The third (and final, for now) season of Monster focuses on Ed Gein. Unfortunately, it’s the weakest of the three seasons, despite having some interesting elements.

I appreciated that the show explored how Ed Gein’s crimes inspired Hollywood movies and comics. The production values remain high, the acting solid, and the music selection excellent. Charlie Hunnam is always worth watching, and the supporting cast delivers as well.

One aspect I particularly enjoyed was the show’s willingness to take risks with experimental scenes. While these didn’t always succeed, they occasionally gave the season a surreal, fever-dream quality. I personally enjoy it when a show leans into a David Lynch–style atmosphere, but in this case it made Season 3 of Monster the strangest one so far.

Many of the negative reviews likely stem from this experimental approach, as all other aspects—storytelling, acting, production—are on par with the first two seasons.

What made Ed Gein’s story fall behind Jeffrey Dahmer’s or the Menendez brothers’ for me was the lack of a clear climax. Gein remains odd and deranged throughout, with Hollywood references and dream sequences punctuating his story. Eventually, he simply dies as an old man.

Another thing that made it not as good as the first two seasons was the German synchronisation. Hunnam is way better with the original US audio.

Still, Monster remains one of the better shows on TV, and I’ll definitely be checking out Season 4 when it arrives.

The second season of Monster feels a bit lighter than the story about Dahmer. In some ways, it’s almost comical. You’re not supposed to laugh at what’s portrayed—but I did. The way the Menendez brothers hoaxed their way through a made-up story turns what should be a drama into something closer to a dark dramedy.

The soundtrack plays a big part in that. Using Milli Vanilli as the main musical motif is a clever choice—after all, those two became the poster boys for how the entertainment industry fakes fame into existence. It’s just like the Menendez brothers tried to fake their way out of prison.

The production value matches the first season. The set design, acting, and direction are all solid and well-executed.

There are still some racial undertones sprinkled in, but compared to Dahmer, they’ve thankfully toned it down. In exchange, we get a bit more of the familiar “hate the rich” narrative—criticizing how wealthy people supposedly get preferential treatment from the system over the working class. Fortunately, the message is not hammered into your head like it was in Season 1.

Overall, Monster: The Menendez Brothers was received well by audiences, though slightly less than Dahmer. Personally, though, I enjoyed the Menendez story a bit more.

Over the past couple of weeks, I watched Monster on Netflix—one episode a day. It was a tough watch, especially the first season about Jeffrey Dahmer. I couldn’t watch more than one episode per day, as the story is genuinely disturbing.

What I found particularly frustrating, on top of the main Dahmer storyline, was the constant portrayal of racism. It seemed to suggest that white men in general were to blame for what happened to Dahmer’s victims. Every Black character is depicted as a moral pillar, while the white cops are portrayed as either indifferent or complicit, supposedly because Dahmer was white as well.

Jesse Jackson is almost elevated to a heroic status in the final episodes, portrayed as a brave social justice warrior fighting systemic racism. The fact that Jackson may have used the case to further his own public image—capitalizing on a story that stirred outrage—is never even hinted at.

Dahmer was undoubtedly a monster, but his story is not one of hidden racism against “people of color,” as the show implies. He lived in a predominantly minority neighborhood, where Black residents were the majority. His specific apartment complex was known for poorly maintained housing for the poor and unemployed.

Interestingly, many of Dahmer’s victims were found in gay bars, suggesting his actions were motivated by sexual desire. He later admitted that he killed some victims because he “didn’t want them to leave.”

So he was a racist who intentionally lived in a black area to find black lovers to have gay sex with whom he didn’t want to leave – doesn’t sound convincing to me.

As for the systemic racism that is not just implied but openly pointed at: I would have loved to see the general conviction rates of homicide and murder in that neighborhood for that specific time frame by race and ethnicity.

Dahmer was clearly a sick man, but race was not a factor in his crimes, contrary to how the show and figures like Jesse Jackson seem to spin it. That the case caused massive public outrage despite lots of black on white murder happening at the same time without comparable media attention is actually a counter argument to any accusations of systemic racism against blacks in the Dahmer case.

In terms of quality, the show is well-made, though. Ryan Murphy knows how to produce this type of series. The acting is solid, the cinematography and music are good, yet the pacing can be slow at times.

Overall, it’s a difficult watch, even without the racial undertones. But it’s also worth it, if you can stomach such stories.

The first season of Wednesday was great in many ways — from the directing and set design to the acting and the story. It all worked. I especially hope whoever choreographed Wednesday’s dance scene got a massive raise, because that moment was pure perfection.

It seemed like everyone loved it, so it’s no surprise that Netflix ordered more. (I’ve heard at least three seasons are planned.)

I finally got around to watching the eight-episode second season last week, and I have to say — it’s still good. The production quality remains top-notch. The directing, sets, score, and characters are all on par with Hollywood-level filmmaking. You can clearly tell when Tim Burton was more involved in directing, though, as his episodes once again stand out as the highlights of the season.

However, the writing has taken a noticeable dip. There are simply too many characters, each with their own side plot. As a result, the main storyline feels diluted and reduced to a framework that merely ties all the other plots together.

Another major issue is the miscasting of Gomez and Morticia. This was already a weak point in the first season, though it wasn’t too distracting since both characters had limited screen time. Unfortunately, they get much more focus this season — and it hurts the show. Nothing against Luis Guzmán, but his portrayal of Gomez just isn’t my cup of tea. He turns the character into a comedic oddball, lacking the charm and sophistication of his predecessors. Catherine Zeta-Jones looks almost frozen in place — her expression so stiff that it conveys little to no emotion thanks to lots of botox sessions I’d assume. When the two share a scene, their lack of chemistry makes things even more awkward.

Overall, everything the first season did great, the second does worse. But as the first season was so well done, the second still turns out to be good. But is Season 2 a must-watch? Sadly, no.

I’ve decided to dedicate one day of the week to reviewing movies or shows. My mainstream media consumption has dropped drastically since the early 2000s, but I still occasionally watch the stuff everyone seems to be talking about.

As an author in progress, I’m naturally interested in how other storytellers design their characters, develop their plots, and craft their dialogue. So I try to make it a habit to watch at least one or two films a week—even when the major sports leagues are in full swing, work is demanding, and social media is having its latest heyday.

A few days ago, Adolescence was back in the headlines after winning several awards. I can certainly understand the recognition for the young actor who played the boy—he was excellent, especially in the episode where he’s interviewed by the female detective.

But the overall praise the show receives feels somewhat manufactured.

Adolescence tackles one of the main socio-political narratives that the establishment seems eager to promote: “Men are bad—therefore, we need more state control to correct them.”

The show is set in England, where women are statistically far more likely to be threatened by the consequences of mass migration. To avoid that uncomfortable topic, the creators chose to make the killer a white boy—effectively inverting real-world crime statistics.

Instead of sparking a conversation about migration, the series redirects the discussion toward misogyny. As a result, Adolescence becomes a subtle yet insidious piece of propaganda that’s now reportedly used in classrooms to “educate” boys—what a joke.

The show itself doesn’t dig very deep. It never ventures beyond what’s politically acceptable and feels like a typical product of a system that takes no creative risks and refuses to explore the root causes of the issues it raises out of fear of getting cancelled.

Awards are handed out. Critics adore it. In today’s climate, that’s often a clear sign of something not worth your time.

Still, the series holds a respectable 8.1 rating on IMDb, suggesting that audiences enjoyed it.

I couldn’t—despite great acting Adolescence is simply too ideologically driven for my taste.

Adolescence on IMDB