Build-A-Bear, But For Serial Killers.
Let’s get one thing straight—The Monkey isn’t here to creep under your skin with slow-burn terror or make you question the nature of mortality in a profound, existential way. No, this movie is here to laugh in your face while it gleefully turns the human body into a meat piñata. It’s Final Destination if the Grim Reaper had a sense of humor, Evil Dead if Ash’s biggest enemy was a possessed toy from an antique store clearance sale. And you know what? That’s kind of beautiful.
Based on a Stephen King short story, The Monkey follows twin brothers Hal and Bill, played in adulthood by Theo James in a dual role that proves once and for all that even when he’s playing two characters, he still won’t get a decent life. As kids, the twins discover their deadbeat dad’s old wind-up monkey, and like all horror movie children, immediately do the dumbest thing possible: they start playing with it. Turns out, every time this tiny terror claps its cymbals, someone nearby gets violently ejected from the land of the living. Babysitters, family members, anyone within an unfortunate radius—this thing doesn’t discriminate. And yet, despite watching it rack up a body count, these kids don’t just bury it in concrete and move to another country. No, they throw it down a well. Because, sure, that always works.
Fast-forward 25 years, and Hal (James, now in sad-dad mode) is so traumatized by his childhood that he refuses to see his own son more than once a year, convinced that the monkey is somehow still out there waiting to ruin his life. Spoiler: it is. His estranged brother Bill, rocking the kind of mullet that screams "I make bad life choices," decides to retrieve the cursed toy, because of course he does, and surprise, the mass murder machine kicks back into gear. What follows is an increasingly deranged bloodbath where the film stops pretending to be remotely scary and instead fully leans into being an unhinged, laugh-or-scream, hyper-violent fever dream.
And honestly? That’s the best decision it makes.
Director Osgood Perkins, usually known for moody, atmospheric horror (The Blackcoat’s Daughter, Longlegs), basically hits the gas and never looks back, swapping his usual slow-burn dread for splattery, pitch-black comedy. People don’t just die in The Monkey—they die in horrifyingly creative ways. Someone dives into an electrified swimming pool and explodes on impact. Another victim goes up in flames so fast you’d think they were filled with jet fuel. The kills are so over-the-top that they go past shocking and land firmly in Looney Tunes territory—if Bugs Bunny had a body count.
And speaking of chaotic energy, Theo James goes all in on the dual role, making Hal a walking anxiety attack and Bill a human Red Flag Factory. Young Christian Convery deserves his flowers too—playing kid versions of both brothers with just the right mix of childhood innocence and "this kid is probably doomed" energy. Tatiana Maslany shows up just long enough to remind us she’s incredible before exiting stage left, and Elijah Wood gets the most criminally short cameo as a weird coroner, a role that deserved its own spin-off.
Now, is The Monkey perfect? No. There’s an entire subplot involving Adam Scott’s ill-fated pilot dad that never really goes anywhere, and the movie occasionally slows down when it should just keep doubling down on the madness. The finale also makes a sharp pivot into Serious Themes about trauma, regret, and fatherhood, which is a bold choice for a movie that just spent 90 minutes gleefully butchering people via possessed toy. But hey, Stephen King stories love trauma arcs, so I’ll allow it.
At the end of the day, The Monkey is less a terrifying horror film and more a blood-soaked horror comedy—and a damn good one if you’re into that kind of thing. It’s sick, twisted, and an absolute riot, provided you have the stomach for splattery absurdity. If you’re looking for a deep, existential meditation on fear? This ain't it. If you want to see a homicidal toy turn human bodies into ground beef while Theo James yells in distress? Welcome to your new favorite movie.
4 out of 5 Bryans. It’s not perfect, but when a film makes you laugh and cringe in equal measure, while reminding you why haunted toys should never be trusted, that’s a win in my book.
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