The bar for creepy doll horror-comedy is low. But M3GAN, somehow, is a hit

It was about this time last year that critics, myself included, somehow found themselves scrambling to give flowers to a movie that, in the before-times, would be considered nothing more than pulp. 

"It's an unnecessary but welcome victory lap," I wrote in my own review for a film I would still call one of my unequivocal favourites of the year. "A triumphant swan song … [it's] one of the very few examples of simple, uncomplicated, non-toxic fun." 

And not only do these two movies share the bewildering fact that arts pundits are showering them with their highest accolades, but there's an even clearer parallel. Because for this review, I could almost perfectly describe what makes M3GAN work by taking that old headline, and switching out the movie title: Jackass Forever is chaotic, dumb — and nearly perfect.

That's what producers' Jason Blum and James Wan's M3GAN is: chaotic, dumb — and nearly perfect. It's an off-the-wall, irreverent, and absolutely on-target sci-fi slasher-satire about a killer-kid robot. 

And like Jackass Forever — a movie about a group of aging friends building increasingly elaborate ways to laugh while risking their lives — M3GAN is an ostensibly low-brow flick pulling in nearly perfect scores as far as critical acclaim goes.

As a kind of spiritual successor to Annabelle (itself a prequel to The Conjuring, all three created by Wan and all three with a focus on demonic dolls), M3GAN leads the oversaturated — and rarely good — possessed doll subgenre through the only real route to success.

Because while M3GAN is objectively a horror, Blum and Wan hit on the real problem and opportunity of films about evil toys. No matter how hard you try, a four-foot-tall puppet with a knife will always be more ridiculous than frightening. The sole option you have is, luckily, also a great one: you have to make 'em laugh.

To that end, M3GAN leans all the way in; in many ways, it's more a comedy than anything else — even if it doesn't sound as much on paper. We follow nine-year-old Cady (Violet McGraw) after she loses both of her parents in a car crash, and is shunted off to live with her emotionally stunted aunt Gemma (Allison Williams). 

Cady soon finds herself isolated, as Gemma is more focused on her career inventing interactive children's toys than actually interacting with a child. That is until, in a stroke of heavy-handed thematic serendipity, Gemma invents an interactive doll that can give Cady all the attention she'd rather not: M3GAN, creatively short for "Model 3 Generative ANdroid."

From there, the walleyed robot with the sole objective of protecting her "primary user" from harm acts just about how you'd expect. Unsettling stares, malfunctioning electronics and grisly murders follow M3GAN and Cady around until an expected conclusion and hint at sequels. 

But while the plot is typical, what makes M3GAN shine is how it walks a tightrope few have walked successfully before. Its story about technology obsession has something to say about surveillance capitalism and the eventual effect of an entire generation raised on iPads and apps. Gemma and Cady's performances — both of which are fantastic — manage to cram deep and believable character development into a silly narrative that didn't demand it. And it does it all while staunchly refusing to ever, at any point, take itself even the slightest bit seriously.

As a mainstream film, it is incredibly difficult to make yourself the butt of the joke and still ingratiate yourself to an audience: look no further than The Bubble's painful attempts to riff on Hollywood and the pandemic or the ever-growing pushback against Marvel's "Millennial humour." 

Here, M3GAN manages the impossible: when the titular android sings a slowed-down version of David Guetta's Titanium as a lullabye, it's somehow equal parts hilarious, original and creepy instead of cringe-worthy. 

And when the movie's soundtrack inexplicably becomes part of the characters' actual world, leading M3GAN to perform the unsettling but incredible hallway dance that caused the film to go viral months before its release, its absurdity is intentional. It's not scary, and, if you think about it, there's no reason for it to be funny — it's bizarre and pointless, but bizarre and pointless on purpose.