Ryan Murphy and Ian Brennan Craft a Glossy, Self-Aware Examination of a Serial Killer and His Cultural Impact
Netflix’s Monster: The Ed Gein Story is teeming with bold aspirations. According to its promotional material, it introduces viewers to the precursor of three landmark horror films: “Before Psycho, before The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, before The Silence Of The Lambs…there was Ed.” It’s only natural that after exploring the stories of Jeffrey Dahmer and the Menendez brothers, the anthology would explore such a notorious figure. Ed Gein’s actions have intrigued filmmakers and audiences for decades. This installment of the Monster series aims not just to recount Gein’s gruesome acts but to delve into how his legacy mirrors and morphs within the American cultural landscape of horror, both in reality and in cinema.
This objective is commendable. There’s much to unpack about Gein’s fascination with grave robbing and his macabre trophies of skin and bones, and what these say about our broader consumption of horror. What do images of defiled corpses (like the concentration camp photographs that initially captured Gein’s interest) or graphic depictions of violence (as seen in Texas Chain Saw) add to a culture that at once abhors and glamorizes figures like Gein? What are the moral considerations in portraying such violence, particularly when intertwined with mental health, gender issues, and identity? Essentially, how does Monster manage to present a nuanced view of Gein that goes beyond sensationalism to question our own eagerness to witness his horrific crimes?
Ideally, Monster: The Ed Gein Story would not only raise these questions but also address them thoughtfully. However, the series often appears to merely dabble in these complex themes, with creators Ryan Murphy and Ian Brennan sprinkling them somewhat superficially throughout the narrative. This season feels disjointedly crafted compared to its predecessors, starting with a young Ed (Charlie Hunnam) trying to satisfy his overbearing mother (Laurie Metcalf) and ending with an older Ed reflecting in a mental institution on his troubled past. In between, Brennan creatively shuffles through Gein’s timeline, integrating real-life events, cinematic influences, fictional elements from a Holocaust comic book, and imaginary dialogues with people like Christine Jorgensen.
The underlying theme is clear: Ed Gein was not just a pioneer among serial killers; he was also a product of, and a commentary on, societal breakdowns. The series suggests that his fascination with Holocaust imagery was instrumental in shaping his twisted worldview. If society can perpetrate such atrocities and then commodify them (as in photographs), what other kinds of monsters might it inadvertently unleash?
Gein’s inability to separate reality from his macabre fantasies becomes evident when, after his mother’s death, he exhumes a body, dresses it like her, and convinces himself she is still alive to control and criticize him. His mother’s disdain for his cross-dressing and her wish that she had castrated him to prevent sexual activity reveal deep-seated issues of gender and desire. These complex feelings about his identity and desires eventually lead him to murder several women, work as a leather tanner using human skin, and spiral into a detachment from reality.
At times, Monster: The Ed Gein Story is captivating, despite its polished finish. Hunnam portrays Gein as an almost naive figure, his voice high and unsure, as if he’s perpetually out of place. Unlike the lean Anthony Perkins’ portrayal of Norman Bates, Hunnam’s Gein is physically imposing, an almost idealized version of masculinity, which contrasts sharply with the confused youth he is meant to represent.
The series is visually stunning, with meticulous production and cinematography that, while engaging, sometimes distances viewers from the grim reality of Gein’s actions. It even features a surreal sequence set to “Owner Of A Lonely Heart,” imagining Gein’s ascent into a serial killer’s version of paradise.
Anthony Perkins, in a meta moment, questions the ethics of depicting such horror, addressing not only Alfred Hitchcock but also, directly, the viewer. This reflects Monster’s overall approach: boldly confronting the viewer with graphic content while simultaneously questioning our fascination with it. “You’re the one who can’t look away,” Gein taunts, encapsulating the series’ provocative yet somewhat superficial exploration of the allure and horror of real-life violence.
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Avery Sandridge has an unmatched love for storytelling and the screen. From detailed analyses of your favorite shows to behind-the-scenes scoops, Avery offers a fresh and engaging take on everything TV series.