Growing up, I used to find the idea of a pet monkey fun. After seeing “Primate,” my fantasy has been unapologetically crushed.
Directed by Johannes Roberts and co-written with Ernest Riera, the film centers on chimpanzee Ben, domesticated by a well-meaning family. The movie charts his violent descent after contracting rabies. What begins as an uneasy coexistence spirals into a graphic, relentless creature-feature horror.
Roberts wastes little time establishing Ben as both companion and potential threat. The chimp, portrayed through prosthetics and puppetry by movement specialist Miguel Torres Umba, is introduced as intelligent, socially attuned and deeply integrated into family life. His bond with Lucy (Johnny Sequoyah) and her younger sister Erin (Gia Hunter), alongside their deaf father Adam (Oscar winner Troy Kotsur), gives the early scenes a grounded, almost affectionate tone.
That balance collapses when Ben is bitten by a wild mongoose in his cage and begins showing symptoms of rabies. As the virus progresses, his behavior shifts from unpredictable to murderous (downright apes--- crazy, pun intended), transforming him from pet to apex threat with frightening efficiency.
Once Ben fully turns, “Primate” becomes ruthlessly efficient. The kill sequences are frequent, graphic and staged with clarity — emphasizing the chimp’s unnerving agility and strength.
Roberts keeps the camera focused and the geography clear, allowing the violence to feel sudden without becoming incoherent. These scenes are the film’s strongest asset, delivering the kind of visceral, crowd-reactive moments that creature-feature fans often crave (I am not one of these fans, and I was terrified the whole time).
One of my favorite moments was one of dark irony. In the scene, shown in the trailer, a frat guy finds Ben sitting on top of him while he’s in bed. The former reduces the animal threat to a joke, pounding his chest and making exaggerated monkey noises (in true frat boy fashion).
Within seconds, that same bravado is violently dismantled when Ben pins him down to attack. The scene lands not as camp, but as grimly satisfying symmetry. Unironically, it’s one of the film’s sharpest moments, distilling its view of human arrogance into a single, savage payoff.
Outside of the kills, however, “Primate” struggles to maintain momentum. The story follows a familiar, overdone arc — disbelief, denial, containment failure and survival — without adding meaningful variation or insight.
Early suggestions of deeper ideas, including responsibility, grief and the ethics of keeping wild animals in domestic spaces, are raised only to be abandoned once the violence escalates. The narrative increasingly feels like a framework designed to deliver kills rather than a story pushing toward resolution.
The ensemble cast is hampered by characters who make consistently baffling decisions — I don’t think I’ve ever whisper-yelled in a movie theater so much before. Warnings are ignored, obvious precautions dismissed and characters repeatedly isolate themselves, despite clear evidence that doing so is dangerous.
Lucy functions as the emotional center, but even she is rarely allowed to influence events in a meaningful way. Instead, characters serve the plot’s need for chaos rather than behaving like people capable of learning from immediate danger.
There are moments that hint at a more tragic version of the film, particularly when it recalls Ben’s earlier role as a companion rather than the monster he’s become. These brief flashes suggest a creature undone by disease and human misjudgment alike.
However, the film never lingers long enough on that idea for it to resonate. Sympathy is quickly forgotten, and Ben ultimately exists less as a character than as a delivery system for violence.
By the final act, “Primate” abandons any remaining thematic ambition and commits fully to survival horror. The body count rises, the pacing accelerates and the film narrows to a blunt question of who, if anyone, will make it out alive. The ending delivers spectacle rather than catharsis, reinforcing the sense that shock, not story, is the film’s primary objective.
In the end, “Primate” is a film of stark contrasts. Its violence is confident, inventive and often entertaining (if you like intense gore). Its story is thin, its characters are frustratingly passive and its emotional potential goes largely unexplored.
For viewers who come for gore and tension, the film delivers with unflinching enthusiasm. For those looking for smarter horror or deeper characterization, “Primate” offers a reminder that brutality alone is not the same as substance.
Whatever its flaws, “Primate” makes one point with absolute certainty: A pet chimp is an insanely bad idea.
Contact Aaliyah Evertz at aevertz@alligator.org. Follow her on X @aaliyahevertz1.
Aaliyah is a general assignment reporter for The Avenue. She's a second-year journalism student in her first semester at The Alligator. In her free time, she loves to bake, read and also write for Her Campus UFL.
