Ryan Murphy Productions, 'The Monster' Series: The Art of Dragging Things Out
By Romey - September 23, 2026
Ryan Murphy has certainly found a formula that works. His Netflix anthology series Monster has become one of the streaming service's most talked-about true-crime dramas, attracting huge audiences while also dividing viewers over just how much creative licence should be taken with real-life murder cases. From Dahmer: Monster – The Jeffrey Dahmer Story, to Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story, and then The Ed Gein Story, Murphy has repeatedly taken notorious real-life killers and transformed their stories into dramatic television. Now, with the fourth instalment, The Lizzie Borden Story, the formula is back, and so is one of Murphy's most recognisable habits: taking a story that could perhaps be told in five episodes and somehow making us watch eight.
That isn't necessarily a criticism. In fact, it is arguably part of what makes Monster so distinctive. Murphy's approach has never been to simply recreate the historical record. Instead, he takes a real-life crime and uses it as the foundation for something much more theatrical. The facts are there, but around them he builds imagined conversations, relationships, psychological interpretations and dramatic scenarios that may never have happened. The result sits somewhere between true crime, historical drama and creative fiction.
That approach has understandably produced mixed reactions. Some viewers enjoy the opportunity to see familiar cases through a different lens, while others find themselves questioning where historical fact ends and dramatic invention begins. With Monster, the question is often less "Is this exactly what happened?" and more "Does this make a good television story?". And when it comes to Lizzie Borden, Murphy has been handed a particularly useful piece of history because nobody knows for certain what happened.
In August 1892, Andrew Borden and his wife, Abby, were brutally murdered inside their home in Fall River, Massachusetts. Suspicion quickly fell on Andrew's daughter, Lizzie, who was arrested and eventually put on trial. Despite the prosecution's case, she was acquitted in 1893 and the murders remain officially unresolved. Lizzie lived for decades afterwards, but the question of whether she really killed her father and stepmother has never completely disappeared.
It is almost too perfect for Monster. There is a famous crime, an accused woman, a sensational trial, an atmospheric house and, most importantly, a mystery that has never been definitively solved. Murphy can therefore take the known facts and fill in the enormous gaps in between. One of the most obvious examples is the show's portrayal of a romantic relationship between Lizzie and Bridget Sullivan, the Borden family's maid. Bridget was a real person who was living and working in the Borden household, but there is no established historical evidence that she and Lizzie were lovers. The lesbian relationship is therefore a piece of creative licence rather than something that can be presented as historical fact.
But it is also easy to understand why the writers have introduced it. A romantic relationship gives the story an emotional dimension that goes beyond the murders themselves. It allows the series to explore sexuality, repression, class and the restrictions placed on women in the late nineteenth century. It also gives Lizzie another relationship through which the audience can understand her. And that is really the key to Murphy's Monster universe. He isn't particularly interested in simply telling us what happened. He wants to explore what the story can become.
The problem is that this approach can also create one of the show's biggest frustrations. There comes a point in almost every Monster season where you feel as though the main story has already been told. The crime has happened, the investigation has taken place and the audience understands the central dramatic question. Sometimes it feels as though the conclusion is sitting there somewhere around episode five, quietly waiting for the credits. But there are still three episodes left. So what does Monster do? It finds another story.
This is where the series can feel as though it is "dragging things out". A new character appears, another perspective is introduced and suddenly the show has found a new reason to keep exploring the same events. What initially looked like the conclusion becomes a doorway into another storyline.
With The Lizzie Borden Story, this becomes particularly noticeable through the character who is fascinated by Lizzie and becomes connected to the Borden house. Rather than simply leaving the story with Lizzie herself, the series explores what happens when somebody else enters her world and begins experiencing strange, even supernatural events within the property. At the same time, that character is dealing with their own trauma. The Borden house becomes more than the setting for an old murder case; it becomes a psychological space where somebody else's experiences and trauma can be reflected through the legend of Lizzie Borden.
For some viewers, this will be exactly where the series loses them. The original story is already fascinating. Why do we need another character? Why do we need supernatural experiences? Why do we need to spend so much time exploring somebody else's trauma when the Borden murders themselves are enough to fill a series?
There is certainly an argument that Monster occasionally mistakes additional material for deeper storytelling. A story can be slow and atmospheric without necessarily being better for being longer. Sometimes the viewer isn't looking for another layer; they simply want the story to get to the point. But there is another way of looking at it. Perhaps the additional material is the point.
Murphy's Monster series isn't really just about the killers. It is increasingly about the people who become fascinated by them and the way notorious crimes continue to affect people long after the original events have ended. Lizzie Borden isn't a woman accused of murdering her parents. She has become a cultural figure, a mystery, a piece of American folklore and, ultimately, a character that generations of people have projected their own ideas onto. The person who becomes obsessed with Lizzie is therefore another way of telling the Borden story. They aren't necessarily there to move the murder plot forward. They are there to show what Lizzie has come to represent.
That is where the criticism of "dragging things out" becomes a little more complicated. If you are watching Monster purely as a murder mystery, the additional episodes can feel unnecessary. You know what the central story is and you may feel that the series is taking an unnecessarily long route towards an ending you can already see coming.
If you are watching it as a piece of psychological and artistic television, however, those additional perspectives can be viewed differently. The story isn't simply moving forwards; it is moving sideways. It is looking at the same events through another character's eyes and asking why these stories continue to fascinate us. And that may actually be one of the most interesting things about Murphy's approach.
Sometimes the slow burn works. Sometimes the additional character adds something genuinely worthwhile. Sometimes the psychological material gives the audience a new way of understanding a notorious figure. And sometimes you can find yourself looking at the episode counter and wondering why the story that seemed to have reached its natural conclusion three hours ago is still going.
The thing that can make the series frustrating is also the thing that makes it recognisable. Murphy doesn't want to give audiences the straightforward version of a true-crime story. He wants to embellish it, expand it and find another perspective hiding inside it. Whether that feels like artistic ambition or unnecessary padding probably depends on how much patience you have for the Murphy method.
But there is no denying that the method is now familiar. Take a real-life killer. Find the gaps in the historical record. Fill them with drama. Add relationships, trauma and psychological depth. Give the audience the murder story they came for. And then, just when you think the story is over, find somebody else who has a story to tell. Eight episodes later, perhaps we finally get to leave. Until the next Monster comes along.
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Romey Norton
Senior Writer
Romey is a senior writer for Film Focus Online, covering the latest film reviews, news, features and interviews, with a passion for all things cinema.
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