Puppet Master (1989) – Review

There’s always been a stigma against grown men playing with dolls, but you can’t deny that Charles Band has made one Hell of a living out of it. While the famed indie producer has always had a strange fascination with filling many of his cult extravaganzas with a variety of diminutive monsters (I see you Ghoulies), killer dolls have always been his go-to antagonist ever since Stuart Gordon directed Dolls under the banner of Empire Pictures back in 1986.
However, in 1989, Band kind of “perfected” his obsession with Puppet Master – although considering the film eventually spun out a truly insane amount of sequels and spinoffs, “weaponized” might actually be a more accurate term.
Anyway, we were utterly ignorant to what the future would eventually hold when the first film debuted, but while the gang of deadly dollies would eventually go on to have numerous run-ins with the Nazis and even Band’s other band of murderous muppets – The Demonic Toys – its worth remembering how truly strange the first movie truly is.

After a 1939-set prologue that shows elderly puppet maker André Toulon preferring to eat a bullet in a Californian hotel rather than deal with a couple of Nazi spies who want him for his secrets, we zip ahead to the present day to find that the old man’s legacy still haunts the Bodega Bay Inn. You see, Toulon had managed to harness ancient Egyptian magic to bring inanimate objects to life (as you do) and had used this gift to enfuse a bunch of his dolls with some pretty energetic personalities and in an effort to discover them, professional psychic Neil Gallagher had married the daughter of the owners of the Inn to get his claws into the secret to reanimation.
However, after his four former, psychic acquaintances are contacted telepathically their peer, they all answer his call only to find that Gallagher had recently committed suicide leaving Professor Alex Whitaker, fortunate teller Dana Hadley and ridiculously horny psychic investigators Frank Forrester and Carissa Stamford rather stumped.
As night falls however, some rather strange occurrences happen. The group keep experiencing progressively stranger dreams and premonitions and Gallagher’s lifeless body starts randomly popping up in the most odd places; but most alarmingly, Toulon’s cadre of little animated assassins are stalking the corridoors of the hotel, waiting for their moment to strike. Led by the twirling face of their ringleader, Jester, the lethal group contains the throat slashing Blade; the powerful, crushing mitts of Pinhead; the skull-boring, drill-bit head of Tunneler and the leech regurgitating powers of the aptly named Leech Woman, soon the psychics fall one by one. But what is the mystery behind Toulon’s powers, why did Gallagher kill himself and why are the puppets so dead set on fucking up the newest guests of the Bodega Bay Inn?

OK, so I’ll admit I’ve never been the biggest fan of the mindlessly sprawling saga of the Puppet Master franchise, but even I have to admit that the David (Tourist Trap) Schmoeller’s first entry has some genuinely memorable moments in it. From Albert Band’s distinctive main theme which sounds like the melody of some mournful fairground attraction, to the setting of a coastal hotel which manages to evoke the feel of the classic horror movies of the 30s, it was a refreshing change of pace from the typical slasher antics and urban monster movies that the 80s excelled in. It’s admirably weird too, especially when you consider that the real stars of the show – the puppets – don’t actually drive the plot and are technically hench people (hench-puppets?) to the real villain who proves to be far less interesting than a crack team of psycho dolls.
Something else that stands out is how eccentric the film’s cast of prospective victims are. While teens tended to dominate the casts of many flicks during this time period, we actually have an assorted group of psychics and scientists instead who operate with a little more focus than your average, adolescent protagonists. However, this is where things start to falter a little bit because even though these people are supposed to be experts in their field, they still seem to be incredibly oblivious to danger for psychics who know something screwy is occurring. Paul Le Mat’s nice guy pre-cog is about as interesting as drying paint and any attempt to take him seriously as a viable lead is obliterated by the fact that he’s wearing Peter Stringfellow’s hair. Elsewhere, Inferno’s Irene Miracle makes more of an impact as a flighty fortune teller who talks to her stuffed dog, but arguably the most memorable are Matt Roe and Kathryn O’ Reilly’s researchers who uses her ability to witness the history of any object in an excuse to fuck as much as they can. Well, happy are the people who love their work I suppose…

However, aside from their various peccadilloes, they’re all a rather unlikable bunch and matters aren’t exactly helped by the fact that Jimmie F. Skaggs’ grinning villain doesn’t even make his presence known until the final act. However, the rather snail-like pace of the movie picks up whenever any of the titular puppets are on the screen and there’s a very real sense that way more time and effort was spent on the giving each doll a personality far more interesting than the human characters. While Jester’s sole power seems to be being able to pull three seperate facial expressions, the other members of the gang proves to be as legitimately cool as they are utterly illogical. Quite why a cameoing William Hickey would choose to create dolls that have giant hands purely built for crushing windpipes or the ability to puke up blood draining leeches at will makes no sense whatsoever, but if that’s the main sticking point you have about a film that also features a plaything dressed in a military uniform and has a drill-bit skull, then maybe you need to pass this film by.
The real problem is that despite the fact that the puppets are undeniably cool – especially when they’re being brought to life by some primo David Allen stop motion – large portions of the film are taken up with ground level POV shots as the little fuckers scamper endlessly around the hotel corridors to peek in keyholes (complete with adorable little heavy breathing sound effects) that tend to slow the film down to a crawl. Still, the little fuckers effortlessly steal the show due to some protracted kill sequences (either Pinhead needs to hit the gym or Irene Miracle’s character can really take a punch) and even a final reel allegiance shift that sees them violently turn on their master like the classic monsters of old. Alas, that final act kill that sees the puppets memorably hogpile onto their former boss to righteously fuck him up isn’t enough to kick Puppet Master out of its frustratingly languid mood although I can genuinely see why others have tightly embraced it as a cult classic.

Endearingly strange, you can see how the franchise grew to outlandish proportions purely based on how memorable it’s quintet of perilous puppets are (Blade’s undoubtedly a born star), but beyond the actions of five super powered playthings, Puppet Master needed someone to pull its strings a bit more furiously to get it to move with a bit more purpose. Mild’s play.
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