Buddy has achieved an unusual box-office result. After taking $5.3 million during the weekend of August 28, the horror film increased that total to $5.7 million over the Labor Day weekend. That is a strong result for a film made on a $3 million budget, even if it remains far below the earlier success of Obsession, which also earned more during its second weekend.
The film follows children who perform on a wholesome programme resembling Barney & Friends. Their colourful mentor is Buddy, an orange unicorn voiced by Keegan-Michael Key. The mascot encourages singing and dancing, but the children gradually realise that his enthusiasm is not always voluntary. When members of the young cast disappear, suspicion turns towards Buddy, revealing a vicious killer beneath the friendly costume.
That setup is excellent, and Buddy himself looks and sounds convincingly like a 1990s children’s television character. The trouble is that the film does not always deliver on the promise of its central idea. Instead of balancing genuine scares with sharp comedy, it produces only a handful of laughs and leans heavily on gore. Graphic violence can be effective, but it cannot replace tension, fear or an unsettling atmosphere.
For me, that made Buddy less satisfying than another dark comedy about a children’s television mascot: the 2002 film Death to Smoochy.
Why Death to Smoochy remains the sharper satire
Directed by Danny DeVito, Death to Smoochy explores the corrupt world behind children’s programming. Rainbow Randolph, played by Robin Williams, loses his long-running presenting job after accepting a bribe from parents who want their child on television. The payment is part of an FBI sting, leaving Randolph disgraced and unemployed.
The network replaces him with Sheldon Mopes, portrayed by Edward Norton. Mopes is a singer-songwriter who performs in a large purple rhinoceros costume called Smoochy, while DeVito plays his unscrupulous talent agent. Smoochy becomes a sensation, sending Randolph into a bitter and increasingly unstable campaign to destroy his replacement.
The film’s bleak humour is in keeping with DeVito’s work on Throw Momma from the Train and The War of the Roses. It was not a mainstream success in 2002, earning only $8 million against a $50 million budget, but it later developed a committed cult following. Its supporting cast includes Catherine Keener, Harvey Fierstein, Jon Stewart, Danny Woodburn, Michael Rispoli, Vincent Schiavelli and Pam Ferris.
Williams and Norton make the absurdity work
Williams gives Rainbow Randolph a rare combination of broad comic energy and genuine menace. Randolph begins as a greedy, cynical presenter who cares more about money than children. After losing his career, he becomes vindictive and violent, devising ridiculous schemes to damage Smoochy’s reputation. These include planting phallic cookies in a children’s segment and tricking Smoochy into appearing at a Nazi rally, leading to the deliberately absurd chant, “Heil Smoochy!”
As Randolph becomes more destructive, he also becomes strangely sympathetic. The performance brings together the manic showmanship associated with Williams’s comedies and the unsettling danger of his thriller roles, including One Hour Photo and Insomnia.
Norton, meanwhile, turns Sheldon Mopes into an unusually sincere children’s entertainer. Smoochy is generous, health-conscious and uninterested in the wealth created by his sudden fame. He wants the money to do good, which makes his spotless decency both funny and oddly difficult to support once Randolph’s schemes begin.
The contrast works because Smoochy is not simply a harmless winner and Randolph is not merely a cartoon villain. Their rivalry keeps shifting, allowing the film to be nasty, ridiculous and occasionally compassionate at the same time.
DeVito’s balance of sweetness and cruelty
DeVito’s direction is the key to the film’s unusual tone. The story can move from glittery children’s entertainment to murder and filthy jokes without completely losing its sense of shape. Randolph’s colourful performances remain entertaining even when the character is reprehensible, while Smoochy’s supposedly wholesome songs contain unexpectedly grim ideas, including “My Stepdad’s Not Mean (He’s Just Adjusting).”
The ending is bright and almost childlike despite everything that comes before it. It may be too optimistic to feel entirely earned, but that innocence is also what makes the conclusion fit the film’s peculiar worldview.
Buddy has the cleaner high-concept pitch, and its second-weekend performance is an impressive result for a modestly budgeted horror film. However, Death to Smoochy remains the more distinctive takedown of children’s television mascots. Its mix of black comedy, violence, eccentric performances and sugary presentation has proved more memorable than Buddy’s orange fur.
For readers interested in the darker side of cult entertainment, RETROCADE’s Arcade Blog covers more unusual gaming and pop-culture stories. You can also browse arcade machines, consider a compact setup with bartop arcades, or plan a custom project using DIY arcade kits.
Buddy is currently in cinemas. Death to Smoochy is available to stream free through Hoopla and the Roku Channel.
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