Blame It on the Rain

Triggering, disturbing, and brutally real-this show masterfully brings a real-life incident to the screen. It sent chills down my spine at every turn. The actors deliver outstanding performances, truly bringing the gravity of the situation to life. Nicholas Alexander Chavez and Cooper Koch delivered Emmy-worthy performances; the nuances and small details of every emotion they portrayed truly deserve praise. Javier Bardem as the father nailed the criminally insane role, adding even more depth.

Though, as usual, it's a bit glorified. Still, it's really well done! The background score and music were on point, enhancing the overall tension. Visually, the show is shot beautifully, capturing the dark tone perfectly.

S1- 9/10; S2- 7/10

Season 1 is absolutely fantastic and equally terrifying and that makes it, in my opinion, one of the best shows about a serial killer.

However, Ryan Murphy approached the second season differently.

Season 2, which tackles the Menendez brothers' trial, has a less dramatic and at times almost comical tone than Dahmer for obvious reasons but it's still pretty solid. There's less emotional scenes but since this time the narrative shifts and the audience is supposed to sympathise with the perpetrators, since they present themselves as the victims, it makes sense why it's not as disturbing or dramatic as the first season. Strong performances from the main cast, especially the brothers and Javier Bardem of course and overall an interesting case but a terrible tragedy.

Even with diving into this series with prior knowledge of the subject, it was still quite dark and very well portrayed but the two leads. They did a great job with time-relevant pop culture, music and vehicles. The acting was great and I loved the different points of view. Sometimes the story jumps in time and in perspectives, which isn't my preference but the series does a good job of avoiding any confusion with that. They do show some instances of... weird relationship boundaries that I question if it is relevant or needed at all. Overall, not as great as the Dahmer "season" but still a great watch.

The series Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story exceeded my expectations in every way. With a talented cast, including Javier Bardem, Chloë Sevigny, Cooper Koch, Nicholas Alexander Chavez, Ari Graynor, and Nathan Lane, this show delivered exceptional performances. The series seamlessly navigated a range of emotions, making me laugh, cry, and feel happy. I applaud the show's thoughtful portrayal of male victims of sexual abuse, a topic often overlooked. The cast's performances were outstanding, and their chemistry on-screen was undeniable. Overall, this show was a true masterpiece, and I feel fortunate to have experienced it.

"Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story," launched its second season under the creative stewardship of Ian Brennan and Ryan Murphy, with Carl Franklin directing the poignant first episode entitled "Blame It on the Rain." This episode serves as an intense and psychological introduction to the troubled Menendez family, skillfully setting up the intricate familial tensions, dark undercurrents, and emotional turmoil that spiral toward the infamous matricide and patricide. Despite the shadow cast by the well-known true crime case, Franklin's direction alongside Brennan and Murphy's script attempts to navigate fresh perspectives and deeper emotional insights into these complex characters.

The episode begins with Lyle and Erik Menendez portrayed by Nicholas Alexander Chavez and Cooper Koch, respectively, riding in a luxurious limousine en route to their parents' memorial, their interaction layered with a mix of bravado, vulnerability, and suppressed rage. The opening moments cleverly pivot between the brothers' external composure and their internal unraveling. Scenes depict Lyle forcibly maintaining control, demanding the chauffeur switch the radio station to reflect his desired mood, while Erik reveals intermittent breakdowns, embodying the psychological strain that the brothers silently endure. The use of music and sound in these sequences amplifies the emotional ambience and foreshadows escalating familial conflict.

Crucially, Franklin situates the narrative within a darkly opulent backdrop, representative of privilege and repression, which contrasts sharply with the brothers' emotional degradation. Cinematographically, the episode employs muted tones and claustrophobic framing to depict the suffocating nature of their environment-an aesthetic reminiscent of classic psychological thrillers but refracted through a contemporary trauma lens. The production design captures the late 1980s/early 1990s with striking authenticity, enhancing narrative immersion.

The screenplay oscillates between present-day moments and flashbacks that illuminate the brothers' strained relationships with their parents. Key flashbacks reveal José (played by Javier Bardem) and Kitty Menendez's (Chloe Sevigny) volatile marriage, laced with authoritarian control, emotional neglect, and underlying familial dysfunction. One intense scene highlights Kitty's derisive treatment of Lyle's bald spot, symbolizing not only parental cruelty but broader themes of emasculation and vulnerability. Conversely, moments between the brothers exhibit fractured solidarity, marked by mutual support yet fraught with mistrust and psychological paranoia, as they grapple with their shared trauma and difficult decisions.

The episode's pacing balances its heavy thematic content with suspenseful tension, particularly during sequences depicting the forthcoming crime's buildup. Tense moments, such as Erik's imagined gunfire and the brothers' weapon preparations, are intercut with more mundane yet emotionally charged scenes, creating a constant undercurrent of unease. Editor's rhythmic cuts and sharp sound choices, including abrupt silences and bursts of amplified noise, heighten the sense of impending violence.

Performances anchor the episode's impact. Cooper Koch and Nicholas Alexander Chavez deliver nuanced portrayals of Erik and Lyle, capturing their evolving psychological states without resorting to sensationalism. Bardem's José is authoritative and menacing, while Sevigny's Kitty offers a layered depiction of frustration and emotional desolation. Dashcam performances are characterized by subtlety, revealing the characters' inner turmoil through restrained gestures and facial expressions.

Thematically, "Blame It on the Rain" interrogates the destructive effects of familial control, emotional abuse, and the corrosive intersection of wealth and dysfunction. It also lays the groundwork for moral ambiguity, refusing easy judgments while evoking empathy and horror simultaneously. The episode, replete with symbolic imagery such as the recurring motif of rain, metaphorically suggests cleansing, futility, and emotional turbulence.

Contextually, the episode situates itself within a true crime tradition that strives for psychological depth over sensational spectacle, echoing the narrative strategies of acclaimed crime anthologies and psychological dramas. It references earlier works on the Menendez case but attempts to distinguish itself through its stylistic ambition and character-driven focus. Directorially, Carl Franklin's measured and atmospheric approach complements the series' broader aesthetic consistency across seasons.

Despite its strong construction, the episode has met some critique for the well-trod nature of the material, as the Menendez case has been exhaustively covered in media and literature. Critics suggest that while the performances and thematic layering salvage the narrative, the story delivers little groundbreaking new insight into the brothers' psychology or the events. Moreover, some viewers may find the pacing deliberate, occasionally interrupting narrative momentum in favor of introspective moments.

"Blame It on the Rain" stands as a sober and effective entry point into this season of "Monsters," excelling through strong performances, precise direction, and an evocative atmosphere that conveys the psychological claustrophobia at the heart of the Menendez family saga. While constrained at times by the familiarity of its source material, it opens avenues for an empathetic exploration of trauma's ripple effects and the complex interplay of love, hate, and desperation in the crucible of familial abuse. The episode encourages reflection on privilege's corrosive potential and the tragic consequences when love becomes entangled with violence and control.