Mass murderer Charles Lee Ray (Brad Dourif) transfers his soul into a doll before dying of gunshot wounds inflicted by detective Mike Norris (Chris Sarandon). The evil doll ends up in the hands of the six-year-old son of Karen Barclay (Catherine Hicks), and soon Chucky is up to his old tricks.
I was ambiguous about Child’s Play while watching it, and apparently, so was director Tom Holland while making it. For the first half hour, Holland creates an above average, creepy little horror film. The actors are more than adequate and the characters act in believable ways (with the exception of the six-year-old kid who is either secretly three, or suffering from some mental problem as most six year olds would find it odd if their toys started talking). But after that, things get silly.
There is something malevolent about dolls in general. Ever look at a row of dolls? Ghastly things. And yet, people give these things to their young children. It doesn’t seem that farfetched that one would somehow be responsible for gruesome deaths. That is, until we see it. While Chucky’s deeds are implied, there is a frightening edge. But as soon as the small doll jumps on someone and starts wrestling, it all turns into camp. That wouldn’t be a problem, if Child’s Play were a comedy, but it isn’t. It just keeps marching along like we’re watching Psycho as 5 lbs of fluff beats up an 180 lb man. This is funny stuff, but no one making the film noticed. With my suspension of disbelief blown, I watched as Child’s Play recreated the black knight scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail (“It’s just a flesh wound”) and played it totally straight. Oh well, I knew where to laugh.