Review: The Monkey (2025)

Darkly funny and grimly gory, The Monkey captures the weird whimsy of Stephen King's source material--a short story published in the anthology Skeleton Crew back in 1985. In the hands of Osgood Perkins (Son of Anthony, and therefore part of a horror dynasty), the first hour of this twisted tale speeds by, with the audience excitedly anticipating another monkey-related massacre. The kill scenes are played for laughs, but long-time horror heads will nod in appreciation at the lengths the movie goes to in order to make them as memorable as possible. 

Unfortunately, The Monkey also captures something else that's an occasional hallmark of Stephen King's work, and that's third act problems. Many of King's stories have compelling premises that don't quite pay off in the final act, and that's the case here, too, even though Perkins has adapted the screenplay himself is largely working from his own palate by the film's conclusion. Adapting a short story into 98-minute film requires a substantial amount of expansion and elaboration, giving the back section of the film too much weight and plot. The first hour is a rollicking good time, but the last half-hour is sorely missing both laughs and momentum. The landing doesn't quite match the success of the launch.

The Monkey is a lot of fun, if not quite an instant classic. Still, it's leaps ahead of Perkins' last film, Longlegs, which was a financial success but lacked an authorial tone and a sense of identity outside of another bizarre Nicolas Cage performance. This film, released just eight months later, has the director's stamp all over it, from the spaghetti-western font of the credits to the clever use of happy 1960s rhythm and blues music, which adds a slyly-sardonic tone and flavor, not unlike the oldies that John Landis used to similar effect in An American Werewolf in London. The Monkey might not have the same legs as that horror masterpiece, but it has the makings of a cult favorite. Come on baby, let the good times roll.