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Review :The Monkey (2025): A Total Mess in a Monkey MaskAlright, let’s not sugarcoat this. The Monkey is an absolute wreck. It doesn’t just miss the mark — it launches itself in the wrong direction entirely. The whole thing feels like a group project where no one talked to each other, and somehow it still ended up on the big screen.

Osgood Perkins promised this smart, dark comedy kind of vibe, but what we got was way closer to a TikTok meme that should’ve stayed in someone’s drafts. It tries to be funny but ends up so dumb and superficial that it’s honestly kind of insulting. If you’ve ever watched a Skibidi Toilet clip and thought, “Huh, that was weird,” — yeah, same energy, but stretched across 90 painful minutes. And then there’s the big change from cymbals to drums, which, in theory, was supposed to dodge copyright issues. But it added literally nothing to the story. Zero. Nada. It’s like changing the color of your shoes when your whole outfit is already a disaster — pointless, and still ugly. There was some potential in the emotional side of the story — mainly the family trauma — but it was handled with all the subtlety of a freight train. Especially that one random flashback about the cop dad and the skater kid? Felt like I walked into another movie halfway through. None of it clicked. None of it landed. As someone who’s read a decent chunk of Stephen King, I can confidently say this ain’t it. Perkins didn’t get the tone right, didn’t get the themes, and completely fumbled the pacing. It’s like he skimmed a King story and then rewrote it during a hangover with help from a horror-comedy Mad Libs. Visually? Tonally? Picture Final Destination had a baby with Napoleon Dynamite, and then Home Alone raised it on nothing but sugar and chaos. That might sound fun on paper, but trust me, it’s not. The gore is cheap, the slapstick is lazy, and the characters? Paper-thin and awkward in the worst way. But the worst offense? The movie’s desperate reach for some kind of deep meaning. It tries to slam in symbolism and reflections on mortality right after serving up goofy monkey jump scares. You can’t serve cheese dip and then suddenly throw in a monologue about death and expect it to feel profound. It just makes everything feel even more confused and out of place. Bottom line? The Monkey isn’t just bad. It’s hollow. It’s clunky. It’s like someone stitched together a bunch of horror leftovers and hoped the seams wouldn’t show — but oh, they show. Loud and clear. If you’re a Stephen King fan hoping for even a sliver of something good here, do yourself a favor and skip it. This wasn’t a misstep. It was a complete faceplant.

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