Weapons: Mark Kermode’s horror movie review (video).

So, then, Weapons. Mark Kermode is here to discover what a lovely, twisted, unhinged little thing you are.

Zach Cregger, last seen tormenting audiences with the subterranean nightmares of Barbarian, is back with Weapons—a horror-mystery mash-up that’s as polished as it is profoundly uncomfortable. And if you’re wondering whether the man who made us fear Airbnb basements can handle themes like mass disappearances, parental dread, and the subtle terror of newspapered windows, the answer is yes. Emphatically yes.

Set in the quiet American town of Maybrook (read: anywhere on the verge of a nervous breakdown), the story kicks off when seventeen schoolchildren vanish in the middle of the night. No note. No noise. Just gone. And from there, things unravel faster than your sanity during a long weekend in a haunted convent.

But this isn’t your typical jump-scare affair with drippy walls and creaking floorboards. Weapons aims higher—and hits the mark. Cregger stitches together a multi-perspective narrative that plays like Magnolia’s angsty goth cousin: teachers teetering on the brink, grieving parents with detective delusions, possessed authority figures, and one very unnerving child who might know far more than he’s saying. Or blinking.

Josh Brolin, as a grief-stricken father looking for answers, anchors the chaos with a simmering intensity that feels just one lost lead away from full psychotic break. Julia Garner proves—once again—that she can act circles around just about anyone, managing to make despair, obsession, and a pint of whiskey look like a compelling moral choice. And then there’s young Cary Christopher as Alex, delivering a performance that’s part Sixth Sense, part “what’s he hiding in the cellar?” You will stare into his eyes and think: this child has seen things.

What makes Weapons so fiendishly satisfying, though, is the way it plays with structure. Rather than handing out answers on a silver tray, it invites the audience to piece together the mosaic. It’s a film that respects your intelligence—and then uses it against you. Just when you think you’ve cracked the mystery, it throws you into another unsettling corridor, usually one lit with flickering halogen bulbs and an ominous hum.

Cinematographer Pau Esteve Birba captures the uncanny quiet of small-town apocalypse beautifully—every frame is soaked in dread. Meanwhile, the score by the Holladay brothers (and Cregger himself) whispers, slithers, and occasionally howls with unhinged beauty. The music isn’t just there to underscore tension—it’s another character, lurking just out of frame.

And yes, there is a supernatural element. But unlike so many horror flicks that slap a ghostly nun on the cover and call it a day, Weapons handles its occult twists with chilling subtlety and slow-burn menace. No spoilers, but let’s just say that if you’ve got a potted plant in your house right now… maybe give it the side-eye.

Critics have hailed this as a “sophomore triumph,” and they’re not wrong. It’s grim, elegant, unnerving—and somehow finds space for bitter humour amid the horror. If Barbarian was Cregger shouting “Look what I can do!”, then Weapons is him quietly whispering, “Now I’m going to make you feel it.”

Here at SFcrowsnest, we tip our bloodstained hat to a film that doesn’t just entertain but haunts. It creeps under your skin and refuses to leave, long after the credits roll. Horror rarely gets to be this intelligent, this bold, or this unapologetically strange.

Highly recommended—just maybe don’t watch it alone. Or near any trees. Or children.

Or locks of hair.