In the new horror sequel M3GAN 2.0, the killer robot doll from the first movie meets the memes where they live. She gets taller and faster and more fashion-forward; she flies through the air in a high-tech wingsuit; she sings Kate Bush; and, with a self-consciousness that threatens to ruin the bit, she goes on undercover missions where people say things like “M3GAN, you’re up.” As one might expect off the back of a big hit that positioned her as the most beloved killer doll since at least Annabelle and possibly Chucky, she continues to do the most.
But is the most also maybe too much? After two full movies of M3GAN-led mayhem, newfound killer-doll aficionados might well be exhausted by all of the faux-outrageous PG-13 quippery. (Chucky, a true vulgarian, is a homicidal doll of the people in that regard.) Anyone who needs a break from Megan’s understandable self-regard — she is, to be clear, fabulous — would be well-advised to consider a possibly haunted would-be plaything who does the absolute least: Brahms, the murderous boy-doll and star of the 2016 feature film The Boy.
Most other recent horror dolls have a clearly traceable lineage of killer-doll-loving visionaries. Annabelle, spun off from the Conjuring series, was introduced by James Wan, who showed his own affinity for creepy dolls in both the lore-establishing Saw (where a puppet named Billy serves as the relatively youthful proxy for the very human John Kramer, also known as Jigsaw) and the less beloved but solidly creepy Dead Silence – his first two features! Wan also had a hand in M3GAN, co-conceiving the original’s story with Akela Cooper, who wrote his bonkers horror movie Malignant. The Child’s Play series, meanwhile, has always been penned by Don Mancini, who has delightfully made the Chucky chronicles his life’s work.
The Boy, meanwhile, hails from William Brent Bell, who has one of the most fascinatingly uneven careers in the genre. He made Stay Alive and The Devil Inside, which are absolutely terrible entries in the fields of American J-horror knockoffs and found-footage horror, respectively. He also did the little-seen and even-worse horror picture Separation, an all-timer in the field unlikable Divorced Guy cinema (non-complimentary). But he also did the old-fashioned mysterious-house semi-gothic The Boy and its sequel, as well as the hoot-and-a-half Orphan: First Kill. More of the latter, Mr. Bell, please.
Based on the available evidence, it seems like Bell performs best when he’s building a film around a diminutive but powerful diva, like Esther, the woman with proportional dwarfism who disguises herself as a child in the Orphan movies. He found luck too with Brahms, the neatly coiffed doll who sits motionless in a chair and mischievously creates the suspicion that he may or may not be up to something evil.
The Boy eventually explains what’s going on with Brahms, very much to audience satisfaction; Bell’s sequel Brahms: The Boy II explains something else entirely, far weirder but not without its cuckoo charms. But don’t you worry about what’s going on with Brahms. Let Brahms worry what’s going on with you, and whether you are abiding by the list of rules issued to his caretakers like Greta (Lauren Cohan), who is brought on as a nanny only to find that she’s taking care of a delicate-looking doll. Brahms is apparently a psychological substitute for his real-life namesake, an eight-year-old who perished years ago in a fire, but that doesn’t mean you can just toss him in a closet. Among the rules that Greta flouts before feeling compelled to follow them: “No Guests.” “Read a Bedtime Story.” “Play Music Loud.” (Brahms, you rocker!) “Kiss Goodnight.”
Why does she shift her thinking on this placid porcelain child? Because strange things start happening when she’s left alone in the mansion with Brahms, from spooky noises to movements glimpsed out of the corner of her eye and even creepy phonecalls. His influence! Throughout all this, Brahms the potentially murderous boy-doll remains still, though possibly a little smug-looking. The film is partially a study in minimalism, pressing the question of whether it can really fake reaction shots from zeroing in on the implacable face of a fancy-lad doll. In that way, The Boy mirrors the seeming delusions of Brahms’ parents, while also validating them: If you believe Brahms is real – that he could cry real tears, even if it looks as if his face has just caught condensation from a leaking roof, or that his daily routine is important to him – then, well, it becomes real to you. “Be good to him and he’ll be good to you,” as his mother says.
So Greta eventually attempts to provide Brahms with the life of leisure to which he is accustomed: a light breakfast; changing in and out of his lush robe; music played loud. And regardless of what happens from there, Brahms has projected a personality, of sorts. He’s not explicitly described as sickly; he’s more like the kid who claims to have stomach cramps to get out of gym class, but actually just wants to finish his book. He might steal, but probably only sweets. When Greta first starts carrying Brahms around the house, you think, man, now she has to tote that doll around with her. Then it becomes more like: Well, Brahms would like to be carried.
M3GAN 2.0 is a sequel so willing to do the most that it moves beyond killer-doll horror into sci-fi, action, and comedy; that’s part of its galaxy-brained charm, and also makes it a little exhausting, especially at two hours. Ninety minutes of The Boy makes for a cozy comedown from that frenetic eagerness to please. Between Brahms and M3GAN, who seems like they would spend an annoying amount of time on Instagram? (Which is not to say that Brahms would spend zero time on Instagram. He would simply update erratically, at odd hours, with enigmatic captions.)
Sometimes it’s neat to experience a movie that leaves a little room for your weird projections, rather than jumping on its own bandwagon. The Boy makes a great case for doing less.
The Boy is currently available to rent on various VOD platforms.