Welcome to the Circus of Regret
Somewhere, deep in the annals of horror’s Hall of Shame, there’s a cracked porcelain mask with a red nose, smeared greasepaint, and a single tear painted down one cheek. That’s Jingles the Clown — not just a movie, but an experience that asks, “What if we remade a terrible film…and somehow made it worse?”
Directed by Tommy Brunswick and written by Todd Brunswick (yes, it’s a family affair — because nepotism isn’t just for Hollywood royalty, it’s for horror trash too), Jingles the Clown is the 2009 reboot of Mr. Jingles (2006). And if you didn’t see Mr. Jingles, congratulations. You made better life choices than anyone involved in this film.
This is a movie about a killer clown who co-hosts a children’s TV show, murders an entire family, comes back from the dead, and then proceeds to terrorize a reality TV crew — because why not combine It, Poltergeist, and an episode of Ghost Hunters with the production quality of a high school media project?
The result is a cinematic clown car of bad acting, worse lighting, and plot holes so big you could drive the It’s Alivemutant baby through them.
Plot: Clown College Dropout
We open with a flashback to everyone’s least favorite episode of Sesame Street After Dark. Mr. Jingles (John Anton), a children’s show host and part-time family butcher, murders the Nelsons while forcing nine-year-old Angela to watch. Because nothing says “fun for the whole family” like child trauma and camcorder snuff footage.
When the cops finally show up, they’re so disgusted that the sheriff executes Jingles on the spot — which, to be fair, is the most relatable decision anyone makes in this entire movie. But Jingles isn’t dead. He winks at little Angela, because even serial killers in dollar-store makeup appreciate a good jump scare cue.
Fast forward to years later. Angela (April Canning) is all grown up, emotionally damaged, and inexplicably agreeing to return to the murder mansion as part of a paranormal TV show called Haunted Maniacs. Because what better way to face your trauma than by turning it into cable content?
The rest of the “crew” is a collection of walking clichés: the cynical producer, the psychic who immediately dies, the medium who senses danger (thanks, Captain Obvious), and the token comic relief who’s about as funny as a tax audit. Together, they decide to film inside Jingles’s decrepit mansion — which looks less like a haunted house and more like the inside of an abandoned Spirit Halloween.
The Horror: Blood, Boredom, and Bad Decisions
Jingles, now a supernatural killer powered by “souls” (because the script needed something), begins picking off the crew one by one. The kills are inventive in the sense that each one is filmed like a student short where everyone forgot their lines but remembered to bring fake blood.
A psychic gets killed first (shocking, I know). Someone gets electrocuted by what looks like a toaster. There’s even a flaming crucifix death scene that feels like The Exorcist directed by someone who just discovered Adobe Premiere.
The gore effects are amateurish — lots of red syrup and strobe lighting — but the real horror is the audio mix. Every scream sounds like it was recorded through a potato, and the background score alternates between “spooky carnival music” and what I can only describe as rejected Goosebumps theme leftovers.
And then there’s Jingles himself — a character so unscary he makes Ronald McDonald look like Pennywise. He’s got all the menace of a mall Santa in clown makeup, muttering quips that sound like rejected Freddy Krueger lines:
“Welcome to my funhouse!”
“Wanna play, little girl?”
“Who wrote this dialogue?” (Okay, I made that one up, but it feels right.)
Acting: The Real Carnage
Bijou Phillips dodged this one, but everyone else…didn’t.
April Canning’s Angela spends the entire film looking like she’s trying to remember if her car’s lights are still on. She whispers, she screams, she whimpers — sometimes all in the same scene — but never once convinces us she’s actually in danger.
John Anton’s Jingles, meanwhile, deserves a lifetime achievement award for “Most Misguided Commitment to a Terrible Role.” He sneers, he giggles, he struts like a clown who just lost custody of his balloon animals. His performance lands somewhere between “insane murderer” and “middle-aged man who just got kicked out of a Chuck E. Cheese.”
The supporting cast fares no better. The medium (DaVaughn Lucas) reacts to every psychic vision like he’s constipated. The producer (Virginia Negron Bryant) reads her lines with the enthusiasm of someone forced to attend a Zoom meeting at gunpoint. And the caretaker (Bill Moore) sounds like he’s narrating his own confusion.
By the time half the cast has been slaughtered, you’re rooting for Jingles. Not because he’s scary, but because he’s merciful.
The Script: Written by Mad Libs
Todd Brunswick’s screenplay is a masterpiece of incoherence. The dialogue feels improvised by people who just met five minutes before filming. The exposition dumps are endless: characters explain Jingles’s backstory three separate times, and it still doesn’t make sense.
We’re told he’s the result of incest. We’re told he’s powered by the souls of his victims. We’re told he might be Angela’s father. We’re also told that if you destroy his “conduit” — a creepy doll — he’ll die. And yet, none of these details seem to matter, because every time someone makes progress, Jingles just…keeps showing up like an unpaid intern.
The pacing is equally deranged. Long scenes of people walking around a dark house pad out the runtime like a bad Scooby-Doo episode with no dog, no jokes, and no budget.
When Jingles finally dies — crushed by his own doll, because irony is all that’s left — the audience is left wondering: “Wait, that’s it?” Even the baby from It’s Alive would’ve had the decency to give us an ending with some bite.
Production: Filmed on Location at the Bargain Bin
Visually, Jingles the Clown is what happens when you give a film school dropout a camcorder and tell them to “make it scary.” Every scene is bathed in migraine-inducing red or green lighting, as if the DP mistook the set for a nightclub.
The camera work is jittery, the editing is chaotic, and the sets look like they were built entirely from leftover Halloween decorations and shame. The “haunted mansion” exterior appears to change size between shots, like a budget TARDIS.
And let’s talk about that clown makeup — an unholy blend of acrylic paint and existential dread. Jingles’s face looks less like a killer clown and more like a sad mime who got fired from Cirque du Soleil.
Themes: Family, Trauma, and Inflatable Axes
Like many horror films, Jingles the Clown tries to say something about trauma, guilt, and inherited evil. Unfortunately, it says it with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer to the forehead.
Angela’s flashbacks reveal that she “sacrificed” her sister to Jingles as a child, but the emotional weight of this revelation lands with all the force of a feather pillow. The movie wants you to feel for her, but it’s hard when the film keeps cutting to Jingles prancing around like a drunk rodeo clown.
By the finale, Angela embraces martyrdom, walking into a burning house with her evil clown dad. It’s supposed to be tragic. It’s actually hilarious.
Final Thoughts: The Joke’s on Us
If there’s one moral takeaway from Jingles the Clown, it’s this: not every horror icon deserves a comeback. Some should stay buried — preferably under several feet of concrete and a restraining order.
This film isn’t scary. It isn’t funny. It isn’t even so bad it’s good. It’s just the cinematic equivalent of being stuck at a child’s birthday party where the clown won’t leave and the cake is on fire.
Watching it feels like punishment — like being forced to relive your most embarrassing memories while someone honks a clown horn in your ear.
And yet, in its own bizarre way, Jingles the Clown is a perfect cautionary tale: proof that horror without passion, talent, or taste is scarier than any monster.
Rating: 1 out of 5 Red Noses
A film so lifeless, it makes Pennywise look like a method actor. The only thing funny here is the idea that someone thought it needed a reboot.
