Netflix’s ‘Monster’ Takes Creative Liberties with the Lizzie Borden Case
True crime anthologies thrive on their ability to navigate the space between documented history and artistic interpretation, and few American cases are as steeped in myth as the Borden murders. More than 130 years after a Massachusetts jury delivered its verdict, the case remains elusive, providing ample opportunity for reinterpretation.
This ambiguity is precisely what Ryan Murphy and Ian Brennan’s anthology has embraced in its latest installment, introducing new relationships and motives into a narrative that has never pinpointed a confirmed killer. Viewers who finish the season with strong opinions about what “really happened” may be taken aback by how much of it is purely fictional.
The distinction between fact and fiction in ‘Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story’ highlights a season rooted in real names, dates, and an unsolved double murder, intertwined with invented romance, violence, and connections to other true crime stories that never existed. Disentangling these elements offers a clearer view of both the historical record and the show’s creative liberties.
The core case remains unchanged. Andrew and Abby Borden were brutally murdered with a hatchet in Fall River on August 4, 1892, and Lizzie was arrested a week later, standing trial the following June. The series accurately portrays the jury’s deliberation, which lasted about 90 minutes before returning a not-guilty verdict.
Smaller details also hold true. Lizzie’s account of searching for fishing sinkers during her parents’ murders aligns with her actual testimony during the police inquest. After the trial, she and her sister Emma did move into the Maplecroft estate, eventually becoming estranged over the years. Financial tensions within the household, fueled by Andrew’s frugality and disputes with his second wife, reflect genuine family discord documented at the time.
However, the romantic and murderous alliance between Lizzie and housemaid Bridget Sullivan, which is central to the show’s narrative, lacks historical basis. Sullivan was actually the prosecution’s key witness at trial, not a co-conspirator, and the notion of the two women plotting together stems from speculative fiction rather than factual accounts.
The series also fabricates the depiction of Lizzie and “Maggie” murdering Bertha Manchester as a trial run for the Borden killings. In reality, Manchester was killed in May 1893, while Lizzie was imprisoned awaiting trial, and the actual case was resolved with the conviction of Jose Correa de Mello, a detail the show neglects entirely.
Nance O’Neil’s portrayal as a trial coach is also chronologically inaccurate. The real actress did not meet Lizzie until 1904, well over a decade after the acquittal, making her courtroom presence in the show a dramatization rather than a historical event.
Beyond the main relationships, the series takes additional liberties. It shows Abby killing Lizzie’s pet doves, when in fact it was her father who did so due to disease concerns. The show also suggests Lizzie kept over 200 pets, a claim that lacks evidence, although her genuine advocacy for animal welfare is documented.
The season even draws a connection between Lizzie’s story and Aileen Wuornos, depicting the serial killer as obsessed with the Borden case. No historical documentation supports this connection, making it one of the more speculative elements woven into an already fictionalized narrative.
Ella Beatty and Charlie Hunnam star as Lizzie and Andrew Borden in Monster: The Lizzie Borden Story.
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— Netflix (@netflix) September 17, 2026
What makes ‘Monster’ compelling, despite its creative inventions, is that the real Borden case has always eluded a straightforward resolution. Alternative suspects, including Lizzie’s uncle John Morse and even her sister, have circulated for over a century without yielding definitive proof of who wielded the hatchet.
This unresolved mystery allows the show to speculate without directly contradicting a settled historical record, even as it diverges significantly from what is documented. Whether this creative freedom serves the real victims or simply enhances entertainment value remains a topic for discussion.
Even Lizzie’s post-trial life is simplified in the narrative. She lived quietly and privately at Maplecroft for the remainder of her life, rather than engaging in public activism, a detail the show largely overlooks in its more dramatic portrayal.
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