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The Monkey

Directed by Osgood Perkins

Starring: Theo James, Tatiana Maslany, Christian Convery

A Cursed Toy and the Weight of the Past

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As expected, a second screening allows for more details to surface, providing another opportunity to scrutinize Osgood Perkins’ filmmaking and storytelling.

Despite the bleak and grim subject matter of The Monkey, it ultimately explores how confronting death and the fear it brings can lead to acceptance—especially when discussed openly, as Lois (Tatiana Maslany) does with her twin boys, Hal and Bill (Christian Convery).

The film opens with the twins’ father, Petey (Adam Scott), attempting to dispose of a peculiar “toy” monkey. However, we are quickly advised not to call it a toy—because it isn’t. What it actually is remains unclear. When Petey tries to pawn it off, we witness firsthand why he’s so desperate to rid himself of the wide-mouthed, dark-eyed creature. As its tiny hands beat the drum, the store owner collapses, leaving Petey no choice but to incinerate the entity with a nearby flamethrower.

CUT TO: 1999. Lois is now raising Hal and Bill on her own. Perkins, once again, delves into parental trauma as Hal states that, while their father’s closet may be painful for Lois to look at, it holds “clues to who their father was.” As the boys sift through their father’s belongings, they eventually stumble upon the film’s true antagonist—the monkey. Bill, daring to ignore his younger brother’s warning, winds the key on its back, but nothing happens.

Later, while the boys are en route to dinner with their babysitter, Annie, the monkey inexplicably appears in their van. Hal assumes Bill must have put it there, dismissing any concern. Meanwhile, at the restaurant, tension builds. Subtly, the monkey shifts from the backseat to the driver’s seat—symbolizing its control over the situation—before its drumming triggers Annie’s gruesome decapitation. This tragedy forces Lois to have a difficult conversation with her sons about death.

Perkins constructs a world where Hal is relentlessly bullied, often due to Bill’s actions. Their relationship is strained from the start, with Hal even narrating his darker impulses—imagining dropping a bowling ball on Bill’s head as he sleeps. Over time, resentment festers, leading Hal to turn the monkey’s key in a moment of anger, wishing his brother dead. But fate twists cruelly—Bill returns home to find their mother collapsed in the kitchen, victim to a sudden aneurysm. The monkey has struck again.

Now orphaned, Hal and Bill are placed under the care of their Uncle Chip (Osgood Perkins) and Aunt Ida (Sarah Levy). But before the big move, Bill tries to destroy the monkey with a meat cleaver, only for it to reappear at their new home. Determined to test its power, Hal turns the key again—CUT TO: Uncle Chip’s funeral, further cementing the entity’s deadly nature. Desperate, the boys lock it in a box and toss it down a well, hoping to never see it again.

25 years later, Hal (Theo James) is an adult, preparing for fatherhood by reading parenting books—reinforcing Perkins’ recurring themes of fractured parent-child relationships. Now isolated from most people, Hal is entangled in a custody battle over his son, Petey, with the boy’s prospective adoptive father, Ted (Elijah Wood).

Soon, tragedy strikes again—Aunt Ida dies in a bizarre accident involving crumbling stairs, fishhooks, fire, and a real estate sign. While staying at a motel, Hal awakens from a nightmare to find the room’s thermostat flashing “HI”—a sinister message signaling the monkey’s return. The intense heat suggests an infernal presence, almost as if the monkey embodies a devilish force bringing destruction.

A call from Bill confirms Hal’s worst fear—the monkey is back. Bill urges him to check Ida’s house to ensure it hasn’t resurfaced. Initially skeptical, Hal is convinced when the motel’s AC unit suddenly plummets into the pool, electrocuting a woman just as she dives in—her body exploding into a grotesque spectacle of blood and shattered limbs. Hal grabs Petey and, echoing his mother’s earlier words, makes like eggs and scrambles.

At Ida’s house, Hal learns Petey has been lied to—he does, in fact, have family. As Hal and the real estate agent investigate, she reveals that a death has occurred in town every day leading up to his arrival, solidifying Bill’s suspicions. While searching through closets, they uncover the monkey. With one final beat of its drum, it tips over a shotgun, obliterating the real estate agent in an explosion of blood, leaving Hal drenched in red, spitting out her severed finger.

Desperate, Hal searches for Bill and stumbles upon a cryptic listing for “Mrs. Monkey,” a callback to a childhood pact between the brothers. When he calls, Bill is on the other end—he’s been searching for the monkey and has finally found it.

Bill then reveals his long-held suspicion: Hal was responsible for their mother’s death by turning the key all those years ago. He had revisited the well, only to find the monkey gone but the key waiting for him. A chilling fortune cookie message—“HI”—confirmed its return. Enlisting a man named Ricky (Rohan Campbell) to retrieve it, Bill has spent years turning the key, hoping to kill Hal. But fate has not granted his wish.

Now, Bill gives Hal a choice: either Petey will turn the key for the rest of his life to keep himself safe, or Bill will continue turning it until Hal is finally struck down—no matter how many others die along the way.

Obsessed with the monkey, Ricky hunts Hal down, forcing him and Petey to retrieve it. Once inside Bill’s hideout, Petey dodges deadly booby traps and confronts his uncle. Bill convinces him to turn the key, and the monkey obliges—sending a swarm of bees into Ricky’s mouth until they burst through his face, grotesquely ripping his jaw apart.

Hal arrives just as Bill, frustrated by his inability to kill his brother, repeatedly forces the monkey to drum. But with each beat, the deaths stack up—until, suddenly, the monkey stops. Bill, overwhelmed by the carnage he has unleashed, realizes the gravity of his actions.

In a rare moment of reconciliation, Hal and Bill bond over their mother’s death. They agree to take a long-overdue road trip together. But just as they set off, the monkey plays one last beat, triggering a booby trap foreshadowed earlier—decapitating Bill with a bowling ball, just as Hal once imagined as a child.

Now, with the world seemingly crumbling around them, Hal and Petey take ownership of the monkey, accepting the responsibility of keeping it contained. As they stop at a red light, a pale horseman—one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse—passes by, acknowledging them. Hal, reflecting on his mother, suggests they go dancing, just as Lois once loved, attempting to reconnect with his son before the inevitable.

Osgood Perkins’ Twisted Craft

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As nihilistic as The Monkey may seem—exploring how numb and detached one can become in the face of constant death—Perkins’ satirical approach adds a layer of levity, making that fear slightly easier to confront.

Much like his breakout hit Longlegs, Perkins constructs a surreal world where horror and absurdity intertwine. The film’s atmosphere is built on a foundation of “whimsy and wonder,” as the real estate agent describes, though not necessarily in a comforting way. Instead, this playfulness takes on a sinister edge, reinforcing the film’s central themes of inevitability and fatalism.

Perkins expertly weaves foreshadowing into his dialogue and imagery, creating a world where death lurks in plain sight:

• Bill’s fate is subtly hinted at early on when Lois’ bowling ball crushes a pin—mirroring Hal’s later imagination of his brother’s death.
• The passing mention of a skydiving business that hosts weddings becomes grimly relevant when Bill, under the monkey’s influence, causes a mass casualty event.
• That same event plays with the wedding tradition of tossing the bouquet—except here, it symbolizes passing the baton of death, with Bill as the next in line.
• Lois jokingly tells Hal to “make like eggs and scramble” when talking about their absent father. Later, Hal repeats the phrase to his own son, showing how deeply his mother’s words shaped him.
• In a haunting dream, Hal seeks guidance from his mother, who tells him not to force life but to let it unfold naturally. This advice is directly challenged when Bill attempts to control fate—forcing the monkey to beat its drum in hopes of sparing Hal, only to unleash even greater destruction.
• A subtle connection between the brothers remains even as their fates diverge. Both are greeted by the monkey in the same eerily casual manner: “HI.” Hal experiences this through the hotel thermostat, while Bill encounters it in a fortune cookie.
• The film’s morbid humor shines through in its abrupt transitions—cutting straight from a death to the funeral, emphasizing how sudden and inescapable mortality can be.
• The monkey’s position in the van shifting from the backseat to the driver’s seat during Babysitter Annie’s death foreshadows its growing control, driving the story toward its inevitable conclusion.

These are just a few of the details that make The Monkey such a spectacle. With superb performances across the board and biblical verses subtly foreshadowing the arrival of the pale horseman, Perkins delivers a blood-soaked, darkly hilarious meditation on death—one that lingers long after the final drumbeat.

The Last Beat of the Drum

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The Monkey is a film that, while satirizing death, also has the potential to provide closure for those grappling with the fear of it. The trope of a cursed object returning to haunt its owner serves as a powerful metaphor for generational trauma—particularly in how burdens, fears, and unresolved conflicts are passed down from parents to children.

Theo James carries a significant weight in portraying both Hal and Bill as twins, delivering a nuanced performance that distinguishes their personalities while maintaining their shared history. Credit must also be given to child actor Christian Convery, who lays the groundwork for how these characters evolve, setting the stage for their reactions to the horrors unfolding around them. Tatiana Maslany makes the most of her screen time, effectively establishing her character’s complex relationships—with her children, her absent husband, and, most importantly, with death itself.

Visually, the film leans into a nostalgic color palette that enhances its eerie, dreamlike quality. The dialogue, while at times campy, works to the film’s advantage, embracing the time period while injecting a sense of theatricality. The sound design and score play a crucial role in heightening tension, particularly in how the monkey’s playful tune—initially innocent and almost whimsical—gradually twists into something more sinister. The beat of the drum becomes a subtle but relentless force, signaling impending doom.

Perkins and NEON have once again leaned into a unique and subversive marketing approach, much like they did with Longlegs last year. That film divided audiences due to how vastly different it was from what its trailers suggested, and The Monkey seems to be following a similar path. Many viewers likely didn’t expect the heavy comedic elements interwoven with its horror, but that unexpected tonal balance is precisely what makes it so intriguing.

At its core, The Monkey is a film about the inevitability of death—an omnipresent force lurking just beyond the horizon. Yet, Perkins takes such an unorthodox and playful approach to the subject that it stands out from other horror films tackling similar themes. The result is a film that feels destined to become a cult classic, already marking NEON’s second-biggest opening behind Longlegs.

Perkins’ last two films may be divisive, but no one can deny the sheer innovation and originality he brings to the screen. His ability to weave intricate storytelling with striking visual motifs, haunting cinematography, an immersive score, and meticulous sound design—while pushing his actors to deliver layered performances—is what cements him as one of the most exciting horror filmmakers working today.