‘The Monkey’: Review

Dir: Osgood Perkins. US. 2025. 98mins 

On the heels of his disquieting portrait of evil Longlegs, writer-director Osgood Perkins decides to have a little fun with his new horror film, delivering an offbeat dark comedy in which the outlandish amounts of gore are meant to shock and amuse in equal measure. Based on Stephen King’s short story, The Monkey follows feuding twin brothers who in childhood encounter a cursed wind-up monkey toy with the inexplicable power to cause a random person to die each time its key is turned. Theo James gives an engaging dual performance as the adult siblings confronting this supernatural menace, and Perkins flaunts confidence and audacity in conceiving this adaptation as a twisted, pessimistic look at family and destiny. But for all its unpredictability and nerve, the film too often feels snarky rather than subversive.

Perkins doesn’t have the same mastery of comedy that he does horror

Opening February 21 in the UK and US, The Monkey has two major selling points: Perkins is riding high after 2024 indie hit Longlegs grossed $127 million worldwide, and King’s popularity remains potent. A clever marketing campaign that has emphasised the hyper-violent content will further entice hardcore horror fans — especially those who prefer their bloodshed peppered with laughs.

In 1999, soft-spoken boy Hal (Christian Convery) despises his bullying twin brother Bill (also played by Convery), although both siblings adore their single mom Lois (Tatiana Maslany), whose husband abandoned the family long ago. One of their dad’s left-behind items is an organ grinder monkey, which piques the brothers’ curiosity. Soon, though, they make a terrible discovery: when they wind up the toy and the monkey starts hitting its drum, someone dies in a freakish, accidental manner. Realising that they cannot destroy the monkey — bizarrely, it keeps reappearing, good as new — Hal and Bill box up the toy and drop it in the bottom of a well, hoping that the cursed object will cause no more harm. It’s a hope that proves to be in vain.

Perkins takes liberties with King’s 1980 story — among other things, the film features twin brothers, rather than a single protagonist — and injects a darkly humorous streak, viewing the proceedings from an ironic, cynical perspective. The Monkey is awash in death but, unlike the writer-director’s previous work, this gravest of subjects is treated with a slapstick gruesomeness. People meet their end in disgusting ways and Perkins lingers on pulverised bodies, decapitated heads and nauseatingly gory wounds, provoking audiences to recoil and cackle simultaneously. 

When The Monkey leaps forward to the present, James’ adult Hal has decided to avoid people — even his loved ones — because he fears that the monkey may one day resurface and bring fresh misery to those closest to him. Estranged from Bill, who remains an agonistic jerk, Hal has his worst fear realised, forcing him to reunite with his brother so they can battle this malevolent toy. James gives two dryly comedic performances, which accentuate the story’s knowing absurdity. The Monkey never explains how this monkey causes random individuals to die, and the rules governing the toy only slowly become apparent to the twins. As horrific as the deaths are, the sheer illogic of the premise — matched by the cleverly macabre kills — gives the narrative an underlying element of black comedy. 

As an imagemaker, Perkins (assisted by cinematographer Nico Aguilar) creates a steady stream of striking visuals that leave the viewer feeling dread even at the most seemingly banal moments. No matter how many times we see that toy, it never ceases to unnerve — especially considering it has the remarkable ability to pop up when least expected. But while The Monkey’s snide, gross-out humour gives the proceedings a consistent jolt, Perkins doesn’t have the same mastery of comedy that he does horror. Side characters are often too jokey and broad — Elijah Wood is wasted as Hal’s ex-wife’s condescending new flame — and the monkey’s heavily orchestrated random killings start to have diminishing returns. 

What’s lost along the way is a deeper emotional connection. The Monkey tries to illustrate how grief can inspire mourners to go to extremes, but that idea is drowned out by Perkins’ strained gags and one-liners. What made Longlegs so haunting was his ability to concoct an expertly suffocating examination of a serial killer who seemed to operate outside the realm of reason. In the past, Perkins has wanted to chill us to our core — The Monkey may be a striking change of pace, but he’s less successful tickling our funny bone.