The Monkey: Dumb Ways to Die
I can't believe Anthony Perkins’ sperm helped create this movie, oh well
This past summer, we witnessed one of the country's hottest filmmakers with Osgood Perkins’ sleeper indie horror hit Longlegs. Unlike the droves of audiences who flocked to Longlegs, I found Osgood Perkins to be one of my least favorite filmmakers working today. Perkins represents exactly the kind of films that drive me crazy in Hollywood. Soulless exercises in fourth-wall breaking, nostalgia, and quirkiness that do nothing but shock for the sake of shock. Working quickly, Osgood takes a shot at Stephen King’s 1980 short story The Monkey: a perfect match made in hell. Does Perkins have what it takes to redeem himself? Or will The Monkey turn out to be another empty enterprise for the deadened masses?
What’s it all about?
The Monkey centers around twin brothers Hal and Bill (Theo James) who discover a cursed, drum-playing toy monkey passed down from their deadbeat father. Playing with the monkey, the boys slowly find people close to them mysteriously passing away under strange circumstances after twisting the key in the back of the monkey. In hopes of killing his brother Bill, Hal twists the key out of frustration, accidentally killing his mother. Discovering the monkey kills people at random like a game of Russian Roulette, Hal destroys it. Following their mother’s death, they move to Maine to live with their aunt, but the monkey resurfaces there, leading to their uncle’s death. Unable to get rid of it, the brothers seal it away in a well, hoping to end the cycle of tragedy. Decades later, Hal is separated from his family and those close to him for fear the monkey will strike again. He sees his estranged son (Colin O’Brien) only once a year for this reason. Hoping to prevent his son’s stepfather from legally adopting him, Hal takes him on a trip, only for the monkey to resurface. Leaving a trail of mysterious deaths in its wake, the monkey forces Hal and his estranged twin Bill to confront their past while Hal attempts to make up for lost time with his son.
What a waste
For those touting Perkins as a great cinematic innovator, please get your critic cards revoked. The lighting is completely uninspired, following the tired formula of a “cinematic look” with basic compositions and dull uses of contrast. While the cinematography provides “depth,” that’s about where it stops for The Monkey. Perkins sticks to his uninspired wide lenses—because why not, I suppose. Could I recall to memory a specific shot from The Monkey? Absolutely not. These are truly the worst kind of films because they give off the appearance of technical skill that masks any semblance of substance.
I saw a critic say they were disappointed a filmmaker who understands how to create atmosphere and tension would waste their time on trivial material like The Monkey. He understands pacing, storytelling, and good writing on a basic level but disregards it all. For instance, many scenes purposefully lack subtext with characters explicitly explaining their emotions and conflicts. Perkins commits the big no-no: telling not showing. For the sake of comedy? If so, he failed. None of the jokes have the right tongue-in-cheek tone to unify the film’s ideas, often working tangentially to the plot. There’s one long-winded series of bad-puns made by a millennial preacher at a funeral that epitomizes the film’s poor taste and lack of direction. Perkins actively asks the audience to disengage with the film in moments like these. There’s no thematic motivation for Perkins’ complete disregard for the foundations of moviemaking other than he can do it. It’s cute, but bottom-line, you’re in dereliction of your duty as a filmmaker: to tell stories. While King is no Shakespeare, we’ve seen filmmakers take his work and maximize it to the best of their ability—and Perkins has no new insight to inject the material with.
Blood everywhere and nowhere
I’m not a stickler about violence in movies. If used correctly with good taste, then any amount of violence is fair game. In The Monkey’s case, the violence leans toward the comedic, but Perkins is no McDonagh or Tarantino. Films like Inglorious Basterds and In Bruges, while satirical, pride themselves in involving the audience with great storytelling and character. Without that quality, the excessive violence here is merely rendered into a mean-spirited gag with no desire to move or frighten the audience. The constant barrage of violence—whether it's blood, carnage, or burning bodies—does nothing to propel the story forward, deepen the audience's connection with the characters, or even scare you. Most of the time, you just wait to see how Perkins pulls off each death scene, but every beat comes a mile away, so any attempt to craft tension is rendered meaningless. Unless you’re scared of those toy monkeys, the film does nothing to frighten.
You think you’re above Ti West?
For a filmmaker who once denounced Ti West for making fun slashers, Perkins engages in the dumbest form of cinema without a shred of self-awareness. The Monkey introduces themes like generational sins and existential randomness but abandons them before they gain depth with intentionally poor writing and meta-comedy, leaving no room for subtext or meaningful exploration. As mentioned earlier, Perkins doesn’t care about crafting human characters who feel anything because that’s apparently beneath him. No amount of sentimental music or committed acting could salvage characters this hollow. This is something I emphasize often: if you can’t emotionally connect with a film, you won’t care about what the filmmakers have to say. The Monkey is nothing more than a brainless Chucky rip-off for millennials and Gen-Z.
Not taking the bait
I’ll admit that there’s some charm to a film where characters blurt out lines like, “We got to be like eggs and scramble out of here”. What The Monkey lacks in fright and depth, it occasionally makes up for in fleeting laughs—more uncontrollable giggles than real belly laughs. The hokey lines and excessive violence got to me at times, but I never cared about the action. While the film’s morbid gags and dumb one-liners held my attention, it felt like a B-movie that entertained without engaging. I guess, what should I expect from a James Wan production? None of this makes up for the horror-show Osgood Perkins delivers for us (not the good kind). The Monkey is an example of a taletnted hack, confident in his form, purposefully making a bad film. And, if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s apathy. It takes a gigantic amount of arrogance to know how to make a good picture, but choose not to. Let’s not kid ourselves as critics and try to apply meaning to this slop. This is lazy, mean-spirited filmmaking at its finest. If you want to enjoy The Monkey, either get plastered or take some shrooms in advance.