge fantasy, potentially reinforcing the very stereotypes it appears determined to challenge.
The discussion begins with a detailed reconstruction of the Borden family and the circumstances surrounding Andrew and Abby Borden's deaths. The creator describes the family's financial arrangements, complicated domestic relationships, Bridget Sullivan's role as their housekeeper, and the investigative failures that complicated the case. Particular attention goes to Lizzie's inconsistent early statements, the limitations of nineteenth-century forensic investigation, and the influence of Victorian expectations about respectable womanhood on her trial. By emphasizing that Lizzie was acquitted and that her guilt remains unproven, the historical overview establishes an important distinction between documented events, contemporary suspicions, and subsequent speculation.
Despite the overwhelmingly negative assessment, the creator gives substantial credit to the production's technical accomplishments. Ella Beatty's portrayal of Lizzie, Vicky Krieps's performance as Bridget, and the depiction of theatrical actress Nance O'Neil receive enthusiastic praise. The elaborate costumes, carefully selected period accessories, atmospheric sets, and imaginative cinematography also earn recognition. These observations make the criticism more credible because the creator acknowledges that the series possesses considerable visual sophistication, even while arguing that its storytelling undermines those achievements.
The central objection concerns how dramatically the series reshapes the historical figures. Its portrayal of Abby Borden as a cruel, abusive stepmother and Andrew Borden as a sexually predatory, emotionally destructive father receives particularly sharp criticism. The creator contrasts these characterizations with accounts suggesting more complicated but generally functional family relationships, including Andrew's financial support for his daughters and Abby's efforts to maintain domestic stability. The discussion of disputed property transfers, family tensions, and the alleged killing of Lizzie's pigeons demonstrates how ordinary conflicts and uncertain anecdotes can become exaggerated into apparent motives for murder. Importantly, the creator generally recognizes that historical accounts themselves require scrutiny rather than treating every favorable recollection as unquestionable truth.
The series' treatment of sexuality and violence becomes another major focus. According to the critique, Monster repeatedly connects lesbian relationships, sexual victimization, and violent revenge, particularly through its invented relationship between Lizzie and Bridget. The inclusion of Elizabeth Báthory and Aileen Wuornos extends this pattern into a broader narrative about women whose experiences of oppression supposedly explain their capacity for extreme violence. The creator argues that this approach is neither especially empowering nor historically responsible, particularly when speculative or disputed stories are presented alongside the experiences of a convicted murderer. The discussion of Bertha Manchester's killing and the historically inconsistent Wuornos storyline provides especially concrete examples of the show's willingness to sacrifice chronology and evidence for dramatic connections.
Beyond individual inaccuracies, the creator develops a thoughtful argument about the ethics of historical fiction. Reimagining Lizzie as a justified murderer may appear to reclaim her agency, but it also risks perpetuating the sensationalized reputation imposed upon her after the murders. The discussion draws on Esther Boone's scholarship concerning gender and the Borden trial to examine how women who violated conventional expectations of femininity could become objects of suspicion, fascination, and sexualized mythology. This is the critique's most intellectually substantial section, connecting the series' creative decisions to broader questions about historical representation, gender stereotypes, and the responsibilities involved in dramatizing real tragedies.
The presentation is passionate, extensively detailed, and frequently entertaining, although its effectiveness is occasionally weakened by its own excesses. The lengthy sponsorship segment and personal response to hostile comments delay the historical discussion, while repeated expressions of frustration sometimes overshadow the more persuasive evidence-based arguments. The creator also occasionally advances interpretations of historical relationships with greater confidence than the acknowledged uncertainty fully supports. Nevertheless, the concluding emphasis on respecting the unresolved nature of the murders, rather than declaring Lizzie either guilty or innocent, gives the discussion a measured destination. The acknowledgment that viewers can enjoy the series without sharing these objections also prevents the criticism from becoming unnecessarily judgmental toward its audience.
Pros
- The detailed reconstruction of the Borden murders, investigation, trial, and family relationships provides valuable historical context for evaluating Netflix's dramatization.
- Specific praise for the performances, period costumes, production design, and cinematography demonstrates a willingness to recognize the series' artistic achievements.
- The examination of invented relationships, altered characterizations, and historically inconsistent storylines offers concrete support for the criticism of the show's writing.
- The discussion of gender expectations, sensationalized criminality, and feminist reinterpretation raises substantial ethical questions about portraying real historical women.
- References to historical scholarship and the Fall River Historical Society strengthen the educational value and encourage further investigation.
- The creator's energetic delivery, sharp humor, and clear personal investment make a complicated historical subject accessible and engaging.
Cons
- The extended sponsorship and personal commentary interrupt the opening momentum before the historical analysis properly begins.
- Repeated condemnations of the series' treatment of sexuality, abuse, and violence occasionally make the argument feel more repetitive than necessary.
- Some favorable interpretations of the Borden family's relationships would benefit from the same degree of skepticism applied to the show's darker characterizations.
- The forceful, occasionally sarcastic delivery can make the discussion feel more like an extended expression of frustration than a consistently measured critical examination.
- The emphasis on historical distortion leaves comparatively little room for a deeper assessment of the series' narrative structure, pacing, and dramatic effectiveness independent of factual accuracy.
This is an engaging and frequently insightful critique that uses Netflix's sensationalized portrayal of Lizzie Borden to explore the uneasy relationship between historical truth, entertainment, and feminist storytelling. Its strongest arguments demonstrate why turning an acquitted woman into a celebrated murderer can be ethically questionable, even when the production itself is visually accomplished. Although occasional repetition, personal detours, and uneven historical certainty weaken the presentation, the combination of substantive research, thoughtful cultural analysis, and passionate commentary makes it a worthwhile examination of how true crime entertainment can reshape public understanding of the past.
