‘THE MONKEY’: Oz Perkins' B-Movie Goes Bananas

A ceramic drumming monkey (don’t call it a toy) wields the awesome power of life and death – though mostly death – in Oz Perkins’ madcap grindhouse horror movie, The Monkey. A wickedly sardonic midnighter-comedy with its tongue planted firmly in simian cheek, Perkins’ follow-up to his 2024 cult hit Longlegs sees the celebrated genre director fully embracing B-movie sensibilities—leaning into excessive gore and absurdist storytelling to deliver a shockingly barbaric yet gleefully silly fable about the dangers of wielding fate’s cruel blade.

Perkins’ tale of a semi-sentient murder monkey is adapted from a Stephen King short story, but unlike most King adaptations, this one takes nothing seriously. The Monkey sets the ridiculous tone early when a pilot, played by Adam Scott (in pure uncut camp mode), tries to pawn off the titular monkey. A few Final Destination-style twists of fate later, and the shop owner is skewered like a shish kebab, his entrails strewn across the store like decorative streamers. You see, when the monkey’s drumstick-clutching claw drops, carnage inevitably ensues. Death is imminent. Fear the monkey’s impassive wrath.

The story jumps forward some number of years, introducing Hal and Bill – identical twins, both played by Christian Convery, who defy the assumption that to have a twin is to have a best friend. Instead, they’re basically mortal enemies. Bill, the oppressor; Hal, the oppressed. The former is popular at school, but instead of using his social clout to shield his brother, he makes it his personal mission to unmoor his copy-paste sibling’s life whenever possible. Enter the monkey, a relic of their father (presumably Scott), who—like so many movie men circa 1980—went out for a pack of smokes and never came back. The theme of distant fathers, and why fathers are distant, continues throughout.

The unbrotherly pair toy with the diabolical contraption, only to find that one after another, those closest to them start dying in increasingly bizarre “freak accidents.” Occurrences like samurai sword decapitation, spontaneous combustion, or herd of horse trampling are just the tip of the deathly iceberg. It turns out that whenever Hal or Bill wind up the monkey, they power some diabolical mysticism trapped within it. As they experiment with how to direct its power, they discover that they cannot choose its victims…only the monkey can do that.

Is the monkey a personification of fate or the work of the Devil? It’s not immediately clear. But considering its handiwork often involves a Rube Goldberg-esque sequence of events leading to grotesque deaths, that should be answer enough. After arguably too much experimentation, the twins realize there’s a sinister force at play that they can’t control and decide to rid themselves of it. Twenty-five years later, the monkey resurfaces, forcing their now-estranged adult selves to reckon with its return.

As a Piranha 3D-style splatterfest, The Monkey serves up plenty of morbid laughs and sleazy, cheap CGI gore. Theo James is perfectly cast as the adult twin brothers, playing up the script’s campiness with a heightened sense of its ham-fisted charms. No one here takes this story seriously—not Perkins, certainly not James—but they find just enough humanity within this demented fairy tale to keep you mostly invested in not wanting its heroes to die. The plot stumbles in tying together the film’s different segments, particularly the clumsy third act that seems to be missing some critical connective tissue. While its zany tone remains consistent, the circuitous plot and sketchy character work too often leave much to be desired. Nevertheless, James delivers some hilariously self-aware line reads that almost excuse the film’s shaggier storytelling.

And while this is adapted from a short story, there’s barely any padding to flesh out these characters and make The Monkey’s antics more than a horror fan’s sick joke. Then again, Perkins seems far more interested in turning characters into flesh and blood than finding the flesh and blood within them. Those expecting the Longlegs director to favor that film’s eerie psychological horror may be surprised (or dispirited) to find The Monkey playing more on the wavelength of a face-caked Nic Cage in full over-the-top mode. But in many ways, this feels like a natural evolution.

Longlegs flirted with Silence of the Lambs territory before tilting into something weirder, campier, and – ultimately – lesser. Here, Perkins ditches the pretense entirely, fully embracing pulp mayhem instead of angling for prestige horror. It’s a far more interesting pivot than simply becoming a Jonathan Demme knockoff, even if it’s unlikely to earn him any accommodates in the broader circuit any time soon. Turns out, it’s rather fun just watching him monkey around.

CONCLUSION: ‘The Monkey’ is trashy, ridiculous, and entirely self-aware—exactly the kind of B-movie mayhem Oz Perkins seems eager to embrace. It may not possess the eerie stylings of ‘Longlegs’, but as a full-tilt descent into gory grindhouse absurdity, it beats to its own deranged drum.