The Monkey

Gleefully twisted and defiantly vulgar, The Monkey unleashes a parade of sadistic mayhem through an indestructible killer tchotchke.

Still, with its relentless quirks and cartoonish gore, the latest horror comedy from director Osgood Perkins (Longlegs) — adapted from a Stephen King short story — is played more for laughs than frights.

For a while, it’s an amusing lark, spotlighting an entire franchise’s worth of creatively choreographed kills, which is primarily the intent, especially for bloodthirsty genre aficionados.

But eventually the central gimmick wears thin as the film struggles to maintain a consistent tone, emphasizing shock value rather than offering brains or heart to accompany the spilled guts.

Flashbacks illustrate why Hal (Theo James) is haunted by residual childhood trauma and a troubling family legacy that he’s eventually forced to confront.

As a youngster, his twin brother, Bill (also played by James as an adult, and Christian Convery as a child) was his chief tormenter, prompting Hal to become withdrawn and search for clues about his deceased father. “Dad’s closet was full of clues to who he was,” he explains in his narration.

He happens upon a vintage organ grinder monkey, unaware that it holds a dark secret. As long as you keep it wound, you’re fine, although whenever the anthropomorphic primate plays his snare drum, someone is not going to survive.

While trying to figure out the logic behind the choice of victims, and fearing their mother (Tatiana Maslany) might be next, the boys try to rid themselves of the curse. But the resilient simian has other sinister ideas.

The screenplay by Perkins doesn’t dwell on any meaningful subtext or generate consistent suspense beneath the surface. Nor does it spend much energy with our loyalty to any periphery roles, some of which are more deserving than others of their inevitably grisly fate.

At least the underlying coming-of-age saga that drives the first half of the film doesn’t take itself too seriously while navigating adolescent angst and Y2K nostalgia. However, it later hints with half-hearted sincerity at an existential probe of mortality and fractured family dynamics.

The most compelling character, of course, gives a wooden performance with no dialogue or change in facial expression. Yet in expanding the source material, The Monkey winds up killing itself.

Rated R, 98 minutes.