With Weapons, writer-director Zach Cregger takes a bold leap forward in genre filmmaking by crafting a film that is as psychologically rich as it is narratively unsettling. Following his breakout hit Barbarian, expectations were high, but his latest offering doesn’t just meet them—it surpasses them by offering a quietly devastating portrait of grief, denial, and collective unease.
Set in a nondescript American town, Weapons begins with a chilling incident: at 2:17 in the morning, seventeen children from the same primary school classroom vanish. They are seen fleeing their homes, barefoot and silent, running in unison into the night with no apparent reason or direction. Only one child, Alex Lilly (Cary Christopher, brilliant), remains.
From this haunting premise, Cregger spins a narrative that is less concerned with traditional horror tropes and more interested in a creeping, slow-burn sense of dread. Weapons doesn’t aim to shock the audience with gore or cheap jump scares. Instead, it unfolds with eerie patience, immersing viewers in the pure emotional aftermath of a devastating incident.
Julia Garner leads the ensemble cast with a career-best performance as Justine Gandy, the teacher whose classroom was almost entirely emptied overnight. She brings a profound emotional complexity to the role, conveying a character who is not simply devastated but haunted by guilt, confusion, and the overwhelming weight of being at the centre of something inexplicable.
Josh Brolin is equally impressive as Archer Graff, a man barely holding himself together in the wake of his son Matthew’s disappearance. Brolin delivers a quiet sadness and a vulnerability that reveals itself in careful doses.
Cregger’s script also takes time to build a lived-in world around these characters. Alden Ehrenreich is a subtle but important presence as Paul Morgan, a conflicted police officer. Marvel legend Benedict Wong adds gravitas as the weary school principal, and Amy Madigan is outstanding in a supporting turn as Alex’s aunt Gladys.
Visually, the film is a masterclass in mood. Cinematographer Larkin Seiple (Everything Everywhere All at Once) lends the film a subdued, haunting palette. The suburban landscapes are drained of warmth, lit by harsh fluorescents and the cold gray light of early morning. Elsewhere, Joe Murphy’s editing is elegant, never rushing, always allowing scenes to simmer.
The score, composed by Ryan and Hays Holladay alongside Cregger himself, is another triumph. It’s sparse, at times barely there, but when it swells, it does so with intention. Rather than manipulate emotion, it reflects it, creating a sonic atmosphere that mirrors the film’s overwhelming sense of sorrow and helplessness.
Thematically, Weapons touches on everything from generational trauma to societal denial. But it does so subtly, with grace. The horror isn’t just what happened to the children, but what their disappearance reveals about the adults—their secrets, their past failures, and their quiet complicity. Cregger’s script resists neat moral resolutions, instead inviting viewers to sit with discomfort, ambiguity, and unease.
A moody, mournful, and exquisitely crafted mystery-horror that solidifies Zach Cregger as one of the most vital voices in genre cinema today. Weapons is not just a film, it’s a meditation on grief, silence, and the horrors of loss. I doubt I’ll see a better horror movie this year.
