Review: The Monkey

[The following review contains SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

The Monkey—an adaptation of a Stephen King short story that also “inspired” (not to point an accusatory finger) Kenneth J. Berton’s notoriously schlocky The Devil’s Gift (better known to fans of Mystery Science Theater 3000 as one of the failed TV pilots that Ernest Borgnine pitches to his bored grandson in the framing device of Merlin’s Shop of Mystical Wonders)—heavily favors the “comedy” half of the horror-comedy genre. There’s precious little in the way of eerie mood and unnerving atmosphere; instead, the film embraces the inherent slapstick humor of excessive bloodshed, staging elaborately choreographed spectacles of gushing gore so cartoonishly absurd that they provoke laughter rather than terror. In a particularly memorable scene, for example, a minor character touches the water of an electrified swimming pool and instantaneously evaporates into a fine red mist; even the Final Destination franchise is rarely that brazen!

The movie isn’t entirely devoid of suspense, of course; its tension simply lurks in the subtext of the overarching conflict, lending the plot the emotional stakes and sense of urgency that might otherwise be diminished by the irreverent tone. The protagonist is haunted by the specter of mortality, so thoroughly traumatized by the innumerable grisly deaths he’s witnessed that he’s chosen to languish in self-imposed exile, hoping to protect those he holds dear—including the son that he inadvertently brought into the world—from the disasters that seem to follow him like a biblical plague. Several critics have connected this relentlessly bleak premise to the tragedies that have pervaded director Osgood Perkins’ own life; I won’t regurgitate those arguments here, but I do consider them quite convincing: the setting that he crafts is unapologetically nihilistic, defined by meaningless suffering, arbitrary cruelty, wanton chaos, grotesque violence, and random misfortune. Even the existence of the eponymous supernatural windup toy offers no relief from the oppressive, suffocating hopelessness, because its indiscriminate slaughter of the guilty and innocent alike remains totally inexplicable; it has no motivation beyond mechanically banging its tiny drum, and its actions therefore serve no greater purpose—it is, after all, only an inanimate object.

Despite the artistic merit of its core themes, however, I didn’t find The Monkey to be terribly compelling overall. Although its underlying substance is sporadically sublime, its visual style leaves a lot to be desired—especially the inert, choppy editing (one hilariously abrupt smash cut notwithstanding; you’ll recognize it when you see it). Ultimately, it’s just a relatively middling diversion, which feels like an egregious waste of potential; at the very least, it isn't nearly as entertaining as its promising trailers. Contrary to the dissonantly cheerful Shirley & Lee song around which the marketing revolved, the "good times" here are fleeting and infrequent.