The Menendez Brothers 2024

It’s been a while since the Menendez brothers’ case stopped being just a family tragedy and turned into a full-blown media spectacle. From books to series, and countless conspiracy theories, the story of Lyle and Erik Menendez continues to fascinate the public. Now, with “The Menendez Brothers,” a Netflix documentary directed by Alejandro Hartmann, the goal is clear: to give the brothers a voice, in an attempt to further humanize them. But does the film really offer anything new, or is it just preaching to the choir?

If you’ve watched Ryan Murphy’s “Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story,” you’re going to feel some major déjà vu. The documentary dives into the same events that were dramatized in the series, but without the benefit of fiction, which paradoxically makes everything feel a bit shallower. The big draw here is the exclusive interviews with the brothers, conducted over the phone from prison, where they’re both serving life sentences. But these interviews, which should be the backbone of the film, end up feeling repetitive and, more often than not, not very revealing.

It’s important to point out that, regardless of what I personally believe about the Menendez brothers and the crimes they committed (and yes, I do believe in the abuse), my analysis here is focused on the documentary as a cinematic work. My focus is on evaluating how the film presents its narrative, its choices, and its flaws, without judging or absolving those involved in the real-life story.

The main narrative follows the story that Lyle and Erik have been repeating for decades: they killed their parents in response to years of physical and sexual abuse at the hands of their father, José Menendez, a powerful executive in the entertainment industry. According to the brothers, the situation came to a head on a night in August 1989, when they believed their parents were planning to kill them, and in desperation, they acted first. Hartmann’s intent is clear from the start: to make the audience see the brothers as victims—not just of their parents, but of the legal system and society at large.

For those who believe this version, the documentary works almost like a manifesto. It reinforces the points already established in the trials and gives a platform to experts, lawyers, and even jurors who continue to defend the abuse narrative. On the other hand, the film offers little room for any deeper questioning of this story. Pamela Bozanich, the prosecutor who took on the brothers’ case, is the only dissenting voice in the documentary, but her presence is almost symbolic, as if Hartmann is saying, “See, we’ve got a contrary opinion here.” But this attempt at impartiality doesn’t hold up since the film doesn’t really dig into the evidence that contradicts Lyle and Erik’s story.

And that’s the biggest problem with “The Menendez Brothers.” The documentary chooses to ignore, or at least downplay, key facts that could complicate the brothers’ defense narrative. For example, Lyle returning to the car to reload the shotgun and “finish off” his mother, the brothers’ excessive spending after the crime, and the absence of any mention of abuse until they were arrested—all these details are briefly mentioned, but without the weight they deserve. By focusing so much on the brothers’ version, the documentary ends up sounding like a one-sided defense rather than a balanced portrayal of the case.

Another thing that bothered me was how the documentary tried to connect the Menendez case to social media, especially TikTok. Lyle and Erik get emotional about the support they’ve received from the younger generation, who, according to them, “better understand” what really happened. There’s an interesting discussion to be had about how younger generations are re-evaluating decades-old cases, but the film doesn’t really dive into that. It would’ve been great to see an analysis of how social media has shaped public perception of controversial figures, but the movie only touches on it with a few throwaway lines and a brief explanation from Erik about the “culture of silence” in the ‘90s.

And of course, we can’t ignore the fact that the documentary was released right after Ryan Murphy’s series. Comparisons are inevitable, and unfortunately, “The Menendez Brothers” doesn’t come out on top. What could’ve been an opportunity to dig deeper into the legal and emotional aspects of the case ends up being a rehash of points that were already tackled more impactfully in the fiction. When a true crime documentary can’t top the intensity of a dramatization, something’s off.

In the end, “The Menendez Brothers” is an attempt to rewrite the narrative of the Menendez brothers in a more favorable light, but it fails to deliver a balanced and in-depth analysis of the case. The film seems more interested in garnering sympathy than in exploring all the facts. For those who already support the brothers’ version, the documentary will feel like a confirmation, but for anyone looking for a critical and complete view, it turns into a frustrating and one-sided experience. The biggest irony is that, despite being a true story, the documentary ends up being less convincing than its fictional counterpart.