The Monkey (2025)

Crass Monkey; that funky Monkey

The Monkey is a big, dumb mess of a movie. (Complimentary.)

Here is the film’s story: There exists a windup toy monkey. Whenever you turn its key, somebody dies a gnarly death through some sort of Final Destination Rube Goldberg machine. That’s it. That’s the story. Now, I know what you must be thinking: “Dan, that’s a premise, not a story.” I suppose you’re right, though I assure you it does not get much further than that. Here’s the story proper: Two twin brothers grow up in a state of constant trauma. They are normal Theo James and evil Theo James. James is a tall, handsome English actor you might know from The White Lotus. The twins do have proper names, Hal (normal) and Bill (evil), but I just thought of them as Theo James and evil Theo James.

As a kid, normal Theo James (played by Christian Convery in his child form) finds the monkey and accidentally uses it to kill his mother (Tatiana Maslany). Evil Theo James, now grown up, has never forgiven his twin for this and now wants to kill normal Theo James, so he turns the titular monkey’s key over and over. But it never kills normal Theo James, just the people around him. Normal Theo James, who is a reluctant father to a son named Petey (Colin O’Brien), is not on board with this. Okay, that’s the story.

What The Monkey really is, then, is a big splatter-comedy canvas for gory jump scares. Starting with a surprise disembowelment and followed by a terrific slice-and-slide decapitation, each murder is more inventive and bloody than the last, and always with a baroque comic bent. The story largely gets out of the way. Whenever the monkey activates its murder magic, it plays a toy drum and turns its face into a creepy grimace, which you have surely seen if your social media algorithm has subjected you to any Monkey marketing (or just the top of this review).

I like this movie a lot, but I also would never make claim that it achieves any cinematic greatness or artistic achievement. For starters, literally every character is miscast. (Except Adam Scott in a small appearance in the opening scene. Adam Scott is never miscast.) The big chin-scratcher is Theo James, who is almost hilariously the opposite of what the screenplay suggests Hal/Bill should be. His huge stature, hunky jawline, and doofy countenance suggest a frat bro or a rugby player, not a brooding misanthrope or a crazed killer. It actually makes me like the character more; every time James acts befuddled or grim, it’s like watching a preschooler discover feelings for the first time. But it’s really everyone on screen that’s off; each character leaves you thinking that you would not have cast that person or coached their performances that way. It’s almost bracing. Maslany plays Hal/Bill’s tragic mom with a slinky playfulness. Elijah Wood is outrageous in about 45 seconds as the man forcing Hal out of his son’s life. (The juxtaposition of Wood vs. James as human physical figures vis-à-vis Wood’s domineering of James is surely an intentional joke in the casting.) Et cetera, et cetera.

What I most like about The Monkey, though, is its self awareness about what it is and its ability to punch exactly the right notes over and over. The silliness and nastiness play hand in hand so that one always chases the other in perfect balance and rhythm. Whenever the formula gets stale, direct Osgood Perkins finds some new twist to freshen it up. I particularly enjoyed the apocalyptic finale when the titular murder monkey’s powers get pushed to their limit.

And, yes, this film is directed by Perkins, the same director whose Longlegs just a few months ago triggered the exact opposite reaction from me. I found that film ugly, lacking awareness, humorless, self-serious, and gratingly paced. It almost defies logic just how much these two films are opposites. I’m frankly not surprised to see some Longlegs defenders bashing The Monkey as inane. The films are so distinct, they cancel each other out. I’ll approach any future Perkins films with an open mind and hope of being surprised.

It is, again, all in service of empty calories. This is junk food, not cuisine. The story is a secondary concern for the film, and parts of it really don’t work. The biggest problem is the character Petey, whose antagonistic relationship with his father, normal Theo James, is the bad kind of repetitive and unpleasant, never really developing or expanding. Some of the “why-the-hell-not” energy that makes the film refreshing sometimes renders as baffling badness: Glimpses of some depressing families who have housed the monkey are almost painful to sit through. And the film does not hide that it is a Stephen King adaptation at all; King’s tics creep in from time to time, particularly the obvious sense that premise matters more than plot and the ending is an afterthought.

But mostly, The Monkey is the flavor of horror movie I like, one that’s much more interested in entertaining you and maintaining a friskiness rather than any sense of gloom or dread. I laughed a lot, I wince-gasped at outrageous deaths every few minutes, and I gave the film a standing ovation for delivering on its humble promise with pizzazz as the credits rolled, the same way I would a particularly charming street entertainer if he committed some funny murders.

Is It Good?

Good (5/8)

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Dan is the founder and head critic of The Goods. Follow Dan on Letterboxd. Join the Discord for updates and discussion.