‘Chucky’ so much cheese

Uncle Don

I made an offer the other day to my editor Paul, one that he

shouldn’t have refused.

After viewing the latest cinematic debacle he sent me to, I

e-mailed a simple request. It was devoid of the usual threats and

recriminations that might accompany one of my run-of-the-mill

communiques.

All I wanted? An article of his clothing.

See, I’ve got this Haitian friend, and he gave me this little

handmade doll, and I’ve got lots of pins. And Paul, about those

little, sharp aches and pains you’ve been feeling? I’m gonna start

removing appendages real soon. I’d start with the head, but I figure

you probably wouldn’t notice.

Took the ole ball and chain and dropped 18 large on two tix down

at Triangle Square. You guys know the drill. Dinner and a movie.

Denny’s and Chucky. Well, “Seed of Chucky” that is. There’s gonna be

payback. Probably have to see a chick flick. Probably have to suffer

through a Julia Roberts all-day marathon.

Chucky was birthed, so to speak, back in 1988 in the semi-coherent

slasher flick “Child’s Play.” Like most horror flicks spawning

sequels, “Child’s Play” was -- like “Halloween,” “Hellraiser,” “A

Nightmare on Elm Street,” et al -- the first and what would be the

“best” of a questionable idea for a movie.

Scanning a theater devoid of all but miscreants, misanthropes,

morons and malcontents, which at one noun per viewer just about

accounted for all in attendance, “Seed of Chucky” opened up with the

cheesiest credits this side of Velveeta and that ain’t even real

cheese.

“Seed of Chucky” features a rather seedy Chucky with a few more

scars, some additional stitches and the usual poor stop-motion

animation. He and his bride Tiffany, resembling a televangelist’s

wife, both brought back to semi-ambulatory life via incantation, are

looking to take over the souls of Jennifer Tilly and Redman, whoever

he is. Tilly used to be a real star. Here we get to see her career

Coriolis-effect its way down the drain.

As it turns out, many plot contrivances ago, with the help of a

turkey baster, Chucky, or rather his shrewish (aren’t they all) wife,

Tiffany, had a kid. One that neither of them knew about. One that

unfortunately some meatball decided to make a movie about.

Turns out the kid is gender confused. Uglier than a liberal’s

thought process or a father’s day tie, pop-eyed and sounding

suspiciously like Michael Jackson, this mommy’s little monster, kinda

like the old candy commercial -- sometimes you feel like a nut,

sometimes you don’t -- feels like a girl, feels like a boy. Dr. Laura

would have a field day with this pathetic pile of polypropylene.

This Glen or Glenda isn’t the violent, murderous,

marginally-animated dropping of plastic that his parents are. He

wants to stop them via a 12-step program. He wants to find himself.

He wants a normal family. He quickly reverts to the family heritage.

He cuts his dad’s arms and legs off with an axe, piece by piece, like

the Black Knight in “Monty Python and the Holy Grail.” And like that

knight, do you really think Chucky’s dead?

Duller than a Ginzu knife, about as welcome as a holiday fruit

cake, “Seed of Chucky” is probably the worst flick I’ve ever

disgraced the pages of the Pilot with reviewing.

I can’t possibly write a column that’s as bad as this movie, but I

could try. I thought I was embarrassed suffering through the Spice

Girls movie for the Pilot, but nothing compares to the abomination

that is the “Seed of Chucky.”

* UNCLE DON reviews B-rated movies and cheesy musical acts for the

Daily Pilot. He can be reached by e-mail at [email protected].