Film Review: Weapons (2025)

When I was in 5th grade, I witnessed one of the most bizarre and horrifying events of my life. 

In the late winter and early spring of 1989, I was a student at George Washington Elementary in Moorhead, Minnesota. Our recesses were usually spent on the playground behind the school (that year, the monkey bars were where my crew spent most of our time) where we were supervised by a cadre of stereotypical “blue haired” women – with one exception. 

There was a younger man who also kept an eye on us as we ran wild among the swings, jungle gyms, and the open grass fields that separated us from Robert Asp Elementary (where the 6th graders went) on the other side of the block. His name escapes me, but needless to say, his easygoing nature and his obvious difference in age from the rest of our wardens made him a playground favorite, especially among the rambunctious boys. 

Our playground was extensive, but what it didn’t have was basketball hoops. Those were located around the corner in a large three-sided alcove that was connected to the gymnasium. It was in this alcove that I witnessed the horror. 

Ordinarily we were confined to the back of the school, but one week, the young man – who I assumed must have been a basketball fan – led whoever was interested around the corner to shoot hoops with him. My friends and I had little interest in playing basketball, but we were happy for the change of scenery. The barren wasteland of our playground could grow quite dreary in the long winter months of Minnesota, after all, so this new venue, which seemed “off limits” to us just the week before (and thus exotic and dangerous), suited us just fine. 

One recess, a few days into the basketball experiment, a particularly heated game was underway. After some shouting, I saw that the young man was holding a basketball above his head. At that time, he was smiling, and appeared to be enjoying keeping the ball away from the boys who were jumping up and trying to knock it out of his hands. This went on for a few minutes, but soon, the tone of the game changed drastically.

A boy of above average height grabbed hold of the young man’s arm and began to pull it (and the ball) down toward him. Soon, others caught on to this tactic and began their own versions of it. Before I could even get my mind around what was happening, the young man was swarmed by boys who were desperately trying to pull him to the ground. The basketball was forgotten and the boys now wanted something more.

The scene quickly escalated from one of rowdy play to one of mass aggression so intense that I’ve not personally witnessed anything like it since. The boys of the playground were trying to cause the young man bodily harm.

I watched in shock as the man was overcome by jumping, scratching, and close-fisted children – and since the other recess supervisors were still around the corner at the playground behind the school, the man was all on his own as he was thrashed by a small army of merciless children. Within thirty seconds, he had at least twenty kids on his back while the rest of us – roughly twenty more – looked on in disbelief.

Somehow, with the mob still clinging to him and pummeling his head and body, the man made it back to his knees and then to his unsteady feet. He fought with determination (never hitting any of the children or even harming them in any way, as far as I could tell) toward the metal door that led to the gymnasium where we ate our lunches. In reality, it probably took him less than a minute to get there, but on that day, as I witnessed this feral carnage, it seemed to take forever. The man was not a large specimen, but as he rose and began to make his way to sanctuary, he took on a resemblance to the fiercest professional wrestlers I could think of at the moment. If only he could make it to the door, he might get out of this alive.

Once at the door which led to his safety, he began to pound on it and scream for help. Soon, a janitor appeared and as the color drained from his face, he quickly opened the door to let the man inside. The janitor had to push and peel kids off the man before he could close the door behind him, leaving the insane mob outside where they began snarling and beating on the door themselves. They’d tasted blood and wanted more. They were animals. 

With the unsated clamor still taking place outside, I saw the man peer through the head-high square window in the door, and I will never forget the look on his face for as long as I live. His expression was one of utter terror, confusion, and disbelief – and in the decades since the incident, I still have yet to see its equal up close.

Zach Cregger’s Weapons put a similar expression on my face.