A Horror Film Too Weird to Ignore
There are horror movies that rely on blood and guts, and then there’s Pin. This 1988 Canadian gem, directed by Sandor Stern and based on Andrew Neiderman’s novel, doesn’t need chainsaws, vampires, or masked slashers. It just needs a life-sized, anatomically correct medical dummy in a cardigan—and the kind of family dysfunction that makes Norman Bates look well-adjusted.
On paper, Pin sounds ridiculous. A ventriloquist doctor teaches his children about the birds and bees by throwing his voice into a plastic doll. One of those kids grows up believing the doll is alive. Murder, incestuous tension, and madness ensue. If you’re already chuckling, good—because Pin is both disturbing and unintentionally hilarious. It’s like watching an after-school special directed by David Cronenberg.
Meet Pin: Your Creepy Plastic Pal
The star of the show isn’t David Hewlett as Leon, or Cynthia Preston as Ursula—it’s Pin himself, a medical dummy who spends most of the movie sitting silently in the corner like he’s waiting for a CPR class. Dr. Linden (Terry O’Quinn, years before Lost) gives Pin a voice through ventriloquism, and for a while, it seems like a charming parenting trick. Who wouldn’t want to learn about anatomy from a plastic man with no skin?
Unfortunately, Leon takes Pin a little too seriously. While most kids would grow out of believing their stuffed animals talk, Leon graduates to adulthood still having heart-to-heart chats with Mr. Plastic Fantastic. By the time he’s dressing Pin in dad’s clothes, giving him skin and a wig, and treating him like his BFF, you realize: this movie isn’t about a killer dummy—it’s about a killer who wishes the dummy wasn’t a dummy.
And honestly? That’s way scarier.
David Hewlett: A Madman in the Making
David Hewlett deserves credit for going all-in on Leon. He plays him with wide-eyed sincerity, the kind of kid who was doomed from the moment his parents decided “emotional repression + talking mannequin = good parenting.” Hewlett sells the descent into madness so convincingly you forget how absurd it is.
He delivers lines to Pin like they’re Shakespeare, not realizing he’s arguing with a doll that, in real life, probably smells like formaldehyde and broken dreams. Watching him deteriorate is both chilling and darkly funny—you half expect him to put Pin in a tuxedo and take him to prom.
Cynthia Preston: The Only Sane One in the Room
Cynthia Preston as Ursula is the audience’s lifeline. She’s the sister trying to live a normal life while her brother slowly turns into a live-action ventriloquist act. Ursula’s frustration is palpable, her love for Leon is tragic, and her relationship with Stan (John Pyper-Ferguson) offers a glimpse of hope—until Leon, with Pin’s “help,” decides Stan needs to go.
Preston grounds the story in humanity. Without her, Pin would be a campy comedy about a guy and his dummy. With her, it’s a grim family drama where the monster isn’t supernatural—it’s untreated mental illness.
Terry O’Quinn: Parenting Done Wrong
As Dr. Linden, Terry O’Quinn is equal parts chilling and pathetic. His idea of “the talk” is explaining reproduction through a lifeless hunk of plastic, like Mr. Rogers after a lobotomy. His children grow up emotionally stunted, repressed, and—at least in Leon’s case—completely unhinged.
If there’s a moral here, it’s this: don’t outsource parenting to a ventriloquist act with a sex doll in a lab coat. O’Quinn’s cold detachment, mixed with his misguided attempts at playfulness, create the perfect storm that sends Leon over the edge. In a way, Pin is just the symptom—dad was the real disease.
Horror in Cardigans
What makes Pin work is its restraint. It’s not flashy. It’s not gory. It doesn’t even have that many deaths. Instead, it simmers. The horror comes from watching Leon spiral, from seeing Pin dressed like a creepy uncle at Thanksgiving, and from realizing just how far denial can go in a family that doesn’t believe in therapy.
The atmosphere is clinical, sterile, almost suffocating. The house feels less like a home and more like an extension of the doctor’s office—Pin included. Even when nothing violent is happening, there’s a sense of dread, like you’ve accidentally wandered into a mannequin’s dream journal.
So Bad It’s Brilliantly Disturbing
Let’s be honest: Pin is ripe for mockery. A plastic dummy in dad’s old suit should not be scary. But it is. Maybe not in the “you’ll sleep with the lights on” way, but in the “you’ll laugh, then shiver because it’s too weird” way. It’s horror by way of absurdity, and that absurdity makes it unforgettable.
Other horror films give you masked killers or monsters from beyond. Pin gives you the story of a boy so broken that his best friend is a medical mannequin. It’s part tragedy, part comedy, and part cautionary tale for parents everywhere: talk to your kids like human beings, or they’ll start dressing up the furniture.
The Ending: When You Become the Doll
The climax is both predictable and devastating. Leon finally loses himself completely and becomes Pin. Not just metaphorically—literally, he adopts the persona, the voice, the mannerisms. Ursula, heartbroken, has no choice but to destroy the dummy to save herself, only to realize she’s essentially killed her brother’s last tether to reality.
It’s bleak, bizarre, and strangely moving. By the time the credits roll, you’re not sure if you should laugh, cry, or call a psychiatrist.
Why It Works (Even When It Shouldn’t)
Pin succeeds because it embraces its own weirdness. It doesn’t wink at the audience or play anything for camp. It treats the absurd premise with deadly seriousness, and that’s what makes it unsettling. The film isn’t about a killer dummy—it’s about isolation, repression, and the terrifying places the human mind can go when left alone too long.
Yes, it’s occasionally silly. Yes, it looks dated. But it’s also unique, and in a genre bloated with sequels and clichés, that’s priceless.
Final Verdict
Pin is not for everyone. Some will laugh it off as another piece of ‘80s VHS trash. Others will find it haunting, creepy, and oddly profound. For horror fans, it’s a hidden treasure: a film that dares to be different, even if that difference involves a talking mannequin with better hair than most of the cast.
It’s horror as psychodrama, dressed in cardigan sweaters and drenched in awkward family dysfunction. And it works. You’ll laugh, you’ll squirm, and you’ll never look at the mannequins in a medical school the same way again.
