Mucking With Movies: ‘The Monkey’ 

“The Monkey” feels like a callback to a time when even B-list studio movies were made with diligence, when even the little flares of a film were considered sacred, and creative decisions had considerable care put into them.

The first action on screen is not a character, not an interior nor an exterior, but a title card. Now, I have spent many column inches complaining about this overuse. In fact, I’ll be conducting a running count in 2025 of movies I review that use on-screen time stamps or location title cards. We’re already at five out of seven movies I’ve reviewed. But here, it’s used correctly. Understanding that you can get away with most things in a movie as long as you make it look pretty, director Osgood Perkins brings a beautiful design and font to his credits: a bold blue and red color scheme that manages to mesh well together. I wish it had been followed with a full-fledged title sequence, for no reason other than I think it would have been cool. It is a lost art in filmmaking, one that always makes me smile when it is remembered. 

The rest of the film would not disappoint either, as “The Monkey” would go on to provide a wildly entertaining hour and a half that does not give up much ground in artistic integrity. Basing the narrative around the themes of fate, destiny, and how humans cannot be trusted with the power to determine them, Perkins is still scratching the itch he opened up with his last film, “Longlegs.” They’re the two sides of the same coin, although the “Longlegs” side was the way more heavily Oscar baited hook. “The Monkey” feels like the fun fulfillment for a recently minted director to muck around with his favorite Stephen King story — a shot-chaser for his artistic soul. 

Perkins must have delighted in coming up with over-the-top ways to blow people’s body parts off, as he does it over and over and over again. My memory isn’t unimpeachable after all the concussions and bong hits, but I would wager every kill in “The Monkey” involved at least one severed limb or a decapitation. Each death was an elaborate effects shot, a constant test of craft. It provides an adrenaline rush each time a character is taken out, one that keeps you involved in the film, but the redundancy renders it trite — a jump-scare, quick-shot impact followed by a cartoonish blood spray that, after the fourth or fifth time, loses its charm and becomes mildly annoying. 

Besides that cloying cycle, I have to commend the script for being tight as a drum. Absolutely zero fat on that thing, like a lean skirt steak. By that, I mean that no line is thrown away, the narrative arc is unpredictable while still paying off what comes before, and each character feels fully thought out.

Particularly, main character Hal’s (Theo James) son Petey (Colin O’Brien) deserves recognition for being both well set up and well executed. Rather than feeling like a vapid interpretation of what a Gen Z teenager is, he leaps off the screen and feels alive enough that he could come join my ski group tomorrow. Having a film come in at a brisk 90 minutes is so refreshing these days, especially when it is not lacking in its brevity. Electing to steer into his skid of borderline buffoonishness, Osgood sticks the tricky landing by one-upping all the “Final Destination”-esque deaths that preceded them. 

One odd detail that shockingly escaped the brilliant Osgood is the casting of James as Hal. He’s just so out of place in the role. Supposedly playing a dweeby dude who has cast himself away from society as a result of his trauma, it is impossible to believe the radiantly handsome James in that role, regardless of how well he performs. Acting in a dual role as the adult version of his estranged identical twin brother, Bill, it is tough to tell if he acts better in that latter role as villain, or if he is simply better suited for it. Every time he opens his mouth as Hal, you want to lean closer and hug him, and that feeling will always keep you from getting lost in the flick. 

King stories continue to be a bottomless treasure trove for great directors to sift through and find something fun and worthwhile to make. “The Monkey” is another in that long list and already has me stoked for Osgood’s next work. 

Critic Score: 7.2 out of 10

Jack Simon is a mogul coach and writer/director who enjoys eating food he can’t afford, traveling to places out of his budget, and creating art about skiing, eating, and traveling while broke. Check out his website jacksimonmakes.com to see his Jack’s Jitney travelogue series. You can email him at jackdocsimon@gmail.com for inquiries of any type.