Contrary to the precepts of organized religion, the universe is a cold, cruel, callous place, indifferent to our ambitions, impervious to our pleas, oblivious to our plans. Add our mortality and consciousness thereof to the universe’s vast unconcern and the result isn’t so much existential dread, a favorite theme of contemporary and past horror filmmakers, but outright existential despair. We’re completely alone, we’ll die eventually, rarely when we choose, and then, with the inevitable passage of time, oblivion awaits us one and all.
For Osgood “Oz” Perkins (Longlegs, I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House, The Blackcoat’s Daughter) and his standout adaptation of Stephen King’s 1980 short story, The Monkey, the answer lies not in giving into existential despair, but in humor, the darker, the blacker, the better. Per both the tagline and, of course, our real-world experience, “everybody dies,” but what’s important isn’t if (that’s a given), but when, and more importantly, how the “everybody” in The Monkey meets their premature ends, often abrupt, often spontaneously, almost always explosively, if not downright gruesomely.
Only a post-credits head count will give the audience a Final Destination-like tally of every character whose onscreen lives end both abruptly and spectacularly. Until then, Perkins introduces the “monkey” of the title, a (not) simian toy equipped with drums, an old-school turnkey, and a malevolent, nightmarish grin. Brought to the U.S. of A. from parts unknown and possibly unknowable by one Petey Shelburn (Adam Scott in a one-and-down cameo), an anxious, blood-splattered pilot eager to remove himself from the presence of said cursed (not) toy, enters a toy shop. As expected, his triumph over the toy proves both momentary and illusory: The monkey, seemingly burnt to ashes thanks to a handy flamethrower, magically reappears in the Shelburn home, hidden in a closet until it’s discovered by another member of the family.
After the elder Shelburn disappears permanently, the scene shifts to his wife, Lois (Tatiana Maslany), and their 11-year-old twin sons, Hal and Bill (Christian Convery). Diametrically. grossly opposed in temperament, attitude, and appetites, Hal and Bill, the latter the former’s perpetual bully, tolerate each other only because of the biological ties that bind them. Once discovered among their father’s belongings, the monkey wreaks a predictable path of havoc through those closest to Hal and Bill, including, but not limited to their immediate caregivers.
As the hatbox containing the cursed toy guarantees (“like life” and not “life-like”), no one’s safe from the monkey’s seemingly random predations. Anyone can die when the monkey stops drumming, except perhaps, whoever turns the key. The monkey picks its soon-to-be-dead victims from a nearby pool of unwanted, unwitting applicants, usually in the goriest possible manner (e.g., a shotgun to the chest, an electrified pool, an overheating coffee maker, among many others). In short, the more ridiculous, the further away from the real world (so many bodies spontaneously combust), the better for Perkins to indulge a heretofore unknown, deeply discomfiting sense of dark, even black humor.
Leaving the obligatory world- and character-building behind, The Monkey jumps ahead in time again, this time by a quarter century. Older, but not exactly wiser, Hal (Theo James, The White Lotus, the Divergent series), weighed down by grief, loss, and guilt, barely ekes out a living as a convenience store worker. A moment or glimmer of happiness led to marriage, fatherhood, and unsurprisingly, divorce. Now an understandably surly, sullen teen, Petey (Colin O’Brien), wants little to do with his deadbeat, loser father, but an impending loss of parental rights (Hal’s) to a self-described “fatherhood” expert, Tim Hammerman (Elijah Wood), and Hal’s oddly compliant ex-wife (Laura Mennell), leads to forced father-son time.
And that’s when the equivalent of hell breaks loose again in Hal and Bill’s (James again) sleepy hometown of Casco, Maine. The unexpectedly expected, premature expiration of another biological relative leads Hal and Petey back to another funeral, an estate sale, and the almost immediate realization that the cursed monkey has somehow reappeared and someone with a hidden agenda (or possibly no agenda at all) continues to turn the key, leading to an escalating body count, usually via overly convoluted, elaborate “accidents,” in a noticeably small, already underpopulated town.
Elevated by Convery and James in dual roles as Hal and Bill at different ages, plus a uniformly strong supporting cast delivering note-perfect performances (everyone, in turn, fully understood the assignment), The Monkey marks a significant departure for Perkins as a filmmaker. Justifiably lauded for his mastery of tone, atmosphere, and pacing, Perkins switches it up to add a macabre, absurdist sense of humor, splatter-filled set pieces, and shock-scares. Add to that a newfound mix of urgency and energy (both welcome), and the result, might displease some of Perkins’s most fervent, vocal fans, but will most certainly delight everyone else.
The Monkey opens theatrically on Friday, February 21st, via Neon.
