The Monkey

Perkins consciously assumes the sense of chaos to shape a story that, by unexpectedly combining the 'indie' sensibility with that of the bloodiest 'blockbuster', offers results as uneven as they are striking. [Full review in Spanish]

If you’re willing to dig past The Monkey’s blood and guts, you’ll find a thoughtful inquiry into the very different lives of people depending on their response and disposition toward the random, inordinate, and callous suffering around us.

The film, shot in oily gloom by Nico Aguilar, sets out to dispatch every passerby in fashions that would appal Caligula. Good old-fashioned disgusting fun. I had a blast.

This is a riot of a film and I pretty much enjoyed every moment of it.

Perkins’s film never explains how the monkey migrates so much, but follows it from pillar to post on an equal-opportunity killing spree. As spectacle, it’s garish.

A horror film can’t survive on kills alone, and the narrative of The Monkey — for all the movie’s craft and pedigree — is the worst thing a horror saga can be: boring.

The Monkey is a wildly entertaining film with a healthy dose of nihilism and a few gallons of viscera. It is a rocky road tonally, but baring through those missteps is well worth it.

Nothing more than a geek show making the audience complicit in laughing at death while on-screen bystanders have no reaction right up to the point where Perkins dares to go for poignancy, still smiling as he finishes the unfunniest of jokes.

There is much devilish delight to be taken from guessing how the next victim will perish but the general concept does run out of steam before the end.

The Monkey is gob-stoppingly hilarious to behold and filled with existential thoughts about life and death. Even though The Monkey is brimming with bloody carnage and festive annihilation, it struck me as a very personal film.