Review: WEAPONS is a Locked and Loaded Suburban Nightmare

In 2022, Whitest Kids U'Know comedian Zach Cregger became a bona fide horror creator thanks to Barbarian. As I wrote at the time, and I'd still assert today, it's one of the wildest contemporary horror flicks to earn a wide release. There's a reason why his second film, Weapons, sold to New Line Cinema in a heated bidding war—but was it money well spent? Cregger's appropriately hyped sophomore thriller thankfully shows no signs of slumpage. Weapons is mysterious and monstrous, with hints of James Wan, The ‘Burbs, the Coen brothers, The Sadness, and twenty other horror influences that somehow blend into a delicious neighborhood nightmare.

Weapons unfolds in chapters, starting with Julia Garner's elementary teacher, Justine Gandy. When 17 students from her class go missing—all but Alex Lilly (Cary Christopher)—she suddenly becomes the town's prime suspect. No one knows what happened except that at 2:17 AM one night, children hopped out of bed and vanished without a trace. Archer Graff (Josh Brolin) pressures the police for updates, heartbroken by his son's disappearance, but it's an open case. Justine leans on Officer Paul Morgan (Alden Ehrenreich) for comfort when not being harassed by locals, but he's clueless. Everyone wants answers, yet no one has them, plunging townsfolk into the bitter chaos of unknowns.

Weapons is a largely effective experiment about the ripple effects of a single tragedy, yet wobbles out of balance for short spells. Where Barbarian inflates ramping tension into an explosive reveal, Weapons feels its length as scenes repeat from alternate viewpoints. Cregger focuses on one character at a time, no matter their significance. We're meant to experience singular acts from different sets of eyes, blurring moral lines, although this calculated repetition does create a saggy midsection.

That gripe aside, Weapons is a freaky and fiendish small-town delve into the sinisterly uncanny. A soft-spoken girl's voice is an unsettling choice to provide the opening narration, and that unease hardly relaxes. We're dropped into the thick of dumbfounding investigations and maximum paranoia, which is something we're quick to absorb. Cregger preys upon parental fears of children in peril and funnels that desperation into a town on the brink of mutiny. Justine's vehicle is vandalized with the accusatory word "witch," and Archer's ready to go above the law's inadequate due processes. That's before individuals start dreaming about this horrid, clown-makeup-faced granny in a gaudy nylon tracksuit—then the main event begins.

Little by little, Weapons increases the volume on supernatural elements that send shivers up our spines. What starts as The Black Phone adjacent becomes anything but another middle-class kidnapping epidemic. Cregger doesn't bury his story's surprises as deeply this time around, but that doesn't weaken reveal after reveal. Between Justine's alcoholism, Archer's profound sorrow, and Paul's recklessness, there's a powder keg waiting to decimate cul-de-sacs—but that's just the start. Cregger's screenplay highlights a volatile side to the hidden sins of suburban living, yet doesn't get bogged down by melodrama. There's a Longlegs vibe as horror influences crank louder, ditching real-world answers in favor of darkness from beyond.

It's hard to reveal more because, like Barbarian, Weapons depends on its shock and awe. Cinematographer Larkin Seiple does well to establish eerie atmospheres by relying on shadowy nightfall images—a pitch-black doorway into nothingness or the hard-to-see corners of lightless rooms—but that's not all. Weapons features just as much carnage during daylight hours, which is like watching Pleasantville get torn apart from within. Cregger's bastardization of the All-American lifestyle, complete with platters of mustardy hot dogs, is a nasty piece of work.

Speaking of nasty, believe that Cregger wields more barbarism in Weapons. People were squealing about the cheese grater in Evil Dead Rise, but just wait to see what Justine does with a peeler. Expect brutal displays of violence from rage-fueled individuals in cartoon mouse shirts and undertones of Who Could Kill A Child? in choice scenes. Despite my mention of a slowdown midway, Cregger still earns an emphatic payoff that'll have audiences howling in laughter and covering their eyes in disgust. He's a filmmaker who isn't afraid to push boundaries, and that's doubly evident as the film climaxes with gushes of red-drenched gore. For all the hallucinogenic imagery of assault rifles in the sky, or implications of witchy happenings, Cregger's signature is still a jaw-dropping finale—and this one might even outshine Barbarian.

Underneath it all—the gnarly violence, the whispers of chilly folklore, the allusions to forest hags—Weapons is a horror film about broken people seeking answers from empty voids. That core humanity gnaws at our soul, and is ultimately what propels Cregger's terrifying suburbanite fever dream. Performances are grounded in sorrow, characters grasping at surface safety while being drowned by their demons, which lays a foundation for the boundary-pushing extremes to follow. It's a worthy follow-up to Barbarian, keeping Cregger's name in horror filmmaking popularity where it belongs. 

Movie Score: 4/5