The ‘Child’s Play’ series is perhaps the queerest slasher franchise of all time. The original trilogy is where it all started.
The Child’s Play series is the queerest mainstream horror series of all time. That’s not news. Anyone who’s been following Andy Barclay and his Good Guy Doll since 1988 knows that Child’s Play co-writer (and eventual franchise steward) Don Mancini is himself a gay man. He imbued the series with so much queer subtext that it eventually just became text with 1998’s Bride of Chucky. That film, which introduced Jennifer Tilly’s homicidal doll, Tiffany, marked a turning point for the series, with the subsequent three films and Syfy television series doubling down on the most certifiably gay slasher mainstream audiences have ever seen. That’s pretty sick.
This, however, isn’t about the gayification of the latter half of the franchise. That’s a beautiful thing unto itself, and it’s been discussed to falling-out-a-Chicago-window death. Instead, upon revisiting the series with my own partner, my gay little eyes and mind couldn’t help but attach themselves to the first three films in the series. In that era, Mancini continued to script, but Tom Holland, John Lafia, and Jack Bender helmed each respective entry in the original Andy trilogy. It was also the late 1980s/early 1990s, so naturally, both studios and audiences weren’t exactly receptive to a Super Queer killer doll franchise. Mancini was considerably more subtle, and, in retrospect, it made those first three films among the most tender coming-of-age queer stories of our generation.
Child’s Play
Courtesy of MGM/UA Communications Co.
The Andy trilogy is, at its core, about a queer child grappling with a world innately dangerous to him. It’s reasonable to read Andy Barclay ( in the first two films and the latter series) as a closeted kid. The set-up for the first film, the one that started it all, is simple enough. Andy doesn’t have many friends (…), so for his birthday, he’s desperate to get his hands on a Good Guy doll, a must-have toy that promises to be your friend to the end. His mom, Karen (and underrated , sorely missed from the rest of the series), manages to score one from an alley peddler outside the department store where she works, because why not. Andy is thrilled with his new best friend, who introduces himself as Chucky, and the rest is storied, campy horror history.
Camp being the operative word there. While yes, the first three Child’s Play films lean considerably more into the horror of it all than the series today, they’re still about a walking, talking killer doll possessed by the spirit of a deceased serial killer, Charles Lee Ray, played with immaculate, history-making gusto by Brad Dourif. That’s camp, and in the first film especially, both Mancini and Holland were on the same wavelength, allowing for equal parts menace and humor. His first lines, after all, are “You stupid bitch. You filthy slut,” spoken after Karen majorly disrespects him. That’s camp, baby.
Parallel with most horror films released at that time (and, well… ever), the doll’s sentience is largely kept secret until that moment. Andy knows it to be true, but of course, no one believes him until it’s much too late. Almost like Andy has a secret about himself he’s desperate to share with someone—anyone—that the world around him wholesale rejects. It’s too scary and dangerous for Andy’s truth to be real, so everyone opts instead to bury their heads in the proverbial sand until the danger can’t be ignored.
Within the context of the trilogy, Child’s Play is pretty damn tragic. As a springboard for what’s to come, the events of this film set Andy up for a woeful future guided not by his own impulses, but by the impulses and desires of those around him (principally his killer doll). Karen, in particular, is revealed to be institutionalized in Child’s Play 2, and Child’s Play 3 doubles down with Andy tearfully placing a photo of his mother on his desk as he acclimates to military school.
Karen is shafted, though all she wanted to do was support her son. She did, after all, believe him, and she fought pretty damn hard to protect him. She never denounced Andy’s truth, even at her own expense. She’s an icon, a bastion of maternal protectiveness, yes, but distinctly resonant among queer audiences who no doubt remember the first person, perhaps a parent, who believed them when they said they were different than everyone else around them. And maybe it parallels my own experience. Child’s Play was the first horror movie I ever saw. My mom showed it to me. Two decades later, she was the first person I came out to. Her response? “Cool. Are you coming for dinner?”
Child’s Play 2
Courtesy of Universal Pictures
Child’s Play 2 really is a downer of a film. That’s not a criticism, mind you. I’d argue it’s the strongest of the Andy trilogy, and I think Mancini would agree since the Chucky series culls most of its nostalgia from the one-two punch of foster siblings Andy and Kyle (Christine Elise). I can’t undersell the tragedy of Karen backing Andy’s story here. Yes, it leaves him all alone in the world (with a resurrected killer doll on his trail), but growing up, it meant everything to me, even if I didn’t realize it at the time.
Child’s Play 2 is as crestfallen a slasher as they come, interrogating the trauma of the foster youth system in a glossed-up horror movie, but its reason for being is Andy’s mother, the most important person in the world to him, validating Andy’s identity and experience, even at her own expense. Excuse me while I wipe my tears on my Good Guy Doll’s overalls.
In the sequel, Chucky slowly but surely murders his way to Andy. The series would later retcon this tidbit, but in the original trilogy, Chucky must transfer his soul into Andy since he was the first person he revealed his secret to. When they unite, Chucky is pretty quick to leave Andy all alone again. He kills both of his foster parents (and makes sure Andy takes the blame), only to be blown to smithereens by Kyle in a newly operational Good Guy factory. It’s an explosive ending (literally), though much like the first film, the optimistic note it ends on is for naught.
Parallel with the queer experience, Child’s Play 2’s strongest thematic anchor is found family. It makes sense that decades later, the television series would reunite Andy and Kyle. They’re the strongest duo in the franchise (even if I have a soft spot for Katherine Heigl and Nick Stabile), and other than his mom, Kyle is the person Andy can trust the most. At this stage, however, they’re both still kids. Neither the sequel nor the novelization expands on what happens after Andy and Kyle join hands and flee the factory together, but in the subsequent film (released just nine months after, auguring Scream 2’s release years later), Kyle isn’t mentioned at all.
Yet, Kyle is the closest thing Andy has to a family. Sure, the times are a-changing, but queer youth especially face considerably more challenges, even today. They’re 120% more likely to experience homelessness, and recent estimates suggest nearly 40% of all homeless youth identify on the queer spectrum. A combination of prejudice, familial neglect, and a lack of supportive resources (Hey, Florida – don’t say gay!) contribute, and it’s why found family remains so firmly in the queer zeitgeist. Your own parents might reject your identity, but your cool, punk foster sister definitely won’t.
Of course, Child’s Play 2 hurts that much more when you consider the unique challenges queer youth face within the foster youth system. Andy does eventually get his happy ending, but it doesn’t come easy. Not at all.
Child’s Play 3
Courtesy of Universal Pictures
There’s a lot of talk in the horror world about “underrated” sequels. More than any other genre base, I think we as a collective love reclamation. Action fans are probably close (and there’s definite crossover), but what other genre has fans thrilled to see– I don’t know– a restoration of Phantasm IV: Oblivion? Hey, babe, come over; I’ve got Children of the Corn II: The Final Sacrifice on DVD.
So, I’m up against a lot of bias when I say Child’s Play 3 is earnestly, critically unappreciated. I think it’s Brad Dourif’s best performance as the killer doll in the entire franchise, and while it might be a comparatively weak entry independently, it’s a stunning, tender capstone to the Andy trilogy that helps contextualize them as three of the most important queer horror movies ever made.
Like most maligned sequels, Child’s Play 3 had a troubled and accelerated production. The runaway success of Child’s Play 2 put this film on the fast track to release, and it arrived in theaters nine months after the previous movie. Reportedly, Don Mancini himself wasn’t an especially big fan, remarking that he’d run out of ideas after 2, and nine months didn’t leave him a great deal of time to come up with something (anything) great.
And, to be fair (I don’t have blinders on, okay), Child’s Play 3 has almost nothing of note. Other than Chucky’s scheme to switch paintballs out for real bullets (horrifying), there’s little tension, and none of the deaths are noteworthy at all. Sure, the franchise has never necessarily traded in extreme, savage gore, but Chucky is usually a touch more inventive than he is here. A heart attack death is a good gag, but it’s also indicative of just how dry the Child’s Play well had run.
But, like I said, Dourif is excellent. And the queer subtext wasn’t lost on me. Andy (a recast Justin Whalin) has one friend at Military school; Harold Whitehurst (Dean Jacobson). In a tragic, climactic scene, Harold tosses himself atop a grenade Chucky lobbed at a group of cadets to shield them from the blow. Child’s Play 3 was released in 1991, a decade after the first reported case of AIDS in the United States, and the year of Freddie Mercury’s death.
Andy has endured so much, and as he once again tries to find and build a community, their lives are tragically cut short. Hmm. Hmmmmmmm.
Child’s Play 3 doesn’t exist in a vacuum, though, and while its shredded, funhouse finale is lackluster on its own, the strength of its place in the Andy trilogy augments the thematic heft. This is a rich capper with a more capable, motivated Andy (the kind we’d see regularly in the subsequent movies and series). It’s the best Chucky, both menacing and playful in a way that elevates both the horror and comedy without eroding either.
There’s an indominable spirit that punctuates the horror. This is Andy’s third go-round, after all, and the characterization here endures for decades longer. I have personal grievances with the broad idea that it’s better to be a fighter than a victim since systemic harm and injustice are so much more pernicious than simply deciding to not be a victim, but there is resonance in Andy continuing to fight even when all the cards are stacked against him. He doesn’t need to, of course, but he chooses to, not just for himself, but for all the other outsiders around him.
The Later Series
The latter series gets much, much gayer. There’s the introduction of Glen/Glenda, Chucky being a damned good dad, and so much Jennifer Tilly, it’s like Bound 2.0. I love what the series has managed to evolve into, though plenty has been said about the post-Bride era. Whether it’s nostalgia-bait or something deeper (and I think it is), the real heart remains in the original trilogy.
Like so many queer origin stories, the start might be quieter and more subdued, but it had a hell of an impact. There is no Chucky today without the Andy trilogy. While its queer subtext isn’t as earth-shattering when viewed through a modern lens, I encourage you to revisit the trio with fresh eyes. What’s there is a heartrending yet celebratory evocation of nascent queerness in an evil, terrifying world. Child’s Play has always been queer, and this Pride Month, it’s worth remembering that Chucky has been our friend to the end all along.
