Weapons, director Zach Cregger’s follow-up to 2022’s Barbarian, is a disturbing horror-mystery about the disappearance of 17 young children. This pic offers stomach-clenching suspense, but also a black brew of shockingly gruesome violence, sex, drug use, language and dark spirituality.
One night, at 2:17 AM, 17 children woke up, vanished into the night and never returned.
In the wake of their disappearance, their community reels with shock, anger and, most of all, questions. Why those 17 children? What made them leave their homes in the middle of the night? And where could they have gone?
Archer, one of the missing children’s parents, has turned his desperate gaze on Justine. Every child who disappeared was in her class at Maybrook Elementary.
But Justine has no more answers than anyone else. And just as puzzling as her missing students is the one who remains: Alex was the only student who showed up in Justine’s classroom the day after the other children went missing.
Why was he left behind?
The police haven’t found any answers. Neither have the feds. But as Justine, Archer and others take matters into their own hands to peel back the layers of this disturbing mystery, they’ll find themselves asking one more question:
Do they really want to know the answers after all?
Justine cares about the missing students, and she shows concern for Alex as well. Archer and the other parents love their children and are understandably distraught when they go missing.
Someone defends a woman who is attacked. A family opens their home to a sick relative. The principal of the school does his best to balance the welfare of Justine, Alex and community members.
[Note: This section contains spoilers.]
A dark spiritual thread runs through Weapons. A character uses witchcraft and blood magic to gain absolute control over others, forcing them to do terrible deeds.
Several people find themselves in a magically induced trance. A woman meditates in front of a thorny tree while surrounded by candles—seemingly an occult ritual. Potions are brewed; their effects are powerful and immediate.
Lines of salt are used, tied with magic. Symbols associated with witchcraft appear. We see the exterior of a church.
Justine seems to have had a past romantic relationship with a local police officer named Paul. At one point, Justine and Paul have rough sex—no nudity is seen, but the motions are explicit. This occurs while Paul is in a committed relationship with another woman, Donna, which he intentionally misrepresents to Justine.
Donna tells Paul she will be ovulating soon and implies they should have intercourse at that time to get pregnant. We learn that Justine was dismissed from teaching at another school due to “inappropriate behavior” with a coworker.
A father playfully asks his young son if he “kiss[ed] any supermodels” during his day at school. A husband kisses his wife. One character is seen shirtless.
The principal of Justine’s school is in a same-sex relationship. Women occasionally wear formfitting or revealing clothing. People speak about a couple’s anniversary dinner.
I’ll give Weapons this: It’s no mindless slasher flick. The film is just as likely to make you squirm through the skillful use of suspense than from a nonstop gorefest. That said, when blood is spilled in Weapons, it’s all the more shocking and disturbing.
There are some truly gruesome acts of violence found in this film. One character is literally torn apart, and we’re shown plenty grisly glimpses of that process. Another character gets struck by a car—the camera lingers on what (little) remains of the person’s head. Someone’s face is smashed to a bloody pulp.
People are shot in the head, resulting in a spray of blood and brains. A man’s skin is sliced with a potato peeler. Others are strangled. A bewitched couple stabs themselves in the face with forks, causing bloody marks.
Someone uses syringes to stab another person. A police officer points a shotgun at a character with the intent to use it. One woman throws another to the ground. A man is tossed around like a rag doll. Characters fall through glass—one man’s hand is cut and bloody as a result.
A woman threatens a child, saying she could have the boy’s parents injure and even “eat each other.” A police officer hits someone in the head.
We hear nearly 60 f-words throughout Weapons. The s-word is used more than 10 times. Jesus’ name is abused seven times. God’s name is taken in vain about 20 times, frequently paired with “d—.” Other vulgarities used include “h—,” “a–hole,” “b–ch” and “d–k.” A woman is called a “witch.”
Justine makes frequent trips to a local liquor store to buy vodka. Though we don’t see it, it’s implied that she and Paul drank heavily in a bar together—the next day, Paul talks about being hungover. A character worries that Justine might drive after drinking, and we learn that she had a DUI in the past.
James, a drug addict, smokes heroin; we see needles that he uses for his drugs as well. A police officer asks him if has drugs on his person.
A woman encourages her significant other to attend a meeting of (it’s implied) Alcoholics Anonymous. Someone splashes alcohol on another person in anger.
Parents who are rightly distressed by the disappearance of their children nevertheless lash out in harmful ways. Much of their vitriol is aimed at Justine, which includes defacing her car.
The main perpetrator here is Archer, who berates and accuses Justine on several occasions. Archer struggles with his son’s disappearance, compounded by the fact that he hasn’t been able to express his love to his child—and now might never get the chance to do so.
Justine follows Alex home from school and stakes out his house, even though she has been told to give the child space. Justine has been reprimanded for “overstepping” her bounds with her students—such as hugging a crying child or giving another a ride home.
James steals what he can to get money for drugs. He breaks into cars and houses, looking for something to pilfer. He also flees from the police on several occasions.
Members of law enforcement discuss how to cover up an incident of police violence. A counselor speaks about sadness and anger as part of the grieving process. Someone asks if another person has AIDS or hepatitis. People are said to be suffering from consumption and stroke symptoms. A child is bullied at school.
A character vomits black sludge on someone. There is mention of a fungus that parasitizes and controls the brains of insects.
“This is one of those disquieting horror pics that constantly turns unexpected, pitch-black corners while daring you not to blanche or squirm.”
That’s a quote pulled from our Plugged In review of 2022’s Barbarian, Zach Cregger’s solo directorial debut. But I think it applies equally well to his sophomore effort, Weapons. This horror-mystery is disturbing, squirm-worthy and stomach-churning.
Some may hear those descriptors (as well as reading about the film’s heaps of critical praise) and think Weapons would make for a spooky good time at the theater. But I would urge a little more caution, a little more discernment, lest your own thoughts be “weaponized” against you. The film is a foul mix of grisly, graphic violence, sexual content, drug use, profane language and witchcraft.
From a strictly moviemaking perspective, Weapons is well crafted. It’s effective. It’s even funny, in ways that paradoxically add to its horror. But, in some ways, those artistic strengths demand a stronger wariness. A story that sticks with us (that contains troubling content) can hold a greater sway over our minds than soon-to-be-forgotten slop.
If you’re still considering watching Weapons, I’ll leave you with a final caution from that Barbarian review that is equally appropriate here: “Frankly, when this kind of festering movie grime seeps into your head, it’s kinda hard to flush it back out.”
Bret loves a good story—be it a movie, show, or video game—and enjoys geeking out about things like plot and story structure. He has a blast reading and writing fiction and has penned several short stories and screenplays. He and his wife love to kayak the many beautiful Colorado lakes with their dog.
