In 1985, Hasbro introduced the world to the "My Buddy" doll. It had reddish-brown hair, blue overalls, and a cheery, striped shirt. It also looked exactly like Chucky, the serial killer plaything featured in Tom Holland's 1988 film Child's Play.
As one of the little tykes who was ever-so-proud of his "My Buddy," the release of this movie was devastating. I didn't watch it until I was much older, but simply seeing the trailer on TV was enough to make me petrified of the notion that an otherwise innocent amalgam of plastic and synthetic fiber lurked on the other side of my bedroom closet door while I slept.
Fast forward to 2010. I'm nearing age 30 (yikes), and I've just given the tale about a murdering psychopath who transfers his soul into the body of a toy via some sort of intangible voodoo another chance. Even though the exposition for this one is amazingly idiotic, it's clear that screenwriter Don Mancini was onto something. In the most superficial sense, there is something eerie about dolls. Their fixed expressions, when viewed in the right context, can make our blood run cold. As irrational as this notion is, it nevertheless has some merit, and this is what makes Child's Play the unlikely success that it is.
What's even more disturbing about the movie is that it has our six year- old protagonist—Andy—exploring the seedy underbelly of Chicago in an effort to aid his newly acquired companion. Despite his initial naivety, the kid eventually wises up and realizes the danger he's in. What follows is a comically grotesque battle that sees Chucky take on a police officer, a psychiatrist, a witchdoctor, and a babysitter (among others).
What's especially great about Child's Play is the final act, where our indestructible villain is shot, torched, and dismembered. He's basically the "terminator" of dolls; as soon as he seems to be vanquished, he reappears, oozing pus and stuffing, ready to slice and dice anyone who interrupts his perpetual mission of spiritual transferal.
As one would hope, no one involved with Child's Play takes things too seriously (it would have been an utter disaster had this not been the case). Because of the lighthearted nature of the movie and how downright silly it is, there's no reason not to call it a box-full of harebrained fun.
It's also the quintessential killer doll movie. That's got to be worth something.
As one of the little tykes who was ever-so-proud of his "My Buddy," the release of this movie was devastating. I didn't watch it until I was much older, but simply seeing the trailer on TV was enough to make me petrified of the notion that an otherwise innocent amalgam of plastic and synthetic fiber lurked on the other side of my bedroom closet door while I slept.
Fast forward to 2010. I'm nearing age 30 (yikes), and I've just given the tale about a murdering psychopath who transfers his soul into the body of a toy via some sort of intangible voodoo another chance. Even though the exposition for this one is amazingly idiotic, it's clear that screenwriter Don Mancini was onto something. In the most superficial sense, there is something eerie about dolls. Their fixed expressions, when viewed in the right context, can make our blood run cold. As irrational as this notion is, it nevertheless has some merit, and this is what makes Child's Play the unlikely success that it is.
What's even more disturbing about the movie is that it has our six year- old protagonist—Andy—exploring the seedy underbelly of Chicago in an effort to aid his newly acquired companion. Despite his initial naivety, the kid eventually wises up and realizes the danger he's in. What follows is a comically grotesque battle that sees Chucky take on a police officer, a psychiatrist, a witchdoctor, and a babysitter (among others).
What's especially great about Child's Play is the final act, where our indestructible villain is shot, torched, and dismembered. He's basically the "terminator" of dolls; as soon as he seems to be vanquished, he reappears, oozing pus and stuffing, ready to slice and dice anyone who interrupts his perpetual mission of spiritual transferal.
As one would hope, no one involved with Child's Play takes things too seriously (it would have been an utter disaster had this not been the case). Because of the lighthearted nature of the movie and how downright silly it is, there's no reason not to call it a box-full of harebrained fun.
It's also the quintessential killer doll movie. That's got to be worth something.