Primate – Film Review

Johannes Roberts has made a career out of delivering tightly wound survival thrillers that thrive on confined spaces, escalating dread, and visceral shocks. With Primate, he turns his attention to the natural horror subgenre, blending tropical beauty with primal terror in a film that’s equal parts creature feature and psychological pressure cooker. Co-written with Ernest Riera, Primate traps a group of young adults and a fractured family in a nightmare scenario where the line between affection and fear collapses under the weight of unchecked animal instinct.

Set against the lush, sun-soaked backdrop of Hawaii, the film wastes no time establishing a false sense of paradise. The opening moments are ominous and brutal, signaling that this vacation won’t be the kind found in glossy travel brochures. From there, the story rewinds to introduce Lucy (Johnny Sequoyah), a college student returning home after years away. She arrives with friends Kate, Nick, and Hannah, along with a few unexpected tagalongs who are just looking for a good time. What awaits them is Lucy’s secluded cliffside home, her estranged family, and Ben — the adopted chimpanzee who has been raised as part of the household.

Ben isn’t just a pet. He’s a deeply integrated member of the family, trained to communicate using a tablet-based soundboard developed by Lucy’s late mother, a linguist. His bond with Lucy is especially strong, making their reunion feel warm, emotional, and surprisingly tender for a film destined to turn violent. This early emphasis on connection is one of Primate’s smartest choices. The chimpanzee is not introduced as a monster, but as a sentient, emotionally responsive being — which makes the horror that follows more unsettling rather than simply shocking.

Johnny Sequoyah carries the emotional weight of the film with confidence. Lucy is written as someone caught between her past and present, trying to reconnect with her family while navigating strained friendships and unresolved guilt. Sequoyah plays her with a grounded sincerity that makes her easy to root for. She never feels like a disposable horror protagonist; instead, she comes across as someone genuinely trying to hold things together as the situation spirals beyond control.

The supporting cast helps flesh out the group dynamic, giving each character distinct personalities and tensions. Victoria Wyant’s Kate brings a sharp-edged energy to the friend group, while Jessica Alexander’s Hannah provides a mix of vulnerability and frustration that makes her reactions feel believable. Gia Hunter’s Erin, Lucy’s younger sister, adds an extra emotional layer to the family drama, reinforcing how long Lucy’s absence has affected those she left behind.

Troy Kotsur’s Adam, Lucy’s deaf father, is one of the film’s strongest elements. Kotsur brings quiet authority and emotional depth to the role, using physical performance and sign language to communicate volumes without dialogue. Adam’s isolation isn’t just physical — it’s emotional, rooted in grief, responsibility, and the burden of protecting his family in an increasingly dire situation. The film respectfully integrates his deafness into the story without turning it into a gimmick, and Kotsur’s presence elevates every scene he’s in.

Roberts’ direction leans heavily into atmosphere. The cliffside house becomes both a visual spectacle and a narrative trap. Wide shots of endless ocean contrast sharply with the tightening sense of confinement as danger creeps closer. The infinity pool, the outdoor enclosures, and the surrounding jungle all feel beautiful and threatening at the same time. The natural environment isn’t just scenery — it’s an active participant in the horror.

When the film shifts fully into survival mode, Primate embraces its genre roots with unapologetic intensity. The violence is sudden, animalistic, and often brutal. Roberts doesn’t shy away from showing the raw physicality of the threat, but he also avoids turning the film into a mindless gore showcase. The tension is built through stalking, uncertainty, and the terrifying unpredictability of an intelligent animal that no longer behaves as expected.

One of the most effective elements of the film is how it plays with familiarity. Ben isn’t some unknown monster lurking in the shadows — he’s a creature the characters have lived with, cared for, and trusted. Watching that relationship unravel is far more disturbing than a traditional creature feature setup. The sense of betrayal, even if unintentional, makes every encounter feel emotionally charged as well as physically dangerous.

The pacing is tight, rarely allowing the audience to relax. Quiet character moments are quickly followed by bursts of chaos, keeping the tension high without feeling exhausting. The film balances its horror with just enough emotional grounding to prevent it from becoming shallow. While the plot follows recognizable survival-thriller beats, the execution feels confident and purposeful.

Visually, Primate makes excellent use of lighting and location. Daytime scenes feel deceptively safe, while nighttime sequences lean into shadows, silhouettes, and minimal visibility. The house’s modern architecture, perched on a cliff’s edge, becomes a visual metaphor for how close everyone is to disaster. The contrast between luxury and vulnerability reinforces the idea that no amount of comfort can protect you from nature’s unpredictability.

The sound design deserves special mention. From distant jungle noises to the subtle hum of the house at night, the audio constantly reminds the audience that the characters are isolated. Ben’s vocalizations, combined with the unsettling use of his soundboard phrases, add a haunting layer to the tension. Familiar words, once associated with affection, become unnerving when heard in the wrong context.

Thematically, Primate explores the consequences of blurring the line between wild instinct and human domestication. The film doesn’t present easy answers or moral lectures, but it clearly suggests that love and good intentions don’t override biological reality. The tragedy comes from the fact that everyone involved believed they were doing the right thing — and that belief doesn’t protect them from the outcome.

While the film is gripping, it isn’t without flaws. Some of the secondary characters feel more like genre archetypes than fully realized people, serving the story’s momentum rather than deepening its emotional impact. A few decisions made by the characters stretch believability, though not enough to break the film’s overall tension. The narrative also leans heavily on coincidence at times, which may bother viewers looking for stricter realism.

That said, Primate knows exactly what kind of movie it wants to be. It doesn’t aim for subtle psychological horror or philosophical depth. Instead, it delivers a polished, intense survival story with emotional stakes, memorable performances, and a strong sense of place. Roberts’ experience with claustrophobic thrillers shines through, even in a more open, natural setting.

The final stretch of the film maintains its intensity while bringing the family storyline into sharper focus. The emotional resolution feels earned, driven by character rather than spectacle. The film closes on a haunting note that lingers after the credits roll, reinforcing the uneasy blend of affection, loss, and fear that defines the entire experience.

Primate stands out in the natural horror landscape by grounding its terror in relationships rather than spectacle alone. The chimpanzee isn’t just a threat — he’s a symbol of misplaced trust, unresolved grief, and the dangerous illusion of control over nature. Combined with strong performances, atmospheric direction, and relentless pacing, the film delivers a gripping and emotionally charged experience.

With its mix of brutal suspense, character-driven drama, and striking visuals, Primate is a smart, intense addition to the genre. It may not reinvent natural horror, but it executes its vision with confidence, leaving audiences both shaken and strangely moved by the tragic unraveling of a family’s paradise.