Editor’s Note: This piece contains spoilers for Zach Cregger’s Weapons
Zach Cregger’s Weapons felt like it was going to kill me. That’s not embellishment, either. By the time the third act hit, my body was overcome with such severe panic, I thought it was the end for me. If it had been, what a way to go. Weapons almost killing me is the most complimentary praise I can give Cregger’s universally acclaimed sophomore feature. It’s also the first time in a long time I’ve really understood horror as catharsis.
It’s a line I’ve said before. In the genre echo chamber, this, that, and the other are cathartic exercises. If The Texas Chain Saw Massacre helps you feel better, equating the film to a cathartic exercise is enough to silence the naysayers. Weapons’ Zach Cregger agrees. In an exceptional interview with Polygon’s Matt Patches, Cregger shared, “You just have all this emotion, and it’s better for me to just start writing characters that are feeling the emotions I’m feeling and letting them go kind of crazy and bounce off each other and do everything I can’t do. It feels good. It was cathartic.”
Cregger, of course, was responding directly to the death of longtime friend and collaborator Trevor Moore. Weapons is the distillation of grief into the most bonkers horror movie imaginable, and for all the absurdity and laughs, it’s a remarkably, painfully, deeply felt feature. I knew that going in, and I expected to respond in kind. A tear here, a chuckle there. Because, yes, horror is cathartic, but I often feel privileged to not really know what that means.
Weapons, described to me by our Managing Editor, Josh Korngut as “peak panic,” really did almost kill me. Last year, I was diagnosed with a panic disorder. You know what death feels like? It feels like a panic attack. Often, the trigger is unclear, and at intermittent intervals throughout the day, my body responds with the sensation of abject, mortal danger. I can’t breathe. I can’t stand. My cognitions distort, telling me both that I am dying and that I should die, if only to get the pain to end.
I’d had an early morning attack the day I planned to see Weapons. But I’m a real one, and nothing is ever going to get in the way of me seeing a horror movie, especially not one as acclaimed as Weapons. So, I went, and I felt like I wanted to die (positively). Yes, I know that sounds extreme. But I promise it’s true. I was breathless during the third act. I had to excuse myself at the end to collapse in the theater lobby and simply breathe, because it felt like I hadn’t let out a breath from Weapons’ third act onward.
Weapons, much like a lot of horror movies these days, is split into chapters. Magnolia is a clear influence, as are the Resident Evil games (which Cregger is helming an adaptation of next). The final vignette is focused on the sole child survivor, Alex Lilly (Cary Christopher, truly incredible). It’s gut-wrenching stuff, and for the “Weapons means nothing” crowd, watch the film again, and for that beat, truly let the suburban grief wash over you. It’s a very specific kind of tragedy and isolation, and while Weapons was plenty tense before, the panic fully set in from Alex’s perspective onward.
At first, I grieved for myself. If your parents fought growing up, you’ll know too well the painful silence after school. Everyone is home, but no one is saying anything. You just need to go upstairs, get into bed, and repeat the same pattern the following day. Cast aside inquiries from teachers and concerned adults. Everything is fine. Alex’s panic became my panic, though rather than focusing on my own grief and pain, I was able, even for just an hour, to feel what Alex felt, and by extension, feel the physicality my body needed to feel.
The clenched fists were for Alex. The rapid heartbeat was for Alex. The sense of impending doom, the same cognition that feels like death, was there, but it wasn’t for me. It was for Alex and whatever was hidden down in that damned basement. And for the first time in a really long time, I got it. Everything clicked. This was horror as catharsis. Yes, it was deeply uncomfortable, and I’m not sure it was the best idea to subject myself to something as intense as Weapons while in an already precarious mental space, but for the duration of the movie, the panic wasn’t mine. It was Cregger’s, Alex’s, and Justine’s (Julia Garner).
Maybe it seems small, and long-term, it certainly is. But it’s still consequential that Cregger was able to so fully invite me into his world that, for a little while, helped me process the panic I needed to process beyond myself. Because otherwise, had the panic been solely mine, I’d have been out. I wouldn’t be writing this right now. When it hits, especially when it hits hard, I’m out. Sometimes for days. The attacks wear me down like that, and they linger, a kind of personal tragedy I can’t escape.
And that’s what Weapons is really all about, isn’t it? Shit happens, and it sucks, and it hurts, and it’s unfair, and some of the pain never, ever goes away. But maybe there’s something to be said for leaning on community, and maybe not getting rid of it, but feeling it together. That’s what Weapons did for me. I got to feel my panic in a fictional world and share it with the creatives involved for the duration of the movie. And it almost killed me, but not quite.
Instead, we hit that sweet spot. I felt a bit better, more capable, more aware and lucid, more rational. It was just a movie; it was fiction. There was nothing to really be scared of. Much like a lot of my own panic. The things I fear most will happen one day. But I will be okay. Because of the people around me, everything will be okay.
The Crisis Support Services is a 24/7 hotline to provide support when experiencing anxiety or panic attacks. You can also text by sending a message to CARE at 839863 any time, no matter how much time has passed between previous text messages. You can call them at (1-800-273-8255)
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