For my money, there have been few films this year that have as striking of an opening scene as Weapons (2025). With voice-over from Scarlett Sher, director Zach Cregger presents the puzzling image of children running from their doorsteps, late at night, hands spread like a plane. In any other context, this t-pose running would be innocent and nothing to worry about. Given that the world is asleep, the image of running into the great unknown becomes more uncertain. This isn’t just one child that we’re worrying about, but an entire classroom of kids. By the 10-minute mark, everything feels too coincidental, but the answers can’t be that easy. Was this all orchestrated by their teacher Justine (Julia Garner), or is something more insidious going on?
A major reason that Weapons elevates above the horror alternatives is because of its interest in the larger community. Audiences will more than likely be jumping to conclusions, judging everyone who gets their own segment in hopes of finding the truth. For as fun as the mystery is, Cregger’s gift for mixing pulse-pounding fear with humor allows for a greater sense of introspection. This isn’t a story that simply asks why everyone is looking for the missing parties, but spends time understanding the side effects of loss, or, more specifically, one as abrupt, confounding, and vulnerable as this Pied Piper-esque kidnapping while everyone is asleep.
One of the best examples comes from Archer (Josh Brolin), who uses his Ring porch camera to circumnavigate where everybody ran to. His obsession with the small details distracts him from normal everyday conversations, always looking at streets for clues that align with his larger view. He believes in reason, that everything exists within a controlled environment. This absence of faith leads him to regress into some irrational outbursts at PTA meetings while sleeping in his son’s bedroom. He’s not the only one, but, unlike the police department, he begins to believe in the supernatural conspiracies, seeing clues where nobody would think to look. Given that he’s the second character emphasized in the narrative, Cregger’s ability to paint him both as reasonable and hopeless serves as the brilliant crux of the remaining story.
It would be of great disservice to break every character down. As one can guess, the remaining story includes comic stories involving police officers (Alden Ehrenreich), school principals (Benedict Wong), and a detailed reasoning for why one boy in particular did not run from his porch. While being of a unified tone, each story follows its own erratic beats, at times intersecting with the previous in a jarring manner. The most noteworthy example comes when Justine is confronted by the principal at a gas station. This isn’t some minor update on the case, but a blood-curdling fever dream of madness that leaves the audience wondering just what is going on. From there, Cregger slides the timeline constantly to fit in the missing pieces, providing unique views that either fill in gaps or recontextualize moments that seemed obtuse.
The disorientation allows Weapons to feel like more than the struggle of one character. Even if Archer is the most directly sympathetic, everyone has something at stake in solving the case. The symbolic loss of innocence draws everyone into different directions, sometimes heading down hopeless pathways that result in tragic behaviors. Because of this, Cregger’s journey feels like a Stephen King-esque journey to conjure a mystical force that has been polluting the town for years. Its nods to narratives like “IT” are not without consideration, though his work also owes credit to traditional folkloric horror designed to scare kids into good behavior. Ironically, it’s now being done for adults to do the same as they determine whether what they lived through was supernatural or coincidental.
A lesser filmmaker would’ve emphasized the great unknown, maybe stumbling into a dark, foggy night with a flashlight while wondering what lies just beyond the eyeline. While this is the world that Weapons exists within, it takes just as much joy hiding in plain sight, asking if the mystery can be solved within state lines, and if everyone can put aside their grief long enough to find clues. The initial PTA meeting suggests a reasonable level of animosity towards the perceived incompetence, blaming the teacher, who likely wasn’t at everyone’s house on the night of the disappearance. There is a mob mentality looking for answers, and this is a story about attempting to put everything back into an order that makes sense. Yes, some horrific set pieces make this quintessential viewing, but they come from a place rooted deep in the subconscious that exists somewhere in a more metaphysical unknown while seeming absurd to anyone who is told a sincere account.
Cregger has admitted that this is a response to the grieving of his friend and former Whitest Kids U Know collaborator Trevor Moore (there’s even nods to various sketches in smaller details), and it helps to open up the better reading of the film. Beyond the idea that Weapons (inaccurately so) is a metaphor for gun violence or the oversimplified “everybody grieves differently,” it’s the idea of how hard it is to control emotions when your environment isn't unstable. Archer sleeping in his son’s room may seem ridiculous, but the quasi-comic nature reveals a coping mechanism that’s only broken up by some unexplained phantom in his mind, presenting something unexplored. As he wakes up in fear, he’s reminded that his son is still missing. He’s surrounded by reminders of his failure to protect, and it draws him into a spiral of disappointment.
Another common read of Weapons is its reflection on domestic abuse as it relates to the child. Cregger’s personal experience informs this and reflects aspects that become especially clear in the third act, but also hide among the damaged people wandering around. There’s the alcoholism, the physical violence, the verbal abuse that draws others into repressive states. It’s a world that understands that, for as much as a solution sounds plausible, sometimes the mind is its own labyrinth and is difficult to overcome. Beyond Archer, the principal must deal with unruly parents who believe it’s the school’s fault. There are constant attacks on the system that was created to keep disorder from occurring in the first place.
And nevertheless, everyone falls under their own spells. Some are supernatural, but they’re just as likely to be vices that existed beforehand. It’s a world steeped in crippling depression and self-harm that is only kept from getting worse because of the few who can see beyond their haze. There’s the police officer who, despite his shortcomings temper-wise, finds clues that lead to greater answers. His team-up with a homeless junkie creates the film’s greatest mismatch comedic duo and the best study for how everyone has their own value. Despite any setbacks or public criticism, they all make up the fabric of this community trying to find peace.
The film also has a substantial balance of comedy within the horror. Much like the modern giants of the genre, Jordan Peele and Ari Aster, Cregger has a way of navigating between the bleakest premise and these moments that remind you that life is carrying on. The police officer confronts his boss (Toby Huss) and is given casual workplace insults. A home visit to the principal reveals a very silly way to pass the weekend. Even the presence of the film’s most realized character Gladys (Amy Madigan), is not without a jarring touch. Her flamboyant outfit alone leads to some curious opinions, and it’s only matched by a personality that seems outdated in a way that could either be the byproduct of being an old lady or something much, much worse.
Also, without mentioning what happens, a standing ovation must be given to Cregger for not only finding the perfect opening, but bookending it with one of the best closing 10 minutes of any film this year. In some ways, the action mirrors the haunting undertones by subverting with outright farce-level humor. It’s the recognized catharsis that everyone deserves after such a paradoxical journey that asks the viewer to think not only of how they’d respond to loss but its impact on neighbors and friends. It’s a set piece that is unlikely to be forgotten any time soon and concludes everything with its own balance of relief and lingering melancholy.
This is the work of a filmmaker who may not yet be at visionary status, but has so many ideas that just need to escape. While some could see its tonal shifts fitting too much into an overflowing playbox, it all comes together with innovation and twists on the familiar. Everyone has seen a story of a child who has gone missing, but it’s unlikely that it was quite like this. The modernization makes it exist somewhere between implausibility and certainty, where it recognizes human instinct to push away at first before huddling together to find a solution. By making this an ensemble piece, it also avoids relying too much on one character becoming too unlikable or annoying for too long. Instead, it becomes anthropological, providing clues that not everyone will know. It’s a way to understand the universe better than those who exist within it. And even then, who’s to say it all makes sense? This is a grand slam of modern horror and a perfect reason to keep Cregger on a list of talent to watch. It’s funny, it’s sad, it’s scary, but most of all… it’s genuine.
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