The pint-sized prince of terror is back — and this time, it’s personal. Son of Chucky (2025) resurrects one of horror’s most iconic legacies with a new chapter that’s as darkly funny as it is deeply disturbing. Directed by Lars Klevberg (Child’s Play, 2019) and produced by franchise creator Don Mancini, this blood-soaked continuation doesn’t just reheat the past — it mutates it. What begins as a grotesque resurrection story quickly evolves into a generational nightmare, fueled by vengeance, identity, and the twisted bond between parent and child.
Years after Chucky’s last massacre, the world has moved on — or at least tried to. The infamous Good Guy doll has become a morbid collectors’ item, a piece of cursed pop culture. But deep inside one of those sealed display cases, something stirs: a spark of consciousness that refuses to die. Enter Junior — the son of Chucky and Tiffany — now reborn in a sleeker, more sinister doll design that hides a lethal intelligence and a burning desire to outdo his father’s legacy.
The film wastes no time diving into its central premise: the inheritance of evil. Junior isn’t just mimicking Chucky’s sadistic glee; he’s dissecting it, questioning it, and ultimately redefining it. Where his father was a psychopathic brute masked by humor, Junior is cold, methodical, and terrifyingly self-aware. This evolution makes him even more unsettling. His kills aren’t random — they’re messages, each one more symbolic and twisted than the last.
Klevberg’s direction is sharp and cinematic, combining classic slasher energy with modern tension. The lighting is bold — red neon bleeding into shadows, flickering bulbs teasing the terror lurking just out of sight. The score by Joseph Bishara (The Conjuring) thrums with a low, predatory pulse, turning even quiet moments into ticking time bombs. There’s a confidence here that sets Son of Chucky apart from its predecessors — a sense that the franchise finally knows what it wants to be: both legacy and rebirth.
Brad Dourif returns to voice Chucky, his gravelly growl dripping with menace and misplaced fatherly pride. Jennifer Tilly reprises her role as Tiffany, still torn between love and loathing for the chaos she helped create. Their dynamic with Junior (voiced chillingly by Finn Wolfhard) is electric — a grotesque parody of family drama that swings between deadly tension and pitch-black comedy. One dinner scene between the trio — complete with a blood-spattered birthday cake — might go down as one of horror’s most bizarrely brilliant sequences.
But beneath the gore and grim humor lies a surprising emotional core. Son of Chucky explores legacy not just as inheritance, but as infection. Junior isn’t evil because he wants to be — he’s evil because he’s been programmed to believe that’s all he can be. The film toys with questions of identity and choice, even daring to suggest redemption before snatching it away with brutal irony. It’s horror that cuts deeper than a knife, a reflection on how monsters are made, not born.
The kills themselves are signature Chucky — gleefully grotesque, imaginative, and executed with cruel precision. A puppet show massacre, a malfunctioning toy factory sequence, and a final showdown in a burning orphanage all push the limits of practical and digital effects. Each set piece is meticulously crafted, balancing terror and absurdity in true Child’s Play fashion. You’ll cringe, you’ll laugh, and then you’ll cringe again — exactly as the filmmakers intend.
Supporting performances add layers of texture. Kathryn Newton shines as a horror-obsessed podcaster who stumbles into the carnage while chasing a true-crime story, only to realize she’s the next target. Brian Tyree Henry returns as Detective Mike Norris, older and wearier, still haunted by the doll that ruined his life. Their human perspective anchors the madness, grounding the film’s surreal violence in something painfully real — the lingering trauma of survival.
The third act is pure infernal spectacle. As flames engulf a toy warehouse, Junior confronts Chucky in a twisted reflection of The Empire Strikes Back’s father-son duel — only this time, the question isn’t “join me,” but “outdo me.” The dialogue crackles with venom and dark humor, culminating in a finale that dares to end on ambiguity: one burnt doll head whispering, “I’m proud of you, kid.” The screen cuts to black — and the audience exhales, half laughing, half horrified.
