How Ryan Murphy’s Menendez Brothers Series Exposes Racial Bias in the Criminal Justice System
A OPINION By Johanna Elattar
When Lyle and Erik Menendez were convicted in 1989 of brutally murdering their parents, José and Kitty Menendez, the crime shocked the world. Two wealthy young men, raised in privilege, gunned down their parents in cold blood, claiming years of emotional and sexual abuse as justification. Ultimately, they were sentenced to life without parole—a reflection of the severity of their crime. But despite this tragic story, the Menendez brothers are now back in the spotlight, thanks in large part to Ryan Murphy’s latest addition to his Monsters series, The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story.
Following in the footsteps of Dahmer, which recounted the horrific crimes of Jeffrey Dahmer, Murphy’s new series has once again sparked public fascination. But as viewers watch the Menendez brothers come to life on screen—brooding, tortured, portrayed by attractive actors—it’s hard not to wonder whether we’re witnessing history or fiction. With polished production, dramatic lighting, and a tragic backstory, Monsters seems to portray Lyle and Erik as deeply misunderstood souls, victimized by their upbringing and by a justice system that failed them.
While the Menendez brothers’ claims of abuse deserve consideration, it’s troubling to see their story shaped as a dark fairy tale of misunderstood criminals, rather than two individuals who murdered their parents in cold blood. And this glamorization of certain criminals, particularly those who are white and affluent, speaks to a deeper issue in both the justice system and in popular media—a stark bias that often casts criminals of privilege in a sympathetic light, while disproportionately harsh sentences and one-dimensional portrayals persist for people of color.
In recent years, true crime has become a booming genre, captivating audiences with tales of real-life horror. Yet as this genre has evolved, it has also shown a concerning trend: privilege often shapes the narrative. The Menendez brothers, with their Hollywood-worthy backstory, are presented as tragic anti-heroes whose crimes stem from supposed psychological trauma. But a study in Crime, Media, Culture underscores a pervasive issue in true crime narratives—white and affluent criminals are frequently depicted with a depth and complexity that the media rarely affords to people of color accused of similar crimes (Greer & Reiner, 2012).
Ryan Murphy’s Monsters plays into this trend, featuring sympathetic portrayals that draw audiences in, almost daring us to forget the horror of the crimes themselves. Jeffrey Dahmer, portrayed with psychological nuance in Dahmer, was shown in such a way that victims’ families felt retraumatized. His humanity was highlighted over the voices of the families left shattered by his crimes, who expressed their outrage at their trauma being reduced to entertainment fodder (Washington Post, 2022).
This bias is not confined to the realm of television; it mirrors stark disparities in the justice system. The Sentencing Project reveals that Black men receive sentences averaging nearly 20% longer than their white counterparts for similar crimes. In the media, true crime stories often highlight the alleged traumas of white criminals, framing them as victims of circumstance, while Black or Latino individuals rarely receive such a nuanced exploration of their backstories (Sentencing Project, 2017).
For people of color accused of crimes, the narrative is too often simple: they are dangerous, irredeemable, and unworthy of public sympathy. In comparison, Lyle and Erik Menendez’s abuse claims and tragic backstory are emphasized, gaining them a resurgence of sympathy despite the brutality of their actions. Media portrayals like Monsters can impact public opinion to the extent that, in the Menendez case, their history of alleged abuse has fueled interest in their possible resentencing—despite their convictions (Los Angeles Times, 2023).
With Monsters helping to shape public sentiment, it’s easy to see how a sympathetic portrayal can sway opinion and even judicial outcomes. Studies show that sensational media coverage of crimes, especially when portrayed in a sympathetic light, can influence judicial outcomes, lending weight to claims of trauma or abuse that might not have otherwise garnered such attention (Haney, 2004).
The Menendez brothers, for instance, are once again before the public, with their defense team pushing for a resentencing that considers the alleged abuse they suffered. While these claims deserve investigation, they should not overshadow the brutal reality of their actions—yet public sympathy, heightened by media portrayals, can make that line difficult to maintain. Just as families of Jeffrey Dahmer’s victims spoke out against Dahmer, calling it exploitative, those close to the Menendez case worry that sensationalized true crime depictions risk reshaping the narrative away from justice and toward entertainment.
So why are we so drawn to true crime stories? Psychologists suggest it may be our fascination with violence and tragedy, our morbid curiosity, or perhaps even our own need to understand darkness. But a study in Psychology of Popular Media suggests that constant exposure to dramatized portrayals of violence can desensitize audiences, leading us to forget the real suffering behind these stories (Hoffner et al., 2021). We may sympathize with criminals, envisioning them as misunderstood anti-heroes—tragic figures who have somehow been wronged by life or by society.
But in focusing so heavily on these narratives, we risk glossing over the stark reality of the crimes. Lyle and Erik Menendez did not just commit an abstract act of violence; they took the lives of their parents. It’s crucial to remember that behind these headlines and media portrayals, real lives were destroyed. José and Kitty Menendez were not characters in a Hollywood drama; they were people.
As true crime entertainment continues to grow, storytellers like Ryan Murphy should tread carefully. These are not fictional stories crafted for drama—they are real lives, real families, and real tragedies. Glamorizing criminals may bring ratings, but it distorts justice and trivializes the experiences of victims and their loved ones. As Monsters highlights the Menendez brothers’ claims of abuse, let’s remember the actual brutality of their crime and recognize the damaging consequences of viewing criminals through a sympathetic, Hollywood-filtered lens.
In the end, it is vital that we ask ourselves: does our interest in true crime serve justice, or does it merely entertain at the expense of real tragedy?
