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The Monkey Has Good Kills, But No Soul
The latest Osgood Perkins movie, adapted from a Stephen King story, is a fine diversion — if you ignore the gaping hole at its center.
Over the course of the film’s hour and 38 minutes, Perkins’s thinly drawn characters are set aflame, their heads are turned to vague viscera by bowling balls or made jelly by wild trampling horses, there is splatter from unforeseen shotgun wounds and unspooled intestines pulled taught by surprise harpoons to the gut. Carrying along the thread of inheritance, Hal is a father to teenager Petey (Colin O’Brien), whom he contacts only once a year for fear that associating with him places a target on anyone’s back — the monkey pointing dead center. But with this movie, Perkins tries to infuse a comedic edge to his work that indeed offers some manner of levity — whether it’s an inexperienced priest bumbling through a somber sermon or the grim breakdown of a realtor fluttering through a description of all the recent death in town.
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