A True Crime Crossover That Defies Expectations
Ryan Murphy has built a career on subverting what audiences think they know about infamous figures. With Monster, his Netflix anthology series, he turned the Jeffrey Dahmer story into a cultural reckoning. Now he is back with another installment, and this time he is pulling from two different centuries of American crime history. The result is a narrative gamble that has left viewers scratching their heads and hitting the rewind button.
In the fourth episode of the series, the focus shifts away from the Borden family murders in Fall River, Massachusetts. Instead, we are introduced to Aileen Wuornos, portrayed with unsettling intensity by Sarah Paulson. Yes, that Aileen Wuornos. The woman who was executed in Florida in 2002 after killing seven men. The connection between these two killers is not immediately obvious, and that is precisely the point.
Why Aileen Wuornos Shows Up in a Lizzie Borden Story
The episode functions as a thematic bridge rather than a literal historical crossover. Murphy and co-creator Ian Brennan are not suggesting that Borden and Wuornos ever met or corresponded. That would be absurd. What they are doing is exploring the cultural archetype of the female killer and how society has historically responded to women who commit violence.
Borden was acquitted in 1893, largely because Victorian sensibilities could not fathom a proper Sunday school teacher wielding an axe. Wuornos, by contrast, was vilified as a monster, a lesbian, a sex worker, and a liar. The show juxtaposes these two reactions to ask a pointed question: how much has really changed in a hundred years? The answer, delivered through Paulson’s chilling performance, is not particularly comforting.
The Ryan Murphy Playbook: Discomfort as Commentary
Murphy has never been interested in straightforward biopics. His approach to true crime is more like a hall of mirrors, where the reflection is distorted but somehow reveals more truth than a clean portrait would. By placing Wuornos inside the Borden narrative, he forces viewers to confront their own appetite for these stories. We consume true crime as entertainment, but the subjects were real people with real victims. That tension is the engine of the episode.
The casting of Sarah Paulson is another layer of meta-commentary. Paulson is a Murphy regular, having played Marcia Clark in The People v. O.J. Simpson and Nurse Ratched in Ratched. She brings a familiar face to an unfamiliar role, which makes the violence feel both theatrical and deeply unsettling. It is a performance that lingers long after the credits roll.
What This Means for the Monster Franchise
Netflix has found a lucrative formula with Monster. The first season, about Dahmer, became one of the streamer’s most-watched shows despite intense criticism from victims’ families. The second season, focused on the Menendez brothers, generated similar buzz. Now the Borden installment is taking a different tack by weaving in a second killer. It is a creative risk that could either expand the franchise’s scope or dilute its focus.
For tech and media observers, the real story is how streaming platforms are reshaping the true crime genre. Netflix’s algorithm loves engagement, and nothing drives engagement like controversy. By blending two notorious cases, Murphy is essentially A/B testing a new narrative format. Will audiences stick around for a historical murder mystery if it suddenly becomes a commentary on 1990s tabloid culture? Early reactions suggest they will, if only to figure out what on earth is happening.
The Ethics of Blending Fact and Fiction
There is a fine line between artistic interpretation and exploitation. Victims’ advocates have criticized Murphy for dramatizing real suffering without adequate consent. The Wuornos episode adds another layer of complexity because Wuornos herself was a victim of severe abuse before she became a perpetrator. The show does not shy away from that context, but it also does not fully reckon with the implications of using her pain as a plot device.
This is where the episode becomes more than just a gimmick. It asks us to consider why we are so fascinated by women who kill. Is it because they violate gender norms? Because they are rare? Or because, deep down, we recognize that violence is not exclusively a male domain? These are uncomfortable questions, and Murphy is not offering easy answers. He is simply holding up a mirror and letting us squirm.
The Bottom Line for Viewers and Critics
If you are looking for a historically accurate account of either Lizzie Borden or Aileen Wuornos, this is not the show for you. But if you are interested in how pop culture processes trauma, gender, and justice, then the fourth episode is essential viewing. It is messy, provocative, and occasionally frustrating. In other words, it is quintessential Ryan Murphy.
The series ultimately suggests that the monsters we create on screen say more about us than about the people they depict. As streaming platforms continue to churn out true crime content, that insight becomes increasingly valuable. We are not just watching stories; we are watching our own anxieties projected onto the past. And that is a scary thought indeed.
