Wanna Play? Child’s Play and Horror’s First Action Hero

Child's Play poster

Move over Schwarzenegger, there’s a new action star in town, and this one has freckles

1988 would mark the beginning of one of the longest-running horror franchises to ever grace the genre, but it didn’t happen overnight. In fact, the first draft of a screenplay that would one day become Child’s Play had been completed way back in the summer of ’85 under the working title Blood Buddy, and would feature a story more in the psychological vein. According to original writer Don Mancini, his vision had more of an emphasis on keeping the audience in the dark regarding the true identity of the killer. Andy was a much darker character — a boy affected by an absent father and overworked mother — which would set up the movie’s main mystery: was there a killer doll running around wreaking bloody havoc or was peewee protagonist Andy in fact the real culprit?

All of this could have made for a very rewarding picture, but at the same time the concept was nothing new. In 1978, Richard Attenborough’s Magic, based on the William Goldman novel of the same name, would pose similar questions in the form of failed magician Charles “Corky” Withers (Anthony Hopkins) and his seemingly murderous ventriloquist dummy ‘Fats’. The movie was a sophisticated take on mental illness that worked wonderfully as a psychological horror thanks to its careful handling and convincing execution. Mancini’s script featured a lifelike commercial doll that bled ‘real blood’, a blood brothers pact with Andy bringing Chucky (then named Buddy) to life, a premise that hardly conjures the same potential for realism.

Enter Fright Night director Tom Holland, who would later adapt Mancini’s screenplay to forge one of the most memorable antiheroes the genre has ever produced. Named after three of history’s most notorious killers in Charles Manson, Lee Harvey Oswald and James Earl Ray, the doll otherwise known as Charles Lee Ray was much more than the next in a long line of slasher villains, his cynical wit and anarchic one-liners putting the character very firmly in self-aware action hero territory. Supernatural slasher villains had long-since replaced the dead-eyed suburban killers of the early-1980s, a trend that fit a character of Chucky’s persuasion like a pre-packaged pair of Good Guy overalls.

Despite Holland’s emphasis on comedy, and to some extent because of it, Chucky is an absolutely reprehensible creation as deserving of our disgust as he is our disbelieving laughter. He doesn’t have the imposing physicality of his contemporaries, but he is absolutely wicked to the core, delighting in acts of torture with a sick relish that belies his freckled form. The moment when Chucky fries an (admittedly deserving) psychiatric doctor is absolutely excruciating, as is a scene in which he cripples a former teacher limb by limb, cackling his way through the whole sick ordeal. The fact that he uses a voodoo doll to commit such deeds is horror irony at its absolute finest.

Chucky: The only person that I let in on the fact that I was still alive was a six-year-old kid. I’m gonna be six years old again. Well, John, it’s been fun, but I gotta go. I have a date with six-year-old boy… and you have a date with death.

Chucky is also one of those rare villains who targets a child, something which lends him a further air of despicability. Since Andy was the first person Lee Ray revealed himself to, it is he who holds the key to his flesh transcendence. The fact that Chucky pursues the soul of a six-year-old boy in order to bag himself a second lifetime of immoral deeds takes the character from everyday villainy to cartoon supervillainy. Not only does Chucky manipulate Andy to his own ends, he teases him, attacks him, even frames him for murder. A human antagonist would never have gotten away with such transgressions, both narratively and commercially. The doll that Lee Ray inhabits may not be up to much physically, but it gives the character free rein to do exactly as he pleases without ethical limitations.

It is from that limitless capacity that much of the film’s humour is derived. By the late 1980s, the horror genre had descended into comical self-parody as a way to sidestep censorship hysteria, horror icons such as Jason Voorhees and Fred Krueger transformed from brutish killers into self-mocking antiheroes who embraced the teen-oriented realms of MTV celebrity. Those characters had been forced to adapt to such trends, becoming the commercial figureheads for their respective production companies, but Chucky was in on the joke from the ground floor up, Holland embracing a tired formula with the kind of zeal that put Krueger’s increasingly hackneyed repertoire to shame.

Child’s Play is not an action movie, but Chucky has all the hallmarks of an action hero, or at the very least an action movie villain, he and Holland forging a relationship reminiscent of Schwarzenegger and screenwriting advocate Steven E de Souza. There is something wonderfully ironic about a murderous crook trapped inside a doll’s body, and against all odds it fits like a pair of DNA-defying gloves. I mean, who on Earth would suspect a seemingly inanimate plaything as a possible murder culprit? Certainly not Chris Sarandon’s Detective Mike Norris, here taking on the role of all-action pursuer, who mirrors our own incredulity at the very notion that a piece of freckled plastic could be responsible for sending an innocent woman careening from the top floor of an apartment complex. The fact that such a cynical personality could live inside a child’s plaything is comedy gold. A moment when an inanimate Chucky is found watching a news report about a former partner and future victim is particularly inspired, hinting at the evil intricacies that lurk beneath. Holland ditches the psychological element for a horror movie that wears its wicked sense of irony on its sleeve, and to his credit.

In 1985‘s Fright Night, Holland wrote and directed a contender for the greatest horror comedy ever committed to celluloid. Like Child’s Play, the movie presents us with an antagonist who is able to commit evil acts unchallenged based on his situation and environment, Chris Sarandon’s toothy suburbanite Jerry Dandridge lost on a generation that looks for the madman in the hockey mask, not the plain-clothes, overtly Gothic Nosferatu. With Child’s Play Holland crafts a movie with a similar premise that ditches the subtleties for a balls-out laugh riot, forging one of the most notable horror creations of the late 20th century.

Chucky is a master manipulator, and in initial playmate Andy, Lee Ray’s shock of red hair finds the perfect pawn as he sets off on a mission of revenge against those who contrived to have him killed. To begin with, Chucky has no choice but to contain his evil, claiming he was sent from heaven by Andy’s deceased father in a sadistic ruse that allows him to develop his master plan. We hear Andy talking to Chucky. We see their matching shoeprints at the scene of Maggie’s murder. We even get an echo of Lee Ray’s true personality when Andy repeats the killer’s heartless musings regarding his aunt’s murder, but all we see is Andy, and it doesn’t take long for Lee Ray to realise there is an upside to his absurd predicament.

Like all the best horror movies, Chucky’s reveal is slow and teasing, a fact that makes his explosive personality all the more compelling when it’s finally unleashed. First it’s a suspicious Karen Barclay (Catherine Hicks) who becomes the subject of Chucky’s pent-up fury when she discovers the doll’s batteries still in their original box. Before that moment Lee Ray plays it absolutely straight, clicking his mechanical eyelids and delivering innocuous, pre-recorded responses when a frustrated Andy demands that he reveal himself. Isolation is a key part of horror, and there’s nothing more isolating for a kid than having to convince disbelieving adults that his new plaything is inhabited by the soul of a high-profile serial killer, especially when that killer’s death has been plastered all over the 6 o’clock news. When Karen finally discovers the truth, she faces the same difficulties, as does Sarandon’s hugely cynical detective when his equally cynical partner plays silly beggars with Chucky’s frazzled head. Not the smartest move on his part.

Holland and his practical effects team used a variety of techniques to make Chucky’s plastic façade a stomachable reality, achieving his transition from cuddly toy to graven flesh thanks to a series of lifelike animatronics that included the infamous ‘flailing tantrum Chucky’, a visual creation that typifies the character’s comic savagery. The movie would also rely on make-up and a series of human stand-ins, including actor Alex Vincent’s younger sister and “little person” Ed Gale. Beyond that, the crew would employ a series of savvy visual tricks, such as the construction of oversized sets and specific shots designed to give you the sense that Gale was approximately the same size as the plastic Good Guy doll that would forever be immortalised in horror circles.

Of course, you can’t pull off the cool, dry wit of an action hero without the right actor, and this time muscles were not a perquisite. In screen veteran Brad Dourif, Holland managed to bag himself one of the most effective voice-over actors in the business, and I’m basing that assessment on the part of Chucky alone. Dourif is a revelation as the sadistic doll with the the kind of dimpled visage that belies what lurks beneath. Holland and his crew worked wonders in presenting us with an authentic visual menace, but it’s the actor’s perverted relish and grasp on gallows humour that truly brings the screenplay to life, turning its propulsive use of expletives into nothing short of an art form.

Nobody slings the F-bomb with as much panache as Dourif. It’s shocking to experience those words coming from the mouth of a plastic bed friend in a quite startling juxtapose, and as violent and as cruel as the character is, Holland and Dourif never allow you to forget the absurdity of it all. Chris Sarandon’s response to Karen Barclay’s revelation that the doll came alive in her hands and tried to kill her is priceless, as is his reaction when Chucky targets him in a savage, car-bound knife attack, a pitch perfect sense of incredulity that is mirrored by our own. When a motionless Chucky responds with a casual F-bomb having been described as ‘ugly’ by a couple of elderly elevator passengers, you know you’re witnessing something quite special. That’s the beauty of a film like Child’s Play, sometimes you don’t know whether to fall down in disgust or burst into tears of laughter. It leaves you feeling almost psychotic on an emotional level.

Karen Barclay: I said talk to me, damn it. Or else I’ll throw you in the fire. [Chucky comes alive]
Chucky: You stupid bitch! You filthy slut! I’ll teach you to fuck with me!

One thing Holland may not have anticipated was how appealing a character like Chucky would be to children. As a child who should not have been watching this movie, Chucky had quite the impact on me — first as a source of terror and then as a source of amusement — and there were millions more who immediately caught the Chucky bug. The character’s influence would lead to a series of unfortunate real-life incidents that led to a short-lived resurgence of the tabloid-driven moral panic that first came to prominence a decade earlier. In something reminiscent of the ‘Video Nasty’ scandal, Child’s Play 3 was held responsible for two high-profile murders committed by juveniles, the first involving a 16-year-old girl who was forced to listen to a gang leader repeating the catchphrase “I’m Chucky, wanna play?”. The second was even more shocking and high-profile, and not something I am keen to dredge up for the purposes of entertainment. There was no harm meant on the filmmaker’s part, but the details of those murders point directly to the franchise. There was even a copy of Child’s Play 3 found in the possession of one of those killers.

In response, Holland would defend his creation, suggesting that a person could only be so influenced in such a way if they were unstable to begin with, be that through nature, circumstance, or a combination of both, and anyone who is sane of mind would surely agree. Child’s Play may be violent and sadistic, but it doesn’t warrant such a bleak stigma. After all, this is a killer doll we’re talking about, and the movie has humour in its heart, its tongue firmly in its cheek. The fact is, there will always be evil in the world. The paths that influence us are different, but the destination often remains the same.

As the sequels rolled on, the series would grow and expand to ludicrous proportions, Chucky wedding Jennifer Tilly’s dastardly doll, Tiffany, and even producing a plastic offspring as the concept was put through the commercial wringer. Those movies had their moments, particularly the smash-mouth Child’s Play 2, a fun and sadistic Mancini project that took Chucky’s wise-cracking antics to another stratosphere, but in some ways Chucky would become guilty of the kind of derisory antics that sullied the likes of Krueger before him, and for many the novelty soon wore thin.

With the original Child’s Play, Holland delivered a movie that proved rewarding at a time when mainstream horror was mired in mediocrity. He is a filmmaker who understands the finer points of the notoriously tricky horror-comedy sub-genre, and Chucky is the very embodiment of his inimitable formula. The movies may have grown somewhat tiresome, but horror’s original action hero has stood the test of time, and was even reimagined as the victim of a modern consumerist society in Lars Klevberg’s widely misunderstood reboot. Mark Hamill’s variation of the character was largely inspired, but the original Chucky was bold, unique and deliciously emblematic, with a sinister charm that was impossible to resist. All of this has made Chucky a proven draw, with a commercial lifespan that is seemingly limitless. Like a rabid Energizer bunny, he just keeps on killin’, and you know he’ll continue to do so, even without those pre-packaged Good Guy batteries.

Director: Tom Holland
Screenplay: Don Mancini,
John Lafia &
Tom Holland
Music: Joe Renzetti
Cinematography: Bill Butler
Editing: Edward Warschilka

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