Monkey Man (2024)

Score: 5 / 5

Dev Patel for the win! The longtime personal heartthrob and masterful actor makes his debut as writer, producer, and director of one of the best films of 2024 (yes, it's already on my list), bursting with vibrancy and passion the likes of which we rarely see from a newbie. Especially in an action film. This muscly, daring, endlessly novel film is less a viewing pleasure than a visceral experience, one apparently shared by its suddenly blooming auteur who shed blood and broke multiple bones to get this labor of love crafted the way he wanted it. Thank goodness for Jordan Peele, who saw it and purchased it from Netflix, knowing full well it needed to be seen on the silver screen rather than direct to streaming. And he was more than right. There is something synergistic between the tribulations Patel underwent to create his film and the trials of the titular character -- between craft and substance, that is -- that makes your appreciation of both pale in comparison to the sheer brutal effect of both once Monkey Man enters your eyeballs.

A consummate myth, the story uses the legend of Hanuman as its impetus and its goal as it dramatizes the life of a man who becomes his own god. Patel plays our protagonist, the eponymous POV of this film, never named but using several names in the film, credited as "Kid," who scrappily fights for money most nights, making more when he bleeds to satiate the voracious crowds and their bets. You'd never know it's him in daylight, though, because in the ring he dons a gorilla mask, and on the urban streets he barely speaks a word. Only his haunted, intense visage indicates his character, which seems driven by terrible purpose; that and, important to note, his horribly scarred hands, which he tends to keep under wrap. Most of the film takes place at night in its fictional Indian city of Yatana, and it's under cover of night the kid seems most comfortable and powerful.

He's not well-off, and the first half (or so) of the film follows him closely as he wheedles his way into a serving job working at an exclusive club and brothel run by Queenie Kapoor. I say "wheedles," but really it's through thievery of a kind even the Disney prince Aladdin or the Dickensian Artful Dodger might envy. Once in, the kid hones in on key power players, namely the chief of police Rana Singh, and angles his way closer. Certain other characters begin to show up more regularly, and it is quickly apparent that the kid has calculated, cultivated knowledge of what he's getting into and why and how best to advance his mysterious goals. A large part of the movie is essentially Patel carrying us and the narrative through an alien world of street urchins and sleazy elitists on an unfamiliar and enigmatic path, and it's through sheer charisma and intensity that it not only works but sweeps us up in his schemes.

Each of what becomes its three acts (this may be debatable) is stylized slightly differently, though most of the film is presented with a somewhat shaky handheld camera, often revolving disarmingly closely to Patel's body. The first act could be a reimagining of the Bourne series, a gritty, grimy frill-less affair designed to pull us in and repel us at the same time, stripping the veneer of respectability or conventionality. The second act -- if you accept my reading -- allows that rising action to explode in one of what are essentially two major action setpieces; then, as things crash around the kid, he is rescued by the most unlikely (and apparently unlikable, socially) people group you can imagine as he recuperates and restrategizes. The final act finally reveals the inciting incident, the tragic history of the kid as it pertains to his current terrible purpose, before launching him into the second major action setpiece and climax of violence both physically and emotionally. Each act features slightly differentiated cinematography, sound design, lighting, and acting, starting with hyperrealism and moving toward something more operatic in style. It's a masterclass in direction, one that should and will be studied for years to come.

Many will say it's John Wick in Mumbai, and while that's the easiest way to sell it to its likely intended audience, some might be disappointed by a comparative lack of action. Most of the film works because of its white-knuckle grip on suspense, but of an unusual kind: Hitchcockian suspense involves us knowing more than the characters as we wait anxiously for them to catch up, while the suspense here is that the kid knows everything he's about and about to do while we desperately grasp for reason and rationale. Granted, it's not exactly the most complex mystery, and some may be underwhelmed by the simplicity of the big reveal, but if you let its emotional resonance guide you -- rather than trying to "figure it out" in advance -- you'll weep multiple times before the film's final blackout.

And Patel knows this, which is probably why he injects so much blood into the film. Literally. While John Wick and Atomic Blonde offer finesse and unusually effective aesthetic styles with long, unbroken takes and icy palettes, Monkey Man strips its shirt and goes in for raw brutality unlike most of what we see these days. Every punch shudders through expertly calibrated sound editing so that you feel it, and while bones break and blood spurts, you can't look away by sheer virtue of its oddly improvised feeling. While it's clearly choreographed within an inch of its life, it never once feels that way; it feels, rather, like we're seeing things we should absolutely not be seeing, especially at such flinchingly close range. While the narrative at large may be somewhat predictable, the moment-to-moment choices are absolutely impossible to foresee, helped by camera work that makes us feel like we're there and by editing that knows exactly when to look away: after the worst has just happened, each time.

This is already going longer than I intended, and I'm only skimming the surface of this film. Its mythological elements -- mostly in the beginning and end, though reinvigorated at the start of the third act -- add unique flavor and gravitas that eventually coalesce into significant thematic import (though I do kind of wonder what might have happened had Patel leaned into a visual representation of those primate themes, a la Black Swan or the recent Love Lies Bleeding; if you know, you know). The film's neo-noir elements, which didn't really become clear to me until the grand narrative structure of revenge, writ large, became obvious, provide a sense of desperation and nihilism to this world of exploitation and crime and evil men consolidating power. It's clear, too, that Patel is trying to make keen sociopolitical commentary as well, exquisite and richly detailed in specificity even as its scope consistently, increasingly expands to include nationalist parties, transgender temples, and womanly autonomy and agency in a world run by wealthy men. 

With so much in a single film that generally neglects to verbally express itself, I confess some minor frustration with not quite being able to appreciate everything going on. Obvious political and social commentary must be rooted in reality in ways that I, as a white Westerner, simply won't get. I look forward to rewatching the film with subtitles, to be sure, and to read analyses by people who know more about Indian castes and Hindu faiths and more. But those are "me" problems, not Patel problems, and anyone who can't at least grasp some of what he's doing and make it relatable to themselves is simply not putting in any work. Cinematically, the only issue I had with the entire film was Patel's repeated use of flashbacks, which I found too numerous and frequent, though an argument could be made that for a character of so few words, those flashbacks are some of our only hints into his internal character, so they're easy enough to forgive. Especially since they allow you brief moments to breathe in this roller coaster of a thrill ride.