After bringing about a Manson-esque supernatural horror with Longlegs, Oz Perkins is back with an adaptation of Stephen King’s short story The Monkey, about – indeed – a cursed mechanical wind-up toy monkey (no cimbals, but a good ol’ drum & stick set) that is able kill off people via convenient incidents, found by a couple of brothers as it belonged to their father, who ran off home years ago. They find out there’s something about the monkey toy and the deaths that seem to happened with eerie timing, so they decide to hide it away.

25 years later, mysterious deaths start happening again in the brother’s hometown of Casco, Maine (ah yes, the inland, Jessica Fletcher-free part of it), forcing the two siblings, whom has grown strangers to each other, to settle that dark secret from their past….

And boy is this one a good time, as it goes for a deliberately over the top comedy horror tone, which works splendidly with the very blasè existentialist dark humour, and doesn’t waste time trying to make more complex or apply “logic” to a concept that defies it, because the idea of a djinn/genie that can basically dish out death without having to twist around the words of the people making the wishes doesn’t make sense either.

The toy monkey won’t care what you think (or want) either way.

The characters and exchanges are delightfully over the top in some way or another (while reserving some time for more serious, emotional moments), as are the many gory deaths, as gruesome as they are funny, with people exploding into pieces, torn apart by lawnmowers, being brutally impaled via a series of absurd little accidents, the effects are great too, and it doesn’t overstays its welcome by padding itself out.

Quite fun, recommended.