Weapons (2025) | 2:17, moral panic, and the witch hiding in plain sight

This week on The THING about Films, we go headfirst into the suburban chaos of Weapons, the sprawling follow-up that basically dares you to think you’ve got it figured out… and then pulls the floor out from under you.

We break down the “Trojan horse” marketing and why the trailers were built to mislead, the insane scale behind the movie (including the reported bidding war, budget, and final-cut deal), and the cleanest horror hook imaginable: seventeen kids from one third-grade class vanishing at exactly 2:17 a.m. 

Then we dig into the movie’s craft and big swings: “melancholy sunshine” visuals, sound design that’s basically an audio jump scare with a long fuse, the layered meanings behind 2:17, and the ritual rules that make the ending hit as hard as it does. 

Full spoilers for Weapons, including the ending. So if you haven’t seen the movie yet. Go watch it and then come back to hear our take on the movie.

What we cover

• Why the rollout was intentionally deceptive (and how it worked) pasted
  
  
• The scope: New Line vs. Universal, the reported ~$38M budget, final cut, and theatrical guarantee pasted
  
  
• The hook: Maybrook, PA and the 2:17 a.m. vanishing pasted
  
  
• The 2:17 rabbit hole: classroom math, Shining nods, and the Matthew 2:17 grief read pasted
  
  
• Performances and characters (Justine, Archer, James, and Gladys) + why the town turns on the wrong “monster” pasted
  
  
• Cinematography: “melancholy sunshine,” plus the film-stock/processing choices that drain the warmth out of daylight pasted
  
  
• Sound design: the “quiet” that isn’t quiet and the infamous “whale from hell” texture fileciteturn1file2L3-L4pasted
  
  
• The ritual mechanics: the simple, brutal rules of the spell (and how they set up Gladys’s downfall) pasted
  
  
• The ending debate: what almost made it into the director’s cut vs. what audiences got pasted
• The Trevor Moore tributes (including the “seven hot dogs” moment) pasted

Chapters

• 1:20 Intro: The Big Horror Surprise
• 4:09 The Scale: Bidding War, Budget, And Creative Control
• 6:50 How the Marketing misdirected everyone
• 9:20 Maybrook + the 2:17 a.m. Hook
• 12:09 Story Structure
• 16:18 Why 2:17 Matters and how many meanings it carries
• 23:11 Allegory Debate
• 29:20 Who the Town Blames vs Who's actually Guilty
• 36:01 Willow Easter Egg
• 38:02 Aesthetic of the movie
• 45:02 The Soundscape
• 47:18 Amy Madigan
• 51:43 Climax
• 57:03 The Ending Explained
• 1:00:20 Cregger's Personal Tribute
• 1:01:52 Unfilmed Prequel
• 1:05:32 Critic's Crypt - Final Judgement
• 1:14:06 Final Thought

Transcript

[Ambrose:] Welcome back, everybody. Today we’re going headfirst into the suburban chaos of what might be the biggest horror surprise of the year. Yes we’re talking about Zach Cregger’s Weapons today.

[Kelly:] Yeah, and I’m with you, because it really does feel like it showed up out of nowhere. But then once it grabs you, it’s like, oh… we’re doing this now. And I love how it starts in that super normal, everyday world, so when the panic creeps in, it doesn’t feel like “movie panic,” it feels like real life going sideways in the worst way. Like, it’s the kind of chaos that makes you laugh a little, but also you’re checking your locks after.

[Ambrose:] Totally, and that’s what got me, because it starts so simple. Like, you’re thinking, “Okay, missing-persons case, small-town panic, we’ve seen this setup.” But then it keeps stacking weird on top of weird, and suddenly you’re not in a neat little mystery anymore… you’re in this dark, bizarre, genuinely bloody epic that just refuses to stay in one lane.

[Kelly:] Yeah, exactly. And that’s the part that’s so fun, because you start getting comfortable like, “Okay cool, I know the rules here,” and then the movie just yanks the floor out from under you. Weapons is basically like, “Aw, you had a theory? Cute. Anyway…”

[Ambrose:] So yeah, buckle up, because once it makes that turn, the truth behind those 17 missing kids gets way wilder, and honestly way more unsettling, than the trailers ever hinted at.

[Kelly:] It really does. And that’s what’s so nasty about it, because the trailers kind of lull you into thinking it’s one thing, and then Cregger’s like, “Nope, we’re going bigger,” and suddenly you’re stuck in the ride with no seatbelt. That’s basically the magic trick of Weapons, isn’t it?

[Ambrose:] Yep, and that’s why it works so well, because you don’t get to brace for it. You think you’re signing up for one kind of creepy, and then it pivots, and you’re like, “Oh… we’re doing this now,” and you just have to hang on.

[Kelly:] Exactly, and that wasn’t an accident either. Like, once you look into the production and the way they rolled this out, you can tell the whole marketing strategy was intentionally misleading, because they wanted you to walk in thinking you had it clocked… and then get blindsided.

[Ambrose:] And it worked. Like… aggressively.

[Kelly:] Totally. Because the movie is sprawling, almost novel-like, and it’s got all these allegories sitting right under the skin of the horror. So today, we’re basically giving you a roadmap through this thing.

[Ambrose:] Yeah, because if you just walk in and try to follow it like a normal, straight-line horror plot, you’re gonna get lost fast. So think of this less like a roadmap on a highway, and more like… a map you’d bring into a maze, because this thing is not a straight hallway.

[Kelly:] Exactly, and that’s why it hit so hard. Because if you’re even a little too comfortable, it just jumps you, and you’re like, “Wait—when did we get here?” So yeah, we’re gonna break it down in a way that shows how it basically ambushed audiences on purpose, and also how that’s the moment Cregger went from “oh, that guy made Barbarian” to “okay… this dude is officially a problem in horror.”

[Ambrose:] True. But alright, so here’s the thing. I want to start with the scale, and the pure audacity, of this project. Because Cregger’s coming off Barbarian, right? Huge success. Hollywood clout. The kind most horror directors can only dream about.

[Kelly:] Oh, it was stupid amount of clout. Like, Barbarian hit, people freaked out, and suddenly the industry was basically like, “Okay cool, here’s your budget, here’s your freedom, go be weird, we trust you.” Which is rare, but also… kind of dangerous, because now he can swing as hard as he wants.

[Ambrose:] But this wasn’t some quick follow-up, and it didn’t feel like he was cashing in. This was a pivot.

[Kelly:] Ooooh, a huge pivot. And that pivot created monster expectations. Plus, it kicked off that insane bidding war the moment the Weapons script hit the market. And you have to remember, he’d been working on this for years, even before Barbarian. When it landed, it was basically New Line versus Universal.

[Ambrose:] And they weren’t just fighting over “a horror script,” right? It was bigger than that.

[Kelly:] Yeah. They were fighting for Zach Cregger’s vision.

[Ambrose:] Exactly, and that’s why New Line winning mattered so much, because they didn’t just scoop up a scary script and call it a day. They basically came in like, “Alright, we believe in you,” not just “you’re the Barbarian guy, go make another one.” And then you see the budget and you’re like… Ooooh, their serious. Like to the tune of thirty-eight million dollars for an original horror movie. And it tells you they were betting on his voice, not just the genre.

[Kelly:] Yeah, and that’s what’s so nuts about it, because that number alone changes the conversation. Like, thirty-eight million is a huge swing for original horror, and it’s not even just the money… it’s the terms. He gets final cut, plus a guaranteed theatrical release, so it’s not like, “Good luck, we’ll dump it on streaming if it gets weird.” They basically handed him the keys and went, “Alright, don’t crash it,” but also, “We’re not grabbing the wheel from you either.” And normally, a movie this strange needs at least a little studio babysitting, but here? The freedom is exactly why it works.

[Ambrose:] That kind of trust is probably what let him lean into the weirder, more personal parts of the story. I remember him saying this one felt more like exploring his own personal stuff.

[Kelly:] Yeah, and that’s the part that clicks for me, because he wasn’t just like “let me top Barbarian with bigger scares” or whatever. It sounded more like, “Okay, if they’re actually gonna let me drive, then I’m gonna pull from my own head a little more,” you know? So instead of aiming at those big, broad social swings, he’s talking about “looking within,” and that’s probably why Weapons feels so layered. And honestly, yeah, it might get a little tonally unhinged, but in a way that feels intentional, like he finally had permission to make it “bigger and weirder” without sanding off the personal edges.

[Ambrose:] And that weirdness, unfortunately for marketing, had to be hidden.

[Kelly:] Oh, one hundred percent. The whole Weapons promo campaign is basically a carefully built Trojan horse. It’s designed to trick you.

[Ambrose:] Yeah, and you can feel how deliberate it is, because they’re not just being vague for fun. Like that whole anti-spoiler approach is intense, but it’s also super specific. They’re treating the real hook like it’s some top-secret cameo, so they’re only letting you see the “safe” version of the story. And that’s why everything in the marketing keeps orbiting the same stuff: “missing kids,” “the town spiraling,” “the community melting down,” because it’s relatable and it sells the panic… but it also keeps you looking over here while the actual movie is doing something else over there.

[Kelly:] Yes, the misdirection was deep. They built that in-universe website, maybrookmissing.net, to look like some local Pennsylvania news page.

[Ambrose:] Oh I remember that, it felt too real, but it also reminded me of what was that other movie…Oh yes, The Blair Witch Project. They did almost the same thing. But instead of hiding it they put up a website even paid the locals money to sell the story also.

[Kelly:] Yes, and that’s why that security-cam footage works so well, because it’s doing the same “this is real life” trick, just with a modern flavor. Like with Blair Witch it was websites and locals talking, and here it’s surveillance vibes, which is honestly even creepier because we’re already used to cameras everywhere. So they drop that footage and it instantly reinforces the paranoia, but also it keeps the promise you just said: it feels too real, but it still refuses to show you the actual “thing.” No big supernatural reveals, no clear answers, just enough to make you go, “Wait… what am I not seeing?”

[Ambrose:] And the trailers, too. Just elite deceptive editing. They frame it like a grounded psychological mystery.

[Kelly:] Like a witch-hunt story where the community turns on the teacher. Justine.

[Ambrose:] Right.

[Kelly:] And they cut out everything that makes the movie what it actually is. No “Amy Madigan is the villain.” No witchcraft. No possessed kids. And absolutely no mention of that insane, gory finale.

[Ambrose:] So, what your saying is. Basically they sold you a mystery box to get you in the door.

[Kelly:] Exactly. Then they ambush you halfway through with this high-concept supernatural horror epic. And that tonal whiplash is the whole experience. The movie’s real identity is basically a dark fairy tale.

[Ambrose:] Yeah, and that’s why the setup has to be so grounded at first, because it’s basically the bait before the fairy tale teeth come out. So we start in Maybrook, Pennsylvania, this fictional Rust Belt town that already feels a little worn-in and believable, right?

[Kelly:] Yup.

[Ambrose:] And then they hit you with the cleanest, meanest hook imaginable: seventeen kids from one third-grade class just vanish at the exact same time. Like, no gradual build, no “one kid goes missing”… it’s everybody. And the detail of it being 2:17 a.m.? That’s the kind of oddly specific timestamp that makes it feel almost rude, because it’s so simple and so eerie, and you instantly go, “Okay… what kind of story does this turn into?”

[Kelly:] Exactly, because that precision isn’t just a creepy little detail, it’s basically the movie winking at you like, “Hey, pay attention.” Like, random tragedies are messy, but this feels scheduled. So when you hear “seventeen kids” and “2:17 a.m.” you immediately get that little alarm-bell feeling, because it’s too exact to be normal. And that’s why it’s the first clue, because it tells you right away this isn’t just a missing persons story… something is operating with rules.

[Ambrose:] And 2:17 a.m. becomes this anchor point for the entire story. But the meaning isn’t straightforward, it’s layered.

[Kelly:] Deeply layered. It’s literally the time they run from their homes, sure, but the number itself, and the way the incident is structured, becomes the foundation for this almost academic construction. It’s like the movie is quietly telling you, “Nothing here is an accident.”

[Ambrose:] Which brings us to the structure. People keep praising Weapons for that novelistic ensemble approach, and it doesn’t feel like he pulled that from modern horror as much as film history.

[Kelly:] Totally. He’s been really open about the influences. He cites Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia constantly.

[Ambrose:] Yeah, and now that you say it, it’s hard not to see it. Because it’s not like a “oh, the camera moves kind of like PTA” thing, it’s more the whole vibe of this big, messy web where everyone’s connected and everybody’s carrying something. And Magnolia is basically the gold standard for that “multiple lives colliding while the pressure keeps building” energy, so if he’s shouting it out constantly, then yeah… that makes sense. Like, you can feel the ambition in it already, and also that “this is gonna sprawl, on purpose” feeling.

[Kelly:] Exactly, and it’s not just PTA either, because you can hear the Robert Altman obsession in there too. Like Short Cuts, like Nashville… that whole “it’s an ensemble, but it’s also a whole ecosystem” thing. And that’s why when he says he wanted to make a horror epic, I’m like, okay, I get what you mean now. Because the audacity of Magnolia isn’t just that it’s long or ambitious, it’s that it’s juggling all these characters and tones at once, and it doesn’t apologize for it. So you’ll be in something that’s sad, then it’s funny, and then it’s horrifying, and it’s all in the same breath… and that’s the exact kind of sprawl you’re talking about, just aimed straight at horror.

[Ambrose:] Ok, so that gave him permission to go bigger. Right?

[Kelly:] Precisely. To capture that Altman-esque energy, you have to embrace a complex, interwoven design. The scale isn't found in the production value, but in the structure itself. You know, like a web where the audience constantly hops between perspectives. The chapter format serves as a necessary guide, establishing distinct 'lanes' for characters like Justine and Archer before their stories inevitably intersect. It’s an intentional widening of the lens that manages to expand the world without losing its intimate, personal core.

[Ambrose:] Right. And that’s why it feels so much like playing jenga, but in reverse." Because when you’ve got all these separate lanes for the characters, it feels like you’re stacking these isolated blocks higher and higher, but as the lens widens, you realize they’re all leaning toward each other. So, by the time those stories finally collide, it doesn’t feel like a collapse; it feels like the only way the whole thing could actually stay standing.

[Kelly:] Yeah, exactly, and it fits so perfectly because the story doesn’t even try to start "clean." Instead, it starts with all these scattered pieces left over from the disaster, and then it’s just this slow, methodical process of rebuilding the tower—piece by piece, character by character. So, by the time we get to the final chapter, you’re not just looking at a pile of plot points anymore; you’re looking at this massive, fragile structure where you finally see how every single person was actually holding the other one up.

[Ambrose:] …you finally see the rot at the center.

[Kelly:] Right, Gladys is the physical embodiment of that. But the trick is, she only appears once the structural 'tower' of Maybrook is fully built. It’s effective because the tension relies so heavily on what the movie isn't showing us yet. And honestly, it makes sense when you realize Zach Cregger actually wrote the script without a strict outline—he just let the story branch out and evolve naturally, so we’re basically discovering that rot at the exact same pace he did.

[Ambrose:] Really now…So for the first half, the goal is basically to keep us guessing what this even is.

[Kelly:] Right. Is it mass kidnapping? Is it contagion? Or is it a psychological thriller?

[Ambrose:] And then, boom, midpoint. James breaks into the house, and the movie pivots on a dime into the supernatural.

[Kelly:] Oh, totally, and that pivot works so well because the visual style is just as aggressive as the plot. See, the cinematographer, Larkin Seiple, mentioned that Cregger was actually brutal when it came to coverage. Like, they leaned into these really hard cuts and avoided establishing shots unless they were 100% necessary, which is why it feels so relentless and it’s basically dizziness on purpose. But the wild part is that even though it feels chaotic, every single frame was photoboarded in pre-production. So, even with a huge ensemble and all those moving parts, they knew exactly where they were going visually. There’s just no wasted time at all.

[Ambrose:] Okay, let’s circle back to 2:17, for a minute because the amount of meaning he packs into those three digits is kinda insane. It’s like a Rorschach test for the audience.

[Kelly:] Oh, it absolutely is, and because it’s so heavily coded, you’ve got people seeing completely different things in it. But, you know, it’s funny because the most obvious interpretation that the fans latched onto right away—and the one you see everywhere online—is the classroom ratio theory. Basically, they’re looking at those numbers as a direct link back to the school setting, so even if it’s just a timestamp or a room number on the surface, the audience is already connecting it to the larger trauma of the characters.

[Ambrose:] Right. Seventeen kids missing, and two people from…

[Kelly:] …the class are left. Alex and Ms. Gandy. Two-one-seven. It’s almost too perfect.

[Ambrose:] Then you’ve got the cinematic nod, which Cregger confirmed, the Shining reference.

[Kelly:] Yeah, exactly, and it’s such a cool deep-cut for horror fans because while everyone recognizes Room 237 from the Kubrick movie, Room 217 is actually the original number from the Stephen King novel. So, by using 217, Cregger is basically planting his flag in that classic horror history. And it’s not just a throwaway reference either, because it sets the stage for that direct visual nod we get later with Alex’s mom, which really cements the whole connection.

[Ambrose:] It really does, and it’s wild how he layers it because once you move past that literary stuff, it actually goes even deeper with the biblical connection. Like, if you look at the 2:17 timestamp or even just the chapter markers, a lot of people are pointing to specific verses that deal with secrets being revealed or the idea of "the rot" finally coming to the surface. So, it’s like he’s using that one number to bridge the gap between classic slasher vibes and this much heavier, almost spiritual sense of dread.

[Kelly:] Right, and that is where it gets really wild, because when you actually dig into that Matthew 2:17 reference, you are looking at the Massacre of the Innocents. It is that specific verse about weeping and great mourning where the children are described as being no more, and honestly, it fits so well with that sense of mass grief we have been seeing throughout the film. It is especially poignant with how Alex is left behind in the middle of all that trauma, so it feels like Cregger isn’t just giving us a spooky number; he is using it to bake the entire tragedy of Maybrook right into the DNA of the movie itself.

[Ambrose:] And that is exactly the thing, because when you strip everything else away, that theme of lost children is basically the emotional core of the entire story. I mean, it is the one thing that connects every single one of those messy, branching paths we talked about earlier. So, having that biblical tie-in just reinforces the idea that this isn't just a horror movie about a monster in the dark; it is a horror movie about the actual, lingering grief of a community that has lost its future.

[Kelly:] Oh, it really is, and if you want to talk about that future being lost, the irony here is just absolutely brutal. Because, think about it—Archer’s missing son, the one whose disappearance basically kicks off his entire downward spiral, is named Matthew. So, you have this literal Matthew 2:17 connection sitting right there in the character’s name the whole time. It is like Cregger is hiding the answer in plain sight, and it just reinforces that idea that the grief isn't just a background detail; it is the naming convention for the entire tragedy.

[Ambrose:] Man, when you put it like that, it is just incredibly dense with meaning. I mean, you are layering the personal tragedy of Archer with this massive biblical weight and a cinematic history nod all at once. It is brilliant, but it actually makes me wonder if Cregger is risking it being a little too coded for the casual viewer? Like, if you are just there for the scares and you do not catch any of those breadcrumbs, do you think the movie still carries that same punch, or does it start to feel a bit too much like an inside secret?

[Kelly:] You know, it is a huge risk for sure, but I think the reason it still works is because the final act is just so visceral. Like, it gets so intense and chaotic that it kind of smooths over all that academic layering, mostly because as a viewer, you are just too busy going, wait, what is even happening right now? So, even if you miss every single one of those deeper subtextual clues, you are still getting hit with that pure adrenaline that makes a horror movie great. But honestly, there is still one more layer to this that feels really personal, and it actually ties right back to his roots in comedy, which might be the secret to why he is able to balance all these heavy themes without the movie collapsing under its own weight.

[Ambrose:] Ooooh right, you are talking about The Whitest Kids U’ Know.

[Kelly:] Yes.

[Ambrose:] And I do have to say just how clear that sketch background influenced his directing style. Because when you really break it down, a good comedy sketch and a good horror scene both rely on that same sense of timing and misdirection. So, while we are looking at these really heavy, academic layers, he is using his instincts for the absurd to manage the rhythm of the film. It is almost like he treats the horror beats like a punchline, and that is why the movie does not collapse under its own weight—he knows exactly how long to hold the tension before he gives the audience that release, even if it is a scream instead of a laugh.

[Kelly:] That is such a great point, and it actually leads into what might be the most emotional layer of all, because you cannot really talk about that sketch background without thinking of his late partner, Trevor Moore, who passed away back in 2021. So, when you look at the timing of the production and hear Cregger talk about processing his own personal trauma, a lot of people have started to think that the 2:17 reference could actually be his way of embedding Trevor’s memory directly into the DNA of the movie. It feels like a private tribute hidden inside all that chaos, and it adds this incredibly heavy, bittersweet weight to the idea that he is using the very same timing they perfected together to tell this story.

[Ambrose:] It really does. I mean, if you step back and look at it, it is honestly kind of mind-blowing because that means one single number is pulling so much weight. It is a timestamp, a classroom ratio, a biblical reference, and a classic horror homage, but then you add this deeply personal tribute to a lost friend on top of all that. It is just incredible how much intent is packed into such a tiny detail, and it really changes how you view those recurring 2:17 moments throughout the film.

[Kelly:] Yeah, exactly, and it just goes to show that there really is no wasted space in this script at all. I mean, it is like he took all of those different layers of grief and influence and just compressed them into this one specific motif. So, even if the audience does not consciously catch every single meaning, you still feel that weight and that history behind it, which is probably why the movie feels so much more grounded and intentional than your average studio horror flick.

[Ambrose:] I totally agree, and honestly, that sense of intentionality is the perfect bridge into the messy part of the conversation, which is the whole allegory debate. Because, man, as soon as this movie actually hit theaters, the discussion just completely fractured. It was like everyone was seeing a different movie, and it leaves us with that huge, lingering question: what does all of this actually mean?

[Kelly:] It really did split the audience, and I think that is because the layers are so dense that you can justify a few different readings. But, you know, if we are going to dive into it, we have to start with what is probably the most powerful and devastating interpretation, which is the school-shooting trauma allegory. When you look at the film through that lens, all those character threads about the teacher, the principal, and the kid left behind start to feel like a very specific, very raw exploration of how a community survives that kind of collective violence.

[Ambrose:] It is honestly hard not to see it once you start looking, because that lens really recontextualizes every single interaction in the movie. I mean, when you think about the way the characters are constantly looking over their shoulders or how the setting of Maybrook feels so hollowed out, it stops being just a typical horror trope and starts feeling like a reflection of real-world hyper-vigilance. So, while it is incredibly heavy to engage with, it actually gives so much more weight to the performances because you realize they aren't just running from a monster; they are trying to process a tragedy that has already fundamentally broken their world.

[Kelly:] Exactly, it is almost impossible to ignore once you start noticing the recurring imagery. I mean, just look at that one specific classroom with the empty desks; it creates this overwhelming sense of sudden, mass loss that feels so grounded in reality. When you pair that with the massacre-of-the-innocents reference we talked about earlier, it really starts to feel like the movie is demanding you to make that connection. And then, of course, you have what is probably the most unforgettable image in the entire film, which is Archer’s dream sequence, because that is where the metaphor finally stops being subtle and just hits you right in the chest.

[Ambrose:] Oh, man, that image is exactly what I was thinking of, too, because that shot of the giant AR-15 just floating silently over the suburbs is absolutely haunting. It is honestly so terrifying precisely because it is so abstract; I mean, it just hangs there in the sky like this permanent shadow over the neighborhood. And it really drives home that idea of collective trauma, because it shows that even in their quietest, most private moments, this engine of violence is just looming over them, waiting, and they can never truly look away from it.

[Kelly:] Right. It’s the perfect symbol of that hovering, unspoken threat of violence in American life. So a lot of critics read the supernatural as a way to explore the feeling of a school shooting: the sudden violation, the chaos, the shattered parents demanding answers, the search for an…

[Ambrose:] …enemy you can’t find.

[Kelly:] Right. But, and this is a big “but,” Cregger denied it. He said the film isn’t about school shootings, and he doesn’t even fully understand the floating-gun image himself.

[Ambrose:] Which pushes you toward hidden number two: abuse and addiction.

[Kelly:] And this is where the personal trauma reads the loudest. Alex’s storyline, the kid forced into caretaking after Aunt Gladys shows up, that comes directly from Cregger’s own experiences with family addiction.

[Ambrose:] Yeah, so if you look at it through that lens, then Gladys doesn’t even have to be a literal witch or whatever. She can still be scary in the story, but the real point is what she represents. Like, she’s not just a monster that shows up, she’s the addiction itself showing up in the house and taking over.

[Kelly:] Exactly, because she’s basically the thing that moves in and starts feeding on the whole family. And it doesn’t just hurt one person, it spreads, and it rewires everything. So the parents are technically still alive and walking around, but they’re hollowed out, and they’re kind of zombie-like, because emotionally they’re gone. And then Alex is stuck in that nightmare, trying to keep the wheels on, because somebody has to, even though he’s a kid and he never should’ve had to.

[Ambrose:] That is such a heartbreaking way to look at it, and it really explains why we see Alex essentially becoming the parent in that house. I mean, he is the one feeding them soup and literally running the household while they are just staring into space. It is that incredibly brutal role reversal you see in addict households, where the child is forced to grow up overnight just to survive the chaos. So, in that context, the monster isn't just a creature; it is a stand-in for that heavy, crushing responsibility that should never be on a kid's shoulders in the first place.

[Kelly:] And then you’ve got all the parasite stuff in the classroom. Lessons on tapeworms and cordyceps, fungi all over the chalkboards. It all points back to Gladys’s magical vampirism as a metaphor for addiction draining the life out of a family.

[Ambrose:] That’s such a smart way to use genre to talk about domestic pain. Okay, so what about the third reading, the one you called the coldest?

[Kelly:] Right, and this is the one that really stays with you because it is so cynical. Basically, it is the idea of a gerontocracy, or more simply, intergenerational theft. Now, gerontocracy is just a fancy way of saying a society ruled by the old, but in the context of this movie, it becomes a much darker critique. It is looking at a system where the older generation essentially preys on the young to sustain themselves. So, instead of passing down a better world, they are literally consuming the resources and the future of the children just to keep their own power or comfort alive for a little while longer. It is a really cold, systemic way to look at the horror, but when you see how the characters are treated, it starts to make a lot of sense.

[Ambrose:] And Gladys does that literally.

[Kelly:] Literally. She’s this ancient thing feeding on the life force and innocence of children to cure her own sickness and reverse aging. It’s a brutal, literal metaphor for an older generation cannibalizing the future to maintain comfort.

[Ambrose:] So the kids aren’t just victims, they’re fuel. That lands hard when you think about modern politics or economics.

[Kelly:] It does. And the ritual is the engine for all three readings. It strips kids of agency, trauma. It hollows out parents, addiction. And it feeds the old at the expense of the young, gerontocracy. It’s nasty, but it’s sharp screenwriting.

[Ambrose:] It really is, and that is honestly the perfect bridge into why the title Weapons feels so deliberate. Because, if you think about it, there is this huge double meaning at play there. I mean, sure, it refers to the magic and the physical threats, but it is also a nod to how the community itself is being sharpened and used against its own people. So, looking at those three layers of the ritual you just laid out, who do you think actually becomes the first metaphorical weapon in Maybrook?

[Kelly:] Well, for me, I think it all starts with the community’s paranoia itself, because that is the thing that actually primes everyone to turn on each other. And honestly, the first person who really gets caught in those crosshairs is the teacher, Justine Gandy who’s played by Julia Garner. It is just so heartbreaking because the movie basically sets her up to be the perfect scapegoat, so even before the supernatural stuff kicks in, she is already being dismantled by the people around her. It really drives home that idea that you do not need a magical blade to be a weapon; you just need a town full of people who are looking for someone to blame.

[Ambrose:] Right, and that makes so much sense when you think about it because she is essentially the common link for every bit of the tension in that town. I mean, it is her classroom where those empty desks are, and it is her students who are going missing, so she becomes this easy focal point for all that collective anger. It is like the community needs her to be guilty just so they have a physical place to put their fear, and because she is right there at the center of their children's lives, she is the easiest target to pick apart before they even realize what is actually happening.

[Kelly:] Exactly. And when a town is facing something impossible, they want a boogeyman they can point at. She gets put on leave, turned into a pariah, because she was “supposed” to keep those kids safe.

[Ambrose:] And the irony is brutal.

[Kelly:] It really is, and honestly, it is because the town basically starts this metaphorical witch hunt where they just weaponize every single one of her vulnerabilities. Like, you have her history with alcohol or the fact that she sometimes oversteps professional boundaries, but the real irony is that she is usually doing it out of pure compassion. So, when she is hugging students or driving them home because they clearly need help, those kind of moves get twisted into this dark suspicion. It is like the community takes her biggest strengths as a caregiver and uses them to build their case against her, which is just devastating to watch.

[Ambrose:] Yeah, and it is like those exact moments of empathy get reframed into this idea that she must be hiding something, simply because people are so scared that they cannot see kindness for what it is anymore. So, instead of seeing a teacher who is actually trying to help, they just see a potential threat, and that collective fear just completely blinds them to the truth of who she is as a person. It is such a dark reflection of how quickly a community can turn on someone the second they feel vulnerable themselves.

[Kelly:] Exactly. They paint “witch” on her car with Archer’s red paint, while the literal witch, Gladys, is hiding in plain sight as this harmless old lady.

[Ambrose:] So the movie’s critiquing moral panic. Trauma makes you go after the easy target while the real evil just keeps festering.

[Kelly:] Perfectly put. It weaponizes the community against itself.

[Ambrose:] Then you’ve got Archer Graf, played by Josh Brolin. His performance got so much acclaim. And I read Brolin said the reception was second only to Endgame for him, which is a wild flex.

[Kelly:] That’s huge. And Archer is basically the violent face of parental grief. That paranoid, masculine response to loss. He channels sorrow into investigation. Obsessively watching Ring doorbell footage, using surveillance tech to feed rage. Which ties right into that theme, surveillance becomes fixation, not protection.

[Ambrose:] And he’s flawed. Not some saint dad. He’s the one vandalizing Justine’s car. He’s the town’s rage made into a person.

[Kelly:] He really is, and honestly, that rage is just such a direct symptom of how he is breaking down inside. It is like he takes all that absolute powerlessness he feels about his son and just turns it into this external aggression because he simply cannot handle being that helpless. And what is so cool is that even the cinematography supports that internal shift, because his chapter is initially shot in this really static, suffocating way to mirror his depression. But then, as soon as he thinks he finally has a lead or a way to find his son, the camera starts moving, and suddenly everything gets frantic and kinetic, which perfectly captures that desperate, dangerous energy he is putting off.

[Ambrose:] And then there’s James, the local addict and burglar, played by Austin Abrams. He’s the chaos agent who accidentally cracks the whole thing open.

[Kelly:] Oh, for sure, and I mean, James is basically that classic fool character who just wanders into the dragon’s lair entirely by mistake. Like, he isn't some hero trying to save the day or even a detective; he is literally just trying to steal enough stuff to get by, but then he stumbles into that basement and sees them—the seventeen missing kids. And it is so intense because his reaction is what finally breaks the seal on the town's secret, so even though he is this mess of a human, he ends up being the catalyst for everything that follows because he just can't look away from what he found.

[Ambrose:] Exactly, and it is just such a haunting image because it is not just that he finds them, it is the state they are in—just these seventeen catatonic kids sitting there in the basement. I mean, they are physically there, but they are clearly mentally and spiritually gone, which just adds this whole other layer of horror to what he has stumbled into. And because James is already someone living on the fringes of society, seeing that absolute void in those children is what finally snaps him out of his own loop and forces him to actually do something, even if he is the last person you would expect to be the town's wake-up call.

[Kelly:] And that’s the audience’s first real “answer.” He shows us the where, but he still has no clue how or why.

[Ambrose:] And his scenes are crucial for the red herring, too. The idea that this might be contagion-based.

[Kelly:] Oh, it is such an essential bit of misdirection, and I think that is why it works so well. I mean, when you see the used needles and then that absolutely brutal moment where Paul gets stabbed in the face with one, your brain just immediately goes to drugs or a virus or something biological. So, by the time the movie pivots to the ritualistic stuff, you have already been primed to look for a completely different kind of monster, which just makes the actual reveal hit that much harder.

[Ambrose:] And paired with the parasite lessons, it keeps…

[Kelly:] …your brain in “science explanation mode,” right up until the movie pivots into pure magic.

[Ambrose:] And speaking of that pivot to magic, we absolutely have to talk about that Willow Easter egg, because it is such a clever nod to where the story is actually going. I mean, when James is in the middle of breaking in and he finds that Willow DVD and makes a comment on it, most people probably just take it as a quick joke or a pop culture reference. But, since Willow is essentially the quintessential movie about high fantasy and magic, it is actually Cregger winking at the audience and telling us exactly what kind of world we are really in, long before the supernatural elements fully take over.

[Kelly:] Oh for sure, and it is honestly just spectacular foreshadowing when you think about it. I mean, Willow is the ultimate classic for that kind of old-school fantasy magic and those dark rituals, so having James find that DVD is basically the movie’s way of whispering to the audience, "Hey, just a heads up, this is what you are actually watching." And because we are so focused on the gritty, realistic horror at that point, we just brush it off as a funny moment, but it is actually the key to everything that is about to go down.

[Ambrose:] Ooooh, the blood on a stick.

[Kelly:] Yes. The blood on a stick. Or a wand. It’s Cregger winking at you. Like, yes, deep down this is fantasy disguised as a mystery.

[Ambrose:] And the ensemble is phenomenal. They’re the anchors that keep you grounded while the story goes fully off the rails.

[Kelly:] Oh, absolutely, and I think it is because they carry that specific kind of dramatic weight you really need to sell such a strange mix of dark comedy and genuine grief. I mean, if they did not play these roles completely straight, the whole movie would probably just collapse under the weight of its own weirdness, but instead, they give you something to hold onto. So, even when the plot is getting totally bizarre or moving into that high-fantasy territory we talked about, you are still emotionally invested in their struggle because their performances feel so raw and believable.

[Ambrose:] Oh right, and since those actors are doing such heavy lifting to keep us grounded, it really lets the technical craft of the movie take center stage without feeling too detached from reality. So, I think it is the perfect time to switch gears and dive into the aesthetic of this film, because the look, the sound, and the general atmosphere are just so specific. Honestly, it feels kind of sick in the most literal sense of the word, like the movie itself has a fever, and because the performances are so raw, you really feel that physical, oppressive weight in every single frame.

[Kelly:] You are so right about that feverish vibe, and it actually starts with how they handled the setting, even though they ran into a big logistical issue right away. See, the story is set in Maybrook, Pennsylvania, and it is supposed to feel like this dreary, depressed Rust Belt town, but creating that specific look of decay while keeping it cinematic is a tough balance to strike. So, they leaned into those muted, washed-out colors and a lot of natural, cold lighting to really sell that atmosphere you mentioned. It makes the environment feel just as exhausted and sick as the characters themselves, so by the time the more surreal elements kick in, the audience is already primed to feel like the ground beneath them is rotting.

[Ambrose:] But the really wild part about that is they did not even shoot in Pennsylvania, because they actually filmed the entire movie down in Georgia. So, while it looks like this cold and damp Northeast town on screen, they were actually dealing with a completely different climate altogether, which makes that achievement in color grading even more impressive.

[Kelly:] Yeah, exactly, and they were basically in Atlanta during a brutally humid summer, filming in places like Tucker and Covington. It is honestly such a testament to the production design and the lighting team, because you would never guess they were probably sweating through those scenes. I mean, they managed to make that sweltering Southern heat look like a gray, shivering day in the Rust Belt, and that contrast actually helps that fever-dream feeling because something about the light just feels slightly off and unnatural.

[Ambrose:] Well, and that is why the technical side is so impressive, because they originally wanted to shoot during the dead of winter to get that naturally bleak, overcast vibe where the town itself just feels totally exhausted. But since the production schedule shifted them into that Georgia sun, they had to basically manufacture that sense of coldness through the lens. I think that actually adds to that sick feeling you mentioned, because you can almost feel the film itself fighting against the natural environment to maintain that oppressive, shivering atmosphere.

[Kelly:] Yeah, but delays forced the pivot, and that pivot created the movie’s signature look.

[Ambrose:] Exactly, and that is how we ended up with what I can only describe as melancholy sunshine. It is such a strange visual choice because even though the scenes are technically bright, they still feel incredibly heavy and somber. It is like the sun is out, but there is absolutely no warmth coming from it, which just adds to that feeling of isolation.

[Kelly:] Right, melancholy sunshine is the perfect way to put it. Because instead of hiding all the horror in the shadows like a traditional slasher, they actually embrace that bright, high-contrast Georgia sun hitting these perfect suburban lawns, and it creates this really unsettling dissonance. It is almost like the light is too bright and it is exposing things that were never meant to be seen, so as a viewer, you feel exposed and vulnerable even though it is broad daylight. It really drives home the idea that the rot in this town is not something that only comes out at night; it is there in plain sight, just baked into the scenery.

[Ambrose:] Right. The horror is out in the open. Like, you can’t even squint your way out of it.

[Kelly:] Exactly, and that is what makes it so effective because so much of the violence happens right there in broad daylight. I mean, you have scenes like the vandalized car or even just that hot dog lunch where the sun is technically shining, but the overall feeling is still just pure dread. So, it really feels like the rot has completely taken over the normal world, and there is nowhere left to hide, not even in the middle of a bright afternoon.

[Ambrose:] Okay, so how did they get that look, technically?

[Kelly:] Well, they were really deliberate with it, and honestly, it all comes down to how they manipulated those bright environments. They used a lot of muted colors and specifically softened all the highlights, so even in that bright Georgia light, everything feels malicious rather than inviting. But the real technical secret is that they used a film stock called Premier, which is known for its sharpness, and then they combined it with this specific ENR process during the development phase. Basically, ENR is a chemical film process that crushes the saturation and deepens the blacks, which is what gives the movie that incredibly gritty, desaturated look. And because it messes with the color balance, it makes the skin tones look slightly off, so the people on screen feel less like real humans and more like they are physically sick, which fits that whole atmosphere we were talking about perfectly.

[Ambrose:] That is such a cool breakdown, and it really explains why the movie feels so incredibly oppressive even when it is technically a sunny day outside. It is like the environment itself is just totally drained of its life force. But then, what is really interesting is how Cregger handled the night scenes, because he actually wanted the complete opposite of that washed-out look. Instead of using those typical cinematic blue filters where you can still see everything in the background, he pushed for this sense of true darkness. So, the shadows feel almost solid and heavy, and it forces the audience to feel just as trapped and blind as the characters, which makes the transition from that sickly daylight into the night feel even more jarring.

[Kelly:] Exactly, and that is such a great way to put it because his specific direction to the colorist was basically, I do not want them to know, I want them to be afraid. So, he purposefully strips away that visibility just to disorient you as much as possible. Instead of having those typical movie nights where everything is still somewhat visible, these night scenes are just full of silhouettes and vague shapes and a total absence of detail. It is really effective because it forces your imagination to fill in those black gaps with something far worse than what you might actually see on screen.

[Ambrose:] Like that scare with Justine in the…

[Kelly:] …car with Alex’s mom. You can’t really see her until she’s right there at the window. It’s classic, but it’s executed perfectly.

[Ambrose:] And the soundscape is doing just as much work, because the movie’s jumping tones constantly.

[Kelly:] Oh defiantly. The score, which Cregger co-composed, sets up this fairy-tale motif. You get that “heart” motif right away, then it runs through the cold open and Alex’s chapter. It gives you subconscious permission to accept the insanity and the magic.

[Ambrose:] And It also frames it like a twisted bedtime…

[Kelly:] …story told by a kid. Yeah. But then when violence hits, that gentle music disappears.

[Ambrose:] And it gets replaced by something totally percussive.

[Kelly:] Right. Like for instance the gas station attack, they use yugetsu, those Japanese sticks. It’s sharp rhythmic clacking. No melody, just dread. Cregger said it was like injecting crystal meth into it.

[Ambrose:] I mean, that is a completely unhinged sentence for a director to say, but also, to be honest, it is exactly how that sequence feels when you are actually watching it. Because that clacking is just so frantic and sharp that it basically bypasses your brain and goes straight for your nervous system, and so it really does feel like this shot of jagged adrenaline that keeps you on edge. It is just such a bold choice because it ditches a typical melody for something that feels much more physical and intrusive, which perfectly matches that chaotic energy he was going for.

[Kelly:] And the sound team is sneaky. They layer these deep doom sounds under normal ambience, like cicadas. So you feel tension without realizing why.

[Ambrose:] And for the final attack on Gladys…

[Kelly:] They created what they called the “whale from hell” sound. A degraded slow sample paired with squelching, tearing noises. It makes the supernatural violence feel horrifyingly physical.

[Ambrose:] It really does, and honestly, having that level of visceral, physical discomfort in the audio is exactly what you need to prime the audience for how dark the story is actually going to get. Because once you are already feeling that sense of repulsion from the sound alone, it sets the stage perfectly for the big reveal where we finally see that Gladys has been the villain this whole time. It makes her transition from a seemingly normal person into this source of absolute horror feel so much more earned, because the movie has already been attacking your senses before she even makes her move.

[Kelly:] Oh, absolutely, and speaking of that transition, we have to talk about Amy Madigan because her performance as Gladys is honestly maybe the most universally praised part of the whole movie. Like, people are already starting the awards talk and calling it that instantly iconic type of energy, which I totally see. I mean, Cregger even went on record saying that she basically saved the film, and when you see how she anchors that pivot from a grounded mystery into this full-blown supernatural horror, it is really easy to understand why he felt that way.

[Ambrose:] Well, and I think she works so well specifically because she starts out feeling so incredibly mundane, you know? Like, she gives off this very specific vibe of just being a frail and maybe a little bit of an odd elderly aunt, so you never really suspect she is actually the engine behind all of this absolute terror. It is that classic subversion where the person who looks the most vulnerable ends up being the most dangerous, and because Madigan plays that initial quietness so perfectly, it makes the later reveals hit like a freight train.

[Kelly:] It really is the perfect disguise, and it is just so eerie because once you realize that things like the ill-fitting wig and those big glasses are just a facade, you start to see the withered husk that is actually hiding underneath. And honestly, it loops right back to that whole gerontocracy theme we were talking about earlier, because she is quite literally feeding on the young just to keep herself alive. It turns that innocent grandma image into something predatory, and because she looks like someone you should be helping rather than running from, it makes her the ultimate weapon for that community's ritual.

[Ambrose:] And I love this detail, Cregger gave Madigan two origin stories, and he never told her which one was “the real one.”

[Kelly:] Which just adds mystery. Like option one, she was a normal person who used dark magic to cure a terminal illness, like tuberculosis, back in the 17th century.

[Ambrose:] Ahhh. The Salem connection.

[Kelly:] Right. Or option two, she’s not human at all. She’s an ancient parasitic entity that’s been mimicking humans for centuries, learning language by, well… eating us.

[Ambrose:] Either way, the parasitic nature is foreshadowed everywhere. Tapeworms, cordyceps.

[Kelly:] And it all points back to magical vampirism. Her original plan is to bewitch Alex’s parents, turn them into a food source, but they aren’t enough. She needs the pure life force of children.

[Ambrose:] Exactly, and that is actually why understanding those ritual mechanics is so important, because the way she uses that magic essentially creates the rules for her own downfall. I mean, the whole idea of the weaponizing spell matters so much more than just being a cool visual, because it is ultimately the only reason Alex stands a chance. Since she has built this entire system around turning people into tools for her own survival, it sets up this perfect, ironic moment where Alex is able to flip that magic back on her and use those very same rules to finally beat her at her own game.

[Kelly:]Yeah, and honestly, the magic system is actually surprisingly simple once you break it down, but it is just so incredibly specific. There are basically four things you need to make it work. First, you have to have a stick or a wand, and then you need her blood to actually activate the whole thing. But then it gets really dark because you also need a possession from the person you want to turn into a weapon—like a kid’s name tag—and then a possession from the victim you want that weapon to target, like a lock of hair. Once you have all those pieces in place, you just snap the stick, and that weapon essentially becomes a heat-seeking missile that is completely locked onto the target until it finishes the job. It is just such a brutal, efficient way to handle a curse, and it explains why Alex is able to turn the tables so effectively at the end.

[Ambrose:] Exactly, and that is just such a textbook example of dark sympathetic magic, because it is all about that concept of linking people together through these personal objects to create an inescapable connection. I mean, it is just so satisfying to see Alex realize that he can actually use those exact rules to his advantage, so instead of just being another victim in her game, he actually becomes the hero by essentially hacking the system Gladys built. Because he understands that the magic is just a tool, he is finally able to redirect all that built-up malice right back at the source, and that makes for such a powerful and earned ending for his character.

[Kelly:] And that is exactly what happens in the climax, because Alex suddenly realizes that since he was the one who helped her gather those name tags, he already has one half of the link ready to go. So, he manages to grab her ritual stick, but then he makes this desperate and honestly brilliant move where he rips that wig right off her head and finds strands of her real hair caught underneath. Since he already has her blood on the stick from the struggle, he finally has every single piece he needs to complete the circuit and point that heat-seeking missile we talked about directly at her.

[Ambrose:] It is such a satisfying reversal, because he is literally using her own rules to destroy her. I mean, by finding that hair, he is able to cast the spell with her as the intended target, which is just the ultimate irony. He basically hacks her own dark magic in real-time, and it turns the entire climax from a story about a kid being hunted into a story about a kid who finally finds a way to fight back on the exact same level as the monster.

[Kelly:] Right, by putting her hair in the victim slot, so Gladys becomes the target for the 17 children already bound as the weapons. The second the spell flips, her hold breaks.

[Ambrose:] And that leads to one of the most chaotic modern-horror moments. The kids become the final weapon.

[Kelly:] Oh, totally, and it is such a wild sequence because it manages to be incredibly grisly while still having this weirdly dark, almost pitch-black sense of humor about it. I mean, once that connection is made, the kids just swarm her and start chasing her through the neighborhood, and the way it is filmed in that long tracking shot is just so effective because it makes you feel like you are right there in the middle of all that panic. It is honestly just pure terror to watch, especially when they finally catch her and literally tear her apart. It is such a visceral way to end that threat, and it really drives home that idea of the younger generation finally having enough and turning that corruption right back on the source.

[Ambrose:] Yeah, they literally tear her apart limb from limb, and she just ends up as this greasy, grassy puddle of guts right there in the middle of suburbia. And honestly, even though it is incredibly graphic, it feels like such a necessary, explosive payoff after all that building dread we have been discussing. It is like the physical rot and that sickly feeling we mentioned earlier finally just erupts on screen, I mean, seeing those kids finally take their power back in such a brutal and final way is just the perfect, twisted exclamation point for the whole story, because it gives the audience that sense of cathartic release after all that building tension.

[Kelly:] For sure, and I think that catharsis is so effective because, the way the script frames it, it is really the ultimate weaponization of innocence when you think about it. I mean, it is just so dark because those kids essentially have to corrupt themselves just to finally defeat that old evil that was eating away at them, so it is this incredibly bittersweet victory in the end. So, while you are definitely cheering for them, you also realize that they had to leave their childhood behind to survive, and that just adds another layer to that twisted exclamation point you mentioned.

[Ambrose:] I totally agree, and honestly, that sense of a permanent loss of innocence is what makes the ending feel so heavy even though they actually won. But it is also really interesting how that weight is built up through the visuals, because right before that whole sequence really kicks into high gear, we get one last Shining homage that feels like a deliberate nod to that classic feeling of being trapped and isolated. It is like Cregger is tipping his hat to the history of the genre one more time, using that iconic imagery to signal that there is absolutely no turning back for these characters now.

[Kelly:] Oh, you mean that bathroom scene, right? Because it is just so spot on and honestly pretty terrifying, especially since it happens right in the middle of all that chaos. I mean, Alex’s mom is still totally under Gladys’s control at that point, and when she starts banging her head through that bathroom door, it is just this perfect visual echo of the iconic "Here’s Johnny" moment from The Shining. It is one of those classic Cregger moves where he injects this bit of really dark humor right into the middle of a high-terror situation, and it just makes the whole scene feel even more unhinged because you are not sure if you should be laughing or just completely horrified.

[Ambrose:] Okay. After all that, we’ve got to talk about the ending, which might just be the most shocking part of the whole movie. And not because of the gore, but because of what Cregger almost did. Plus let’s compare what audiences saw versus what he originally wanted.

[Kelly:] Oh, for sure, because the ending is easily the most divisive part of the entire film, and it is really fascinating to look at why that is. I mean, it is such a specific choice, but when you find out the history of the production, you realize that Cregger’s original director’s cut was actually way, way...

[Ambrose:] ...so much bleaker and just way more ambiguous than the version we actually ended up with. It really changes your perspective on the whole journey when you realize that he was initially leaning into an even darker conclusion, which is wild to think about considering how intense the rest of the movie already is.

[Kelly:] Oh, absolutely, and it was honestly so much more than just a little darker. I mean, instead of the resolution we got, that version just cut to black on this completely silent shot of Archer’s son Matthew, and it basically left their entire fate totally unknown. So, it was essentially implying that they are just stuck in that state forever, and because there is no closure, it feels like this infinite loop of suffering that the audience just has to sit with as the credits roll.

[Ambrose:] And even though that is incredibly brutal to think about, you have to admit it is actually really artistically consistent with all the themes we have been talking about. Because at the end of the day, some types of trauma just do not get a neat or easy fix, and that original ending would have really hammered home the idea that once these forces take hold, you might never truly get back to the world you knew.

[Kelly:] Exactly. It was so abrupt that at a test screening, a woman famously yelled, “What the fuck?”

[Ambrose:] I mean… that’s fair.

[Kelly:] And that reaction spooked the studio. They knew general audiences would need some closure. So, because of the massive investment, Cregger added that post-hoc narration to the theatrical cut.

[Ambrose:] That bittersweet resolution people needed after the climax basically curb-stomped them.

[Kelly:] Exactly. The kid narrator explains what happened. The children come home, and over two years, they start a slow, partial recovery. Some can talk again, others still struggle. Alex’s parents get institutionalized, and he goes to live with another aunt.

[Ambrose:] So the trauma is survived, but never truly healed.

[Kelly:] Yeah, exactly, and honestly, that is probably why the shift to a slightly more traditional ending was a necessary concession for the studio, because it gives the audience at least a little bit of hope to hold onto. But even with that more standard resolution, the actual climax still caused a lot of debate among fans once the movie hit theaters. I mean, some people found that entire sequence where the kids are tearing Gladys apart to be completely bonkers, yet super cathartic at the same time, because it has this almost darkly comedic energy that just feels so different from the rest of the film.

[Ambrose:] I get it. It’s the peak…

[Kelly:] …of Cregger’s genre blending. But other viewers felt that sudden, grisly, almost funny violence undercut the serious themes, and made the message feel…

[Ambrose:] …unstable. Meanwhile other people were like, “No, that’s the release valve, that’s the point.”

[Kelly:] It really depends on your tolerance for his horror-comedy flavor, but either way, you don’t forget it.

[Ambrose:] Exactly. But, before we wrap, we have to mention the personal tributes Cregger wove in for Trevor Moore.

[Kelly:] Oh, absolutely, and it really just shows how personal this whole project was for Zach Cregger because those tributes are tucked away everywhere. I think the best example of that, and honestly the one that makes absolutely zero sense if you do not have the background context, is the scene with the seven hot dogs. See, if you were a fan of The Whitest Kids U' Know, you know it is a direct nod to one of Trevor's most legendary sketches, but if you do not know that history, it just looks like this incredibly bizarre and surreal character choice that probably leaves most viewers scratching their heads. It is such a touching way to keep his friend's memory alive in the middle of all this horror.

[Ambrose:] Yeah, and it is such a specific visual too, because it happens during that scene where the principal and his husband sit down for dinner and there are just exactly seven hot dogs sitting on the platter. It feels so completely random and out of place in the moment, and so if you are not in on the joke, you are probably just sitting there wondering why the production design team made such a bizarre choice for a meal.

[Kelly:] Well, that is the beauty of it, because it is actually a direct tribute to Trevor Moore’s famous Hot Dog Timmy sketch from their Whitest Kids U’ Know days. Cregger has mentioned in interviews that he really poured a lot of his love for Trevor into the making of this movie, and so he ended up hiding these little emotional Easter eggs throughout the film as a way to keep that connection alive. It really adds this beautiful, bittersweet layer to the whole experience when you realize how much heart went into even the weirdest details.

[Ambrose:] And we can’t forget the unfilmed prequel.

[Kelly:] Oh, definitely, and honestly, that is exactly how you know you have built a really solid mythology, because there is already this whole extra layer of lore just waiting in the wings. See, Cregger actually went as far as writing and filming a complete chapter that was meant to be Aunt Gladys’s origin story, but then he made the tough call to cut it because he really wanted to keep her as mysterious and unsettling as possible for this first outing. But, since the movie has turned into such a huge hit and everyone is obsessed with her as this new iconic villain, the studio is already reaching out to him about taking that deleted footage and turning it into a proper prequel film. It is just wild to think that we might actually get to see the full backstory that he originally thought was too much for the audience to handle.

[Ambrose:] And expanding the Weapons universe, because horror cannot leave well enough alone.

[Kelly:] Exactly, because why stop at one great movie when you can build a whole franchise.

[Ambrose:] Exactly.

[Kelly:] But honestly, when you look at how this film argues that trauma can weaponize an entire community and turn neighbors against each other until even innocence has to be corrupted just to win, it really makes you think about that bittersweet ending. Since the characters survive but aren't really healed, it feels like it is saying something much deeper about modern tragedy and the way we deal with these cycles of violence. It is just so much heavier than your average horror movie, and so it makes you wonder if a massive franchise would actually end up diluting that really powerful message about how we carry our scars.

[Ambrose:] I think you are exactly right, and that is honestly the most haunting realization to walk away with, because it suggests that we can survive these horrific things, but those scars are always going to be there and they end up shaping the entire new outline of our lives. It is like the map of who you are just completely changes after a trauma like that, and so even if you make it out alive, you are never really going back to being that same person you were before the movie started. So, while a sequel might be fun for the gore, it almost risks ignoring that sense of finality, because the real horror here isn't just the monster, it is the fact that you have to keep living with what you had to do just to stay alive.

[Kelly:] Exactly, and that is why I think this movie feels so heavy even after the credits roll. However, even with all that emotional weight, it still manages to be this incredible piece of entertainment that keeps you guessing the entire time. It is such a rare balance where you are feeling that trauma alongside the characters, but you are also just totally locked into the ride Cregger is taking you on.

[Ambrose:] Well, and so that was really our look behind the curtain of Weapons, which is a movie that is somehow funny, deeply personal, and packed with homages while still being genuinely horrifying. Furthermore, it manages to confuse its audience in the most delightful way possible, because it trusts you to keep up with its weird logic even when things are getting completely unhinged.

[Kelly:] It really did set a new bar for what a horror epic can be, because it uses the freedom of the genre to explore things like real pain, addiction, and generational trauma. Nevertheless, it keeps all of that disguised as a supernatural thriller so it never feels like it is preaching at you.

[Ambrose:] And you know what, you’re right. Because we still have to give it our final judgment.

[Kelly:] Yeah, absolutely, and honestly, after diving this deep into the lore and all those hidden tributes, I am more than ready to put my cards on the table. Because we have covered so much ground today, but at the end of the day, people want to know if they should actually spend their time on this one or if it is just too much to handle. So, I think it is officially time to stop stalling and head down into the Critic’s Crypt to see if this movie gets a pass or if it is staying buried.

[Ambrose:] Now that’s funny “Staying buried,” huh? I Love that you said that right as the stairs started complaining.

[Kelly:] Right, and that’s exactly why I’m saying we should just get through the Weapons rating first, because if the crypt wants to throw a tantrum, it can do it after we’re done talking and not while we’re trying to be normal.

[Ambrose:] Yeah, and honestly you’re not wrong, because the second we start hesitating, this place gets way too confident. So, anyway, let’s just say what we mean about Weapons and keep it moving, because I can already feel the temperature dropping and I’d really like to not become part of the decor. Also, if something touches me. Now, I’m not saying I’ll shove you first… however, I’m also not saying I won’t.

[Kelly:] Oh my god, you’re unbelievable. But honestly, I get it, because the longer we stand here, the more it feels like the crypt is listening. So, anyway, Weapons does this really well thing where it layers the fear. You’ll get a couple quick pop scares, sure, but the real punch is that slow dread where nothing’s technically happening and you still feel trapped, like it already has its hands on you.

[Ambrose:] Yeah, exactly, and that’s what I love about it, because the movie never feels embarrassed to just sit in that tension. It doesn’t do that little “don’t worry, we’re in on the joke” thing, and it’s not winking at you to let you off the hook either. Instead, it just keeps tightening the screws until, suddenly, it pops, and you feel it like you just got slapped on the knuckles with a hard ruler.

[Kelly:] Totally, and that’s why the twists actually work for me, because Weapons keeps messing with your expectations without acting like it’s being clever just to be clever. You’ll think you’ve figured out what the “weapon” is, and then it shifts, and then it shifts again, but it still feels earned.

 However, it doesn’t turn into chaos, because every pivot is still tied to the same dread and the same idea, so it’s like the movie keeps connecting the dots while you’re sitting there trying to catch up.

[Ambrose:] Yeah, and because it stays that focused, all the craft choices hit harder. Like, the movie uses sound in a really mean way, because the “quiet” is never actually quiet. There’s always some hum, or a tiny scrape, or that low pressure in the mix that makes you lean in without thinking, and then, of course, you instantly regret it because your brain’s like, “Cool, now we’re listening for ghosts.”

[Kelly:] Exactly, and that sound stuff only works because the acting is selling it the whole time. Like, in Weapons, people react like actual humans who are trying to keep it together, so when they freeze or they make a messy choice, it doesn’t feel like “plot stupidity.” It feels like fear, or denial, or even desperation, and therefore you stay locked in with them instead of rolling your eyes at them.

[Ambrose:] Yeah, and because you’re locked in with them, the pacing hits even harder. It doesn’t go full sprint the whole time, but it also doesn’t just chill out and let you relax either. It’ll give you a second to breathe, and then, without warning, it snatches that breath right back with the next beat, which is honestly rude… but it totally works.

[Kelly:] Yeah, and that’s why the flaws stand out a little more too, because when the movie is firing on all cylinders, it’s so sharp. So, anyway, we should talk cons, because it’s not perfect, and I’m not about to pretend it is just because the crypt is lurking like it wants a quote for the poster.

[Ambrose:] Yeah, totally, and I’m right there with you, because when the movie’s firing on all cylinders, you really feel it when it wobbles. But, my biggest con is the middle gets a little tangled. It keeps piling mystery on top of mystery, and after a while I’m like, okay, I’m still with you, but can we pick a lane already

[Kelly:] I had the same feeling. There’s that one reveal that’s genuinely cool, but then it kind of trips over its own feet trying to explain it. Like, it stops to spell it out instead of just letting the moment sit there and feel unsettling.

[Ambrose:] Yeah, and that’s the thing. When it just trusts you to connect the dots, it’s way scarier. But when it pauses to do the whole “here’s what you’re looking at” thing, it dulls the edge for a second.

[Kelly:] Exactly. And one more thing, because this one got me to. There’s a choice near the end where I was like, wait, you’re doing that… right now? It didn’t wreck it, but it did pull me out for a beat.

[Ambrose:] Alright, final judgment time. Let’s get our Coffins out. And also… why did it get colder all of a sudden?

[Kelly:] Nope.Don’t even go there and don’t even acknowledge the cold. Because if you acknowledge it, it gets ideas. So, anyway. I’m at a 4.5 out of 5 Coffins. It’s scary, it’s clever, the dread sticks, and it actually commits to what it’s doing. Even when it gets a little confusing, it still lands way more than it misses.

[Ambrose:] 4.5, okay. So you’re basically giving it a crown and a sash that says “Most Likely To Ruin Your Sleep.”

[Kelly:] Yeah, and I’m not taking it back either. So, what are you giving it?

[Ambrose:] I’m at a 4 out of 5 Coffins. I love the craft, I love the tension, and I’d still tell people to watch it. However, that one explanation-heavy moment and the little midsection tangle keep it from being a personal all-timer for me.

[Kelly:] Wow, a whole half coffin lower. So you’re like, “I’m impressed, but I wanted it to chill for, like, two seconds and let me feel things.”

[Ambrose:] Yes, actually. I want my terror to be efficient.

[Kelly:]  Do you feel that…no wait. I’m not kidding wouldcha STOP? 

[Ambrose:] Why would you say that out loud like this place isn’t petty?

[Kelly:] Because it went quiet, and now it feels like the air is moving in a way air shouldn’t move.

[Ambrose:] Nope, nope, nope. We’re done. Our ratings are locked. And we’re leaving.

[Kelly:] Wait—did you hear someone walking behind us?

[Ambrose:] Uh, I didn’t want to say anything. But that sure did sound like someone was walking behind us. And I’m not turning around to find out either.

[Kelly:] Okay, but don’t run, because if we run then it’s like we’re admitting we’re prey.

[Ambrose:] Yeah and if we don’t run, it’s like we’re volunteering. So fucking Go!

[Kelly:]  Okay, yep, nope, you’re right, because I just got hit with a cold breeze right on my neck, and it seriously felt like somebody leaned in to whisper. So, anyway, I’m running now.

[Ambrose:] Uh, smart move Sherlock, because I’m not sticking around to find out if that cold breeze has hands. Can we move it a little bit faster please.

[Kelly:] Okay, but seriously, watch the stairs, because if you wipe out right now then I’m tripping over you and we’re both done.

[Ambrose:] I am watching them, but this stupid fucking flashlight keeps flickering, so I’m basically sprinting through a strobe light and I fucking hate everything about this.

[Kelly:] Well don’t look directly into the strobe light. Plus I told you not to bring that sketchy ass 10 cent flashlight with you. Because I swear every time we come down here you bring that dumb flashlight. I’m starting to believe it’s cursed. So shut up and keep moving buddy.

[Ambrose:] It’s not cursed, it’s just—okay it’s cursed, keep moving!

[Kelly:] Will you watch where your fling that flashlight you almost hit me in the head…Oh my god watch out for the Crypt Keeper your going to hit him with that damn flashlight. I’m not trying to disrespect his workplace, I’m just trying to get the hell out of this place.

[Ambrose:] I know, I know, I almost clipped him—just keep moving, because if we stop to apologize, we’re literally gonna become part of the tour.

[Kelly:] Exactly, and I don’t want to do that. Because I’m not getting buried in here after I just gave that movie a 4.5, I swea—

[Ambrose:] Man, my heart is actually pounding against my ribs right now.

[Kelly:] Well, you’re the one who decided to sprint like a track star over a pile of bones!

[Ambrose:] I had to, because I felt something cold grab my ankle, and I’m definitely not about that life.

[Kelly:] It was probably just a draft, or maybe the Crypt Keeper was just trying to get his hat back.

[Ambrose:] Either he wants his hat back or he wants us to stay forever, but I’m choosing neither.

[Kelly:] Seriously, although the movie was good, it wasn't "die in a hole" good.

[Ambrose:] True, so let's just keep walking toward the light until we reach the car.

[Kelly:] Wait, did you actually leave the keys near the entrance or did you drop them while you were screaming?

[Ambrose:]  Don't even joke about that, because if we’re locked out, I'm literally hiding under your car.

[Kelly:] Plus, you still owe me a coffee for making me go down there in the first place.

[Ambrose:] I'll buy you ten coffees if we just get out of this parking lot alive!

[Kelly:] Deal, but you're driving because my hands are still shaking like crazy.

[Ambrose:] Fine, but if I see a ghost in the rearview mirror, I am—

[Kelly:] Oh my god, Ambrose, look at the back seat, is that a—