The movie theater is a sacred place for me. Settled comfortably in my seat with popcorn (extra butter, light salt) and drink (a Cherry Coke) with plenty of time to spare before the previews (my favorite part) begin. It offers me a cherished and much needed moment to decompress and disconnect from the daily grind.

As the lights dimmed, I knew what to expect from ‘The Monkey’ (2025), the latest creation from horror-wunderkin of the hour Osgood Perkins. I’d read the early reactions online. Gore. Laughs. Cringe- (and joy-) inducing special effects and creative kills. I knew it was a film best seen with an audience. To bask in the over-the-top bloody fun of this film, Perkin’s first foray into slapstick horror. A smile grew on my face before the first scene began in anticipation of the fun to be had.

Imagine my surprise twenty minutes later when I found myself quietly wiping away tears with buttery hands, searching my pockets for the non-existent tissues no one had warned me I would need.

The scene from ‘The Monkey’ which has stuck with me doesn’t involve a death, a jump-scare or one ounce of synthetic blood. What I remember most vividly is what follows soon after the funeral of Hal and Bill’s babysitter (victim of a flirtation with a hibachi chef gone terribly wrong.) The shell-shocked boys sit in the cemetery with their mother, Lois (played by Tatiana Maslany; Won’t someone give her a horror franchise already!) She speaks to them about the nature of death:

“Everybody dies. And that’s life. I’ll die. And you will both die. And all of your friends and their parents and all of their pets and everybody. Some of us peacefully in our sleep. And some of us horribly, violently, tied up with clothesline and screaming through duct tape over our mouths and all that jazz.”

Lois is a captivating maternal figure in this scene. She embodies the complex push-pull of support and neglect; love and cruelty that many can relate to when thinking of parents or caregivers. She cradles her sons closely to her but does not make eye-contact, instead staring off into the distance. She wears dark sunglasses symbolizing disconnection but the scene is shot in a way that the lenses are just translucent enough that we see tenderness in her eyes. Her words are grim while conveying a respect that her boys can hear the truth no matter how harsh. Lois speaks in a way that may chill her sons to the bone but that will also prepare them for a world where safety and kindness are never promised. The boys clutch ice cream cones, a reminder that their mother has taken care to offer creature comforts even as she confronts them with information they may not be prepared to hear. Lois goes on to finish her speech:

“And to Hell with it. So come on. Let’s go dancing.”

Flash cut and the movie jumps in time and space back to the family home. Lois, Hal and Bill do indeed dance. They fling themselves about the room, still dressed in their funereal black, but serving as figures of reckless joyful abandon in this moment. Their dancing is disorganized and unchoreographed. Messy and true to life. They laugh and smile as they move haphazardly around the room. They revel in one another’s presence and connect in a way that the audience feels their connection through the screen.

As a film-goer, during the cemetery scene I sat quietly, bracing myself for the harsh truths just as the boys did. With the cut to the family dance party, I felt myself begin to breathe again. I smiled broadly. and then the tears came.

Preparing to write this article, I went in search of Osgood Perkin’s own words about his relationship to death and how it guided his direction. I think his quote to Variety sums it up well: “If I was going to give a movie about death to an audience, I wasn’t going to hand them a bummer – I was going to hand a delight, an opportunity to shake it off and have a smile.”

Perkins is no stranger to the fickle nature of death. He is the son of Anthony Perkins (of ‘Psycho’ fame) and Berry Berenson, a model turned actress and photographer. He saw his father die of AIDS-related disease at the age of 18 and his mother was a passenger on American Airlines Flight 11, the plane which crashed into the North Tower on 9/11. We even see the death of his grandfather, whom Osgood was named after, reflected very explicitly in ‘The Monkey’. Anthony Perkins spoke publicly about the powerful guilt he experienced when he wished his father dead at the age of five, only to have him suddenly experience a fatal heart attack soon after. Hal’s character suffers from a similar life-altering relationship with guilt when his mother Lois falls victim to The Monkey’s dark machinations.

Perkins’ earlier filmography makes a great deal of sense after hearing some of his biography. Last year’s beloved ‘Longlegs’ and previous films including ‘Gretel & Hansel’ (2020) and ‘The Blackcoat’s Daughter’ (2015) share similar DNA. They are dark, gothic and understated meditations on trauma, loss and violence. At first glance, ‘The Monkey’ is a stark departure from his previous work; One characterized by such over-the-top deadly set-pieces and gallows humor that our systems are shocked into involuntary laughter and joy. How could these movies possibly come from the same creator?

Those of us who have experienced deep loss may understand the connective tissue more clearly. I also have lost my parents. My mother died following a long battle with cancer when I was 26-years-old and my father died unexpectedly in his sleep when I was 39, only 11-months following the birth of my first child. I could speak at length about the complicated grief associated with these losses but it was not my grief that was activated while watching ‘The Monkey’ and which brought me to tears. Rather it was the joy reflected in Lois’ dance with her sons and the chaotic laughter and glee of the film’s depiction of death which triggered such powerful emotions.

When I think of my mother’s death, one of the prominent memories it evokes includes tears yes, but they are tears of laughter. I recall sitting in the front pew of the church, my sister’s hand clutched tightly in my own, as we listened to our aunts, just a few seats behind us, squeal with laughter. Because one of them (I shall protect their privacy here) had just farted. Farted loudly! “Don’t make me laugh! I’m going to pee my pants!” another aunt whispered as the group of them began to giggle uncontrollably and tried to hush one another as the priest continued with his sermon. Tears streamed down my sister’s and my face as we simultaneously grieved our mother and took joy in the beautiful and childish humor of hers which lived on in her sisters.

Similarly, when I think of my father’s passing, the first image conjured is a picture my sister took of me: Posing dramatically on the couch of his living room. Leg flung across the back of the couch and my head tilted coquettishly. Winking while draped in a fur coat we’d discovered in the basement while going through our family’s belongings. The weekend we spent together clearing out his home to be sold was sad to be sure. But it was filled with laughter and joy as well.

This is why Lois’ speech to her sons, and their subsequent dance, touched me so deeply. And why I felt such a powerful connection to Perkins as I watched his latest film. I sensed a kindred spirit in the man who had created this movie. One who has experienced terrible loss on a level that defies understanding. But also someone who understands the gift that such loss bestows on us. An understanding that life is ultimately unpredictable and uncontrollable so we must find joy in the here and now. And not take life or death too seriously. None of us can know when the Rube Goldberg machine of fate will trigger its final trap that ends our lives or those of us we care about. So…

“…to Hell with it…Let’s go dancing.”

Media & Notes:

Film:

Perkins, Osgood. (2025). The Monkey.

Perkins, Osgood. (2024). Longlegs.

Perkins, Osgood. (2020). Gretel & Hansel.

Perkins, Osgood. (2015). The Blackcoat’s Daughter.

Writing:

Riley, Jenelle. Variety. (25 February, 2025). Osgood Perkins on Making ‘The Monkey’ with Guts Cannons, Gallons of Blood and a Personal Touch.

Life and Death and Laughter