Zack Cregger's film "Weapons" is a profound and masterfully crafted horror epic that critiques societal failures in addressing communal tragedies, particularly the gun epidemic, by exposing the destructive nature of sensationalism, blame, and the normalization of the abnormal.
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If you had told me even just a few years
ago that one of the whitest kids you
know would be one of the most
captivating and boundary pushing genre
filmmakers working today, I would have
said you were insane. But in a post
Jordan Peele cinematic landscape,
perhaps I shouldn't be surprised.
There's no denying some of the most
gifted comedians have a real knack for
the Macob. And in 2022, Zack Kger took
the world by storm, blindsiding
audiences with Barbarian, a batshit
horror sensation in the vein of Sam
Ramy. It came almost from nowhere with
little more than a teaser trailer and a
poster. It was the fervent word of mouth
and shocking subversion of the genre
that catapulted Barbarian into the
horror cannon and Kger into a surprising
position as Hollywood's latest horror
aur. But even with how awesome a debut
it was, even as a highlight among the
modern horror genre, Barbarian's
inventive thrills, unforgettable
protagonist shifting POV antics, the
revival of Justin Law, devilish sense of
humor, and surprisingly profound
commentary on suburban decay and
gentrification hardly began to hint at
the masterful brilliance was about to
unleash on us next. Though perhaps we
should have seen it coming. We were
caught off guard by Barbarian, and so
was the industry. But after a filmmaker
announces himself like that, we all pay
close attention to whatever's on the
horizon. And if audiences were eager for
KGER's next hit, I mean, you could bet
the distributors were going to pounce
hard this time.
>> A lot of times in life, you get to do
something and you don't realize until
it's over how much you enjoyed it, and
you swear that the next time it comes
around, you're going to remember that.
>> So, from the onset, weapons commanded
industry attention, igniting a seismic
bidding war that rattled the foundation
of Hollywood. a mad dash to be in
business with the latest exciting new
voice in a horror. Weapons marked the
chance for a studio to stake their claim
on the next Jordan Peele, if you will.
Something the studios have been chasing
ever since Peele exploded onto the scene
with Get Out. However, weapons made for
an interesting case because out of all
the attempts to make rising filmmakers
the next Jordan Peele, Kger was
seemingly the only one who garnered the
support and attention of Peele himself.
the ultimate seal of approval for a
young filmmaker like Kger, who not only
considers Get Out a personal favorites,
but an influence on his pursuits in
horror. When Monkey Paw's joint bid with
Universal was ecliped by New Line
Cinema, Peele's reported frustration was
so immense that he severed ties with his
management. And not only was the bidding
war enough for the industry to set their
sights on Craigger's latest project, but
Peele's reaction, the guy who is
considered the voice in modern horror,
indicated that Weapons wasn't merely
just a follow-up from the guy who did
Barbarian. No, it indicated that Weapons
was something special, something worth
investing in, a film with something to
say that was going to shock audiences to
their core, something to be excited
about. While that level of expectation
can be daunting and detrimental to the
final product, Kger never wavered,
embracing it head-on and carrying over
the confidence with which he wrote the
script into production and post. And
yeah, after seeing weapons, I get it. I
[ __ ] get it. He's indignation was
absolutely justified. Like, if I lost
the film as twisty, unpredictable,
thrilling, and topical as Weapons, uh,
yeah, I'd be pissed, too. Weapons is the
kind of horror epic you expect to see
from a veteran filmmaker, not the work
of a sophomore. For all intents and
purposes, because 2009's Mismar doesn't
count. With Weapons, Zack Kger not only
avoided the sophomore genre slump, but
delivers a bonafide horror masterpiece,
easily staking its claim as the best
film of 2025 so far. weapons masterfully
blends the parental paranoia and
chilling suspense of Deni Vnub's crime
thriller Prisoners with the sprawling
narrative complexity of Magnolia
peppered with the type of absurdest
macob humor the Cohen brothers sort of
made their wheelhouse in films like
Fargo Miller's Crossing even later fair
like Raising Arizona weapons is a
sharply aimed critique of our society's
reaction to tragedy particularly
communal horrors centered around
America's gun epidemic illustrating how
our destructive sensationalism and
obsessive pursuit of the motive To
understand the why paralyzes genuine
progress. Rather than confronting the
root causes, we fixate on superficial
details, endlessly cycling through blame
and outrage, thoughts and prayers,
ultimately normalizing the objectively
abnormal. If Barbarian showcased Kger's
command of structure and perspective,
weapons is a confident as [ __ ]
refinements of the form. Perspective
takes center stage as Kger deafly weaves
together a Rashimon-esque tapestry
consisting of six points of view
ascribed to six different characters
charting the ripple effects of a tragic
mass disappearance of school children in
the small suburban town of Maybrook.
Central to this web is Justine Gandandy
played by Julia Gardner. Justine is a
compassionate educator with a tendency
to overstep her rigid duties who finds
herself in the crosshairs of parental
outrage and a media frenzy, becoming the
de facto scapegoat due to past mistakes
in her personal life, ranging from
excessive drinking, flings, and
inepathetic attentiveness to her
students that goes beyond the classroom.
In trying to make sense of a senseless
situation, Justine becomes the town
pariah, branded a witch. Her flaws laid
bare as Maybrook infers the worst of
her, even if the actual crime has
nothing to do with her past actions. As
Josh Brolan's Archer says, she's either
negligent or complicit. Either way,
she's to blame. The inhumity with which
Justine is treated underscores the
film's criticism of a cultural inability
to look inward. There's a readiness to
vilify past judgment and blame,
weaponizing grief to distract from
genuine culpability because it's easier.
It offers an answer, not a solution. And
that answer comes at the expense of
Justine's own emotion. She's in complete
disarray, feeling intense guilt over
what happened and isn't given the space
to grieve along with the parents. Even
though she arguably spends more time
with their children on a day-to-day
basis, she's just expected to teach the
kids and nothing more. If they fail,
it's her fault. If they succeed, it's
the genius of the kids. If anything goes
wrong, then she's going to find herself
unfairly in the line of fire. In her own
words, under mounting pressure, she says,
says,
>> "I love those kids."
>> As I alluded to earlier, Justine is
labeled a witch due to the tragedy. And
while the town's inhabitants are
hellbent on burning her for what
happened, they're missing the very real
witch, that's the cause of everything.
The people are blinded by what they feel
is the truth that the obvious answer
that's right in front of them goes
unnoticed. We've seen Garner's
impressive range from exploring her rise
as a ruthless crime boss in Ozark to
just a few weeks ago with the
supernaturally tormented Silver Surfer
in the Fantastic 4 First Steps. Both of
which take advantage of her deceptive
appearance. Garner carries an inherent
intensity, balancing an unassuming,
delicate stature, and Kger expertly
utilizes this duality to craft a nuanced
portrait of a flawed, passive person who
recognizes the strength they have within
themselves and channels that into being
a force for good. While initially her
grief turned guilt causes her to turn to
the bottle, that love becomes a
motivator to do something. She owes it
to her kids as she takes the initiative,
looking in places the police won't and
challenging the abnormalities that have
been afforded one too many excuses.
Justine's transformation is indicative
of the kind of public servant she's been
all along. However, instead of remaining
stifled by the broken system in place,
she rightfully oversteps, allowing
Garner to turn in a remarkably honest
and powerful performance as Justine is
allowed to triumph over the cliché
downfall a lot of other horror stories
might give her character. This narrative
mosaic not only represents the various
stages of grief CGER experienced while
writing the film as a means to cope with
the loss of a close friend, but also
serves as a vessel to investigate the
different attitudes and institutions in
the fallout of a tragedy. What binds
these stories isn't just the central
mystery, but how each character
represents a failing in the systems
meant to protect and nurture our
children. To simply label weapons as an
allegory for school shootings, which is
something I can foresee a lot of people
doing, is a tad reductive. Kger is
exploring the culture that perpetuates
these issues. The rot at the core, our
normalizing of the objectively abnormal
that has become common place in America.
Law enforcement, personified by Alden
Aaron Reichkes Paul, is depicted as
tragically ineffectual, consumed by
personal crises and professional apathy.
Paul's self-destructive behavior and
violent outbursts covered up by
higher-ups protecting their reputation
underscore a corrupt police system,
illquipped and unwilling to meaningfully
address societal wounds. Instead,
doubling down on the petty, irrelevant
misdemeanors they can exert control
over. Aaron Reich's distraught
expressions employing a similar
pettiness as his Senate aid from
Oppenheimer shape a character completely
unraveling at the seams in the most
comically incompetent way possible. Like
the dude's a [ __ ] mess and it's kind
of incredible to watch. Alden is a
director's secret weapon and weapons
advances all of his strengths as a
performer. Paul's actions also
encapsulate the film's broader message.
Societal institutions selfishly
prioritizing image over genuine progress
and solutions, thereby perpetuating
tragedies like the one Maybrook is
experiencing. Sometimes it seems easier
to just let something fizzle out until
it's not on the forefront of everyone's
mind. At least that's the mindset that
the police department has. It's a flawed
mindset that ignores the problem
entirely. And it's not just a Paul
issue, but one shared by the institution
he's a part of and by large swaves of
the population of Maybrook. While it's
easier for the police to turn a blind
eye, disregard outside thought, do less
paperwork. It doesn't actually achieve
anything and is directly responsible for
the continuing cycle. This is not only
true of communal tragedies, but the
abuse of power at the hands of law
enforcement. They simply make a
statement that sounds like they're doing
something or ignore the instance
entirely and then fail to address it,
only looking after their own and nothing
more. While there are good cops in the
ranks, it's clear they feel hopeless to
do anything about the situation since
they shoulder the burden of the
investigation alone instead of
collaborating with concerned citizens
who are more motivated to solve the
crime. This causes people like Paul to
fixate on more solvable problems. Paul
especially wants to feel useful,
recovering from alcoholism and just
having relapsed and dealing with
infidelity. He's got a lot on his mind.
He's feeling the pressure of everything.
And he just crumbles under the weight
entirely. Everything everyone does in
the fallout of the class's disappearance
is to soothe themselves, not actually
solve the problem. And the perfect
example of that is Paul. Justine is the
only person actively doing anything
about the disappearance. And yet she's
the one accused of acting selfishly.
Paul's predicament of relapsing and
hooking up with Justine and dealing with
the repercussions of his wife, the
police chief's daughter, finding out
caused him to act recklessly, directing
his emotional instability at James, an
addict who may or may not have been
vandalizing public property. Even with a
body cam, Paul's internal frustration
wins out as he beats the [ __ ] out of
James. in turn an act the higher-ups are
willing to ignore since they refuse to
put their community status in jeopardy.
Paul's personal and professional
relationships are intertwined and yet
entirely self- serving as a means to
save his ass when he [ __ ] up. This
stands in stark contrast to Justine,
whose professional relationships, her
relationships with her students, she
considers quite personal and she
utilizes everything in her power to
serve their best interests. I mean, the
metaphor doesn't get any more obvious
when Paul, the police, become a literal
puppet for Glattis, the ghoul at the
center of this entire thing as she has
him under her control. Something that
could have been avoided had Paul acted
with the interest of the kids in mind.
On the subject of Paul's dereliction of
duty, James, a scene stealing Austin
Abrams, is arguably the standout
character. A troubled addict and
frequent victim of the community's
self-serving negligence, tragically
embodies Maybrook's abandonment of the
vulnerable. This willingness to let
people self-destruct is indicative of
how a classroom of kids could go
missing. He exemplifies how
stigmatization and neglect transform
individuals into weapons themselves.
James' storyline painfully exposes the
systemic cycle of neglect and violence
embedded within the very fabric of the
community. It's a system entirely
disinterested in rehabilitation so much
as it is band-aid solutions. They'll
just throw someone like James into
prison for a small amount of time so
they can think about what they've done
or throw them out into the wild and let
them ruin their lives, get desperate and
do bad things in order to attain the
means to get their high. No one actually
gives a [ __ ] about these people. And
that's the problem. Through James, we're
almost exposed to the older version of
someone like Alex, the lone survival of
Miss Gandy's classroom disappearance.
someone who we can assume has selfish,
vacant, absent parents that lead to a
child being consumed by the worst the
world has to offer. Having James
discover Alex's possessed parents, these
shells of people were almost looking
into his own past. I mean, I don't think
it's a coincidence that James is the one
to find the kids hidden in the basement,
but distraught, scared, and without any
help, he just runs away. Sure, he's
motivated by the reward to come forth
with the information. But as he
approaches Paul due to their previous
encounter in which Paul accidentally
gets stabbed by James' heroin needles,
and holy [ __ ] that's like one of the
funniest sequences in the entire film,
Paul doesn't stop to hear him out. He
just runs after him, blinded by his
vendetta, ignoring very real evidence
from James, who is written off as
nothing more than a junkie or
troublemaker. A perfect example of a
system continually screwing itself and
the people it's supposedly designed to
help and protect. Standing in further
opposition to Justine to search for the
kids is Archer, played by Josh Boltman,
one of the fathers of a missing child,
Matthew. He's desperate for answers.
Spends his nights falling asleep in the
bed of his missing son. His actions, his
frustration, his anger are directed at
Justine, at the situation, but they have
more to do with himself than the guilt
he carries inside. the guilt of being an
emotionally distant dad who never really
expressed his love for his son. Roland
depicts Archer's torment with such
intensity and heartbreak. Though no
stranger to playing father figures, this
is his most honest and compelling effort
yet. Coming part and parcel with the
film's best fbomb drop. Through Archer,
we see how his hyperfixation on the same
footage, the tangible, the act of his
son running away only causes him to run
in circles. He's not really open to
other perspectives because it doesn't
align with the limited facts he has.
Archer is a practical man looking for
rational answers in the wrong place,
pouring over the same footage over and
over again. And while he's doing more
than the police, his motivation is
stunted by a onetrack mind. He's only
viewing the situation one way, acting
irrationally and purporting to be
rational. Perhaps it's only human nature
to try to intellectualize and
rationalize an irrational response, but
it drives a wedge between us and the
very people who could be helping him,
aka Justine. Which is why it's great
when they eventually put aside their
differences and link up to work together
and actually get somewhere again. The
obsession over the why obfiscates the
ability to actually solve the problem
and prevent it from happening again. And
then there's Marcus, played by the
subtly brilliant Benedict Wong, the
principal unwilling to confront
uncomfortable truths about his students
welfare, who represents the insidious
passivity that enables horrors like the
disappearance of Miss Gandy's class. His
willful ignorance, fear of negative
attention, and unwillingness to
challenge glaring red flags, reflect a
broader selfishness that endangers
future generations, the students he's
supposed to look after. You get the
sense that he has a subconscious fear
born from his own uncomfortability being
a gay man living with his partner in a
predominantly heteronormative
environment. It's not outside the realm
of possibility that should he get
involved, come to the defense of
Justine, or challenge the glaringly
obvious abnormalities that he would be
ostracized, the victim of bigotry and
judgment, akin to Justine from a
community waiting to turn on them, a gay
boogeyman, if you will, to go with the
witch. Even when confronted with the
answers, Glattis, Alex's witch aunt,
who's a composite of Mini Castette from
Rosemary's Baby, Betty Davis, and Baby
Girl and [ __ ] Robert Blake in Lost
Highway, he remains in denial. Her
unnerving appearance paired with her
showing up at his house and performing
witchcraft should be a dead giveaway.
It's hilarious to the audience, but his
persistent denial is ultimately his
undoing. He allows a deceptive old
crone, literally causing people to snap,
to manipulate his instincts. His
abstraction of the norm reaches a point
that allows for his greatest fear to
come true, metaphorically becoming the
victim of a hate crime. If suburbia is a
microcosm of the larger problems going
on in America, then what happens with
Marcus is a microcosm of what happened
with the kids. So much of this film
functions as a response to how, at least
in American culture, we've gotten
comfortable normalizing objectively
abnormal or awful things. And the people
ultimately on the front lines of this
societal paralysis are our children.
They're soldiers in a domestic war for
prolonging the comfort, youth, and
excess of our parents and our parents'
parents. Kger understands this and
brilliantly employs powerful imagery
such as the chilling echo of the napalm
girl as the children flee their homes at
the witching hour. The story is set in a
small Florida town and the children
disappear at 2:17 a.m. This naturally
calls to mind the tragic Parkland
shooting that occurred in Florida on
Valentine's Day. 17 children lost their
lives in the second month of the year.
In the case of weapons, 17 students
vanished, leaving two survivors, Alex
and Justine. That can't be a coincidence
with how meticulous everything else here
is. And it doesn't stop there. Archer's
son, one of the missing children, is
named Matthew, indicating a deeper
relevance to weapons, preoccupations,
and the significance of 217. Yes, I'm
going to go there. I think it's
interesting. In the Bible, Matthew 21:17
refers to the slaughter of the innocents
in Bethlehem by King Herod so that he
would not be usurped by the newborn
king, baby Jesus. The passage reads,
"Then was fulfilled that was spoken by
the prophet Jeremiah, which is followed
by a quote from Jeremiah 31:15 about
Rachel weeping for her children." This
is echoed in Archer's guiltridden
obsession, which in turn fuels
nightmares about his son's disappearance
as he follows the same path as his son
from the security camera footage. A
flashing 217 and floating AR-15 loom
large over the house Archer wanders into
amidst this fever dream. The
metaphorical and very real weapon that
floats above plain as day. And yet the
very obvious point avoids Archer and
those like him. It's not a satisfying
enough answer. Not only is this imagery
about as subtle as a sledgehammer and
indicative of our problem with gun
violence in America, but it explains why
tragedies like this are so prominent in
suburban areas. Czechov's assault rifle
isn't hiding under the table. It's
staring us dead in the face. And yet, we
choose to ignore it. That mixed with an
environment that allows troubled home
lives to fester is a lethal clip waiting
to be unloaded. There's something
unsettling about the suburbs and the
benality of it that Kger weaponizes
against us. Similar to Barbarian, he
turns our familiarity with these
seemingly safe places of comfort into
our worst nightmares. Perhaps it's the
fact that suburbia in general is this
weird facade used to cover up and
seclude people from the realities of the
world, leading to disassociation. That
disassociation becomes the root cause of
the tragedies that befall places like
Maybrook and the inability to reconcile
with the possibility of evil that has
wormed its way into a place thought to
be incorruptible. This dissociation
leads to irresponsible parents who
implicitly trust borderline strangers in
estranged family members like Glattis.
out of a sense of obligation to show
hospitality as their parents did despite
it contradicting all logical impulses.
It's pretty clear from the get-go that
Glattus is not a good person and yeah,
we're just going to, you know, we're
just going to invite her in, right?
Yeah, that makes total sense. It's whole
tragedies that are preventable, but
because the very obvious signs were
ignored and invited in, they happened.
It's Alex, whose parents are neglecting
his emotional well-being and needs
compounded by him being bullied at
school, being treated so inhumanely by
Matthew, Archer's son, due to the issues
that he has with his dad. That only
served to further push Alex to aid
Glattis in her abduction of the class.
If it saves his parents, then, you know,
that's all that matters. It's the thing
that he should be doing. All the while,
Justine is the only person to notice
Alex might not be all right. There's a
problem at home that spilled over into
his attitude in the classroom. And yet,
despite her attempt, the signs of his
forthcoming actions go unnoticed by
everyone else. The facade remains
intact, shielding the rot from being
addressed. The irony of this is that all
one has to do is take a closer look
around and they'd recognize that things
are not as idyllic as they appear. Gone
is the allure of suburbia, if there ever
was one. And in its place exists a
decaying haven of isolation and
entitlement, lacking in empathy. tearing
itself apart from the inside. You have
teachers on trial for doing their job,
affectionless parents, relapsing
alcoholic cops who take their
self-hatred out on any perp they happen
to cross paths with, children bullied
and under great duress at home from an
abusive relative and/or irresponsible
parents. This is hardly an ideal place
to live. It's a pressure cooker of
everything wrong in America. The
abstraction of normality writ large, the
paranoia that permeates a community and
the fear stoked by sensationalist media.
the Fox Newsification of the domestic.
The real horror, the perpetrators, the
leeches, are the ones we least suspect.
And yet, they paradoxically couldn't be
more obvious if given an ounce of
thought. We live in a society directed
by self-serving ghouls, the glattises of
the world who devour that which we hold
most dear, scarring the rest of us with
irreversible trauma as we furiously
scramble to reclaim our lives. Police
become puppets, teachers, scapegoats,
and kids collateral damage. I found you,
Archer says, cradling his lost son in
his arms, showering him with the
affection he had neglected to show
prior. However, as the narration in the
beginning indicates, these kids, Matthew,
Matthew,
>> they never came back.
>> That's the tragedy of weapons. It's a
story about how we fail our kids even
when we have every opportunity to write
the ship, to change the status quo. Miss
Gandy's class may have violently torn
their abductor apart with glee. And I
mean, don't worry, I took part in that
glee as well. But the damage is already
done. There's no real solution from
this. It just kind of is. Furious with
the status quo. Numb and helpless to do
anything about it. These kids are forced
to live with the trauma they've endured.
They walk away as shells of their former
selves. They never really come back.
With weapons, Zack Kger emerges
definitively as a vital cinematic voice,
boldly confronting uncomfortable truths
and societal hypocrisies. While its core
ideas are bleak and unnerving, similar
to Barbarian, he manages to infuse
enough wits and situational humor paired
with lynchian sendups in the best
shining homage I've ever seen to help
the medicine go down. It's a chilling
masterclass in suspense and POV
storytelling that exposes a culture with
dwindling empathy that tolerates
dehumanizing acts lingering long after
the credits have rolled. Weapons is a
haunting reminder of our complicity in
perpetuating horrors we claim to oppose
and an unsettling reflection of the
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