A haunted cymbal-banging monkey toy sounds like a tired rehash of recent horror films like “Annabelle” or clasics like “Chucky“, but in Osgood Perkins’ hands, “The Monkey” becomes a gloriously deranged, blood-soaked Looney Tunes episode for horror fans. Loosely adapted from Stephen King’s short story, the film delivers a bonkers mix of gallows humor, absurdly elaborate death scenes, and a surprisingly heartfelt meditation on generational trauma (this is Osgood Perkins after all). Sure, you could call it “Final Destination” with a monkey, but that wouldn’t do justice to the twisted heart Perkins brings to the table. This isn’t just carnage for carnage’s sake—it’s personal, hilarious, and at times, deeply unsettling.
When Perkins first got the script for “The Monkey,” he wasn’t exactly thrilled. Actually, he kind of hated it. “They were kind of like, ‘What do you think about the script?’ And I was like, ‘I really think the script is very poor,’” he admitted in a recent interview with The Playlist. But rather than running for the hills, he saw an opportunity: Why not take this simple cursed-object premise and turn it into a spectacle of absurdist horror, loaded with laughs, mayhem, and a healthy dose of existential dread? And that’s exactly what he did, creating something that’s equal parts nasty, nutty, and oddly moving when all is said and done.
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From the opening scene, “The Monkey” makes it clear that it’s not playing by traditional horror rules. The film kicks off with Adam Scott in a brief but delightful cameo, desperately trying to rid himself of the titular toy, which—despite looking like something you’d win at a carnival—harbors a supernatural bloodlust. Every time it bangs its little drum, someone nearby meets an outrageously grisly end. And Perkins does not skimp on the gruesome details. Heads roll. Bodies explode. A hibachi chef has an especially bad day. Each death is crafted with the precision of a Rube Goldberg machine designed by Satan, striking a perfect balance between grotesque and hilarious.
The story follows twin brothers Bill and Hal, played as kids by Christian Convery and later as adults by Theo James. After discovering the monkey in childhood, they try to lock it (and their trauma) away—only to find that neither stays buried for long. Now grown, Hal lives in self-imposed isolation to keep others safe, but when he embarks on a road trip with his estranged son Petey (Colin O’Brien), the killings begin again. Meanwhile, Bill’s relationship with the monkey remains murky, forcing the brothers to reunite and confront their eerie shared past. Tatiana Maslany, playing their mother in flashbacks, delivers a standout performance, particularly in a chilling monologue about mortality that sticks with you long after the movie ends.
And if you’re wondering whether Stephen King himself gave this chaotic adaptation his stamp of approval—oh, he absolutely did. The horror master called the film “batshit insane,” which is just about the highest compliment you can get in this genre. Perkins doesn’t just adapt King’s story—he cranks it up to eleven, leaning into the absurdity while keeping the author’s signature small-town melancholy intact. If King’s brand of horror is about confronting our worst fears, Perkins takes that idea and gleefully tosses it into a wood chipper.
Beyond the carnage, “The Monkey” finds fresh ways to explore Perkins’ favorite theme: generational trauma. Much like “The Blackcoat’s Daughter” and “Longlegs,” this isn’t just a story about a killer toy—it’s about the way pain, grief, and guilt refuse to stay buried. The monkey, in all its sinister, cymbal-clapping glory, becomes a stand-in for inherited trauma, a literal ticking time bomb passed from one generation to the next. Perkins isn’t just staging elaborate kills for shock value; he’s weaving a story about the inescapable weight of family history.
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That said, the film isn’t always tonally seamless. Perkins juggles horror, slapstick, and psychological drama so quickly, it can seem like the horror movie equivalent of ADHD. Then, some gags—like a shotgun blast immediately followed by a lingering shot of a “Guns Don’t Kill People” sign—veer nearly into eye-roll territory. But even when the film stumbles, it does so with such confidence and lunacy and pace that it’s hard not to admire its sheer audacity.
Performances across the board elevate the madness. Theo James is fantastic in dual roles, embodying both the haunted, reserved Hal and the more reckless, chaotic douchebag Bill with distinct energy. Maslany, while her screen time is limited, is magnetic, her presence lingering over the film like a ghostly reminder of past mistakes. Even the cameos are excellent, looking at you Adam Scott, Elijah Wood. And as for the monkey itself? It’s a horror icon in the making—its mechanical grin and relentless drumming as unsettling as any slasher villain in recent memory.
With its mix of splatter-speckled horror, dark humor, and unexpected emotional depth, “The Monkey” is an absolute riot that lands high on the rewatchability scale. It may not be as sleek as “Longlegs,” but Perkins proves once again that he’s one of horror’s most unique and daring voices. If not an immediate hit, expect this one to develop a cult following among fans of high-energy, high-concept horror that refuses to take itself too seriously. [A-]