There are movies so bad they become camp classics. Then there’s Puppet Master 4, a film that feels like it was conceived after Charles Band lost a bar bet and then tried to get Jeff Burr to direct it on a dare. Released direct-to-video (because even theaters have standards), this is the fourth entry in the Puppet Master franchise, and by this point the marionette strings are frayed, the puppets are creaking, and the audience is left wondering if the real horror is spending 83 minutes with it.
The premise, if one can use that word generously, is that Hell itself is angry about tiny killer puppets. Yes, that Hell. Enter Sutekh, a demon lord who looks like a rejected Power Rangers villain, who sends little monsters called Totems to kill anyone dabbling in André Toulon’s life-giving formula. You’d think Satan would have better things to do—plagues, war, tax audits—but no, he’s apparently on doll duty.
Meet Your Hero, a Discount Doogie Howser
Our protagonist is Rick Myers (Gordon Currie), a young scientist who’s working at the Bodega Bay Inn, which has gone from classy hotel in Puppet Master (1989) to “Airbnb no one wants” in this installment. Rick is supposed to be a genius working on artificial intelligence. What this means in practice is that he plays laser tag with Pinhead and Tunneler as though he’s auditioning for Revenge of the Nerds 5: Puppet Ph.D.
Rick is joined by his friends: Suzie (Chandra West), who’s here to look supportive in tank tops; Lauren (Teresa Hill), the psychic, because no horror film in the early ’90s was complete without one; and Cameron (Jason Adams), who’s that annoying competitive friend who would sell your kidneys on eBay if it got him an edge. Together, they stumble into Toulon’s trunk, discover the puppets, and—because curiosity never killed anyone in horror movies—decide to juice them up with the life-giving formula.
And voilà, the band is back together: Blade, Pinhead, Jester, Six Shooter, and Tunneler. Torch doesn’t show up, presumably because even a flamethrower puppet has professional boundaries.
The Plot, Such As It Is
The story trudges along with the enthusiasm of a Totem with a sprained ankle. Sutekh’s goons show up, one by mail (yes, literal demon FedEx), and start picking people off. Cameron, naturally, gets killed in a way that suggests even the Totems were sick of him. Lauren, the psychic, spends most of her screen time shrieking like a malfunctioning smoke alarm.
Meanwhile, Toulon’s ghost pops up occasionally like a weary parent checking in on unsupervised children. He tells Rick to use the puppets to animate Decapitron, the franchise’s newest addition. Decapitron is supposed to be the big gun, the Exodia of the series, but instead looks like a melted Ken doll whose head swaps between “rubber face” and “cheap special effect.” He’s powered up by lightning, because apparently Toulon and Frankenstein used the same electrician.
The final showdown involves Decapitron shooting lasers from his head at the last Totem while Rick hacks away on his computer like he’s playing Minesweeper. It’s less climactic battle and more “IT guy versus Etsy demon.”
Acting: The Real Demonic Possession
The performances are so wooden you could mistake the human cast for puppets. Gordon Currie tries to sell Rick’s boy-genius shtick but mostly looks like a man regretting his agent’s phone call. Chandra West and Teresa Hill scream and react dutifully, though they have about as much chemistry with Currie as the puppets do with drywall.
Jason Adams, to his credit, at least leans into being insufferable. When his character dies, it’s the only moment of genuine catharsis in the film.
And then there’s Guy Rolfe, reprising André Toulon in ghost form. Rolfe is a dignified actor, but here he’s reduced to delivering exposition in a French accent so faint it sounds like he’s phoning it in from Montreal.
Effects: From Spirit Halloween With Love
Full Moon Features was never known for blockbuster budgets, but even by their standards this is rough. The puppets—once the creepy highlight of the franchise—are now relegated to Saturday-morning-cartoon antics. Blade gets to stab something. Pinhead punches something. Six Shooter shoots something. Jester… spins his head around, looking like he’s perpetually unsure whether he’s in the right movie.
The Totems, meanwhile, look like rubber gargoyles you’d find in the clearance bin at Spirit Halloween. Their movements are jerky, their attacks unintentionally hilarious. One leaps on someone’s back, and instead of horror, you expect Yakety Sax to start playing.
And Decapitron? He looks like a cross between Stretch Armstrong and a broken He-Man accessory. His laser-beam finale is less “awesome death ray” and more “1993 clip-art slideshow.”
The Real Horror: Franchise Fatigue
The first Puppet Master at least had novelty: tiny, creepy killers exacting revenge. The second doubled down on gore. The third gave us a Nazi prequel nobody asked for but somehow worked. By Puppet Master 4, though, the puppets are no longer villains—they’re pint-sized superheroes defending humanity. Which might sound interesting, if it wasn’t executed with all the enthusiasm of a tax seminar.
Horror franchises always struggle with identity crises—see Leprechaun in the Hood or Hellraiser in Space—but Puppet Master 4 feels like the point where the series stopped pretending to be horror at all. It’s a children’s movie about dolls fighting demons, except it’s R-rated and filled with enough stilted dialogue to qualify as unintentional parody.
The Devil’s Bargain
If you’re keeping score:
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Gore? Minimal.
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Scares? None.
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Puppet mayhem? Limited to awkward slap fights.
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Plot coherence? Don’t make me laugh.
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Entertainment value? Only if you’re drunk, stoned, or a PhD candidate studying the decline of VHS horror in the early ’90s.
Even Sutekh, the supposed Big Bad, spends most of his time standing around in Hell, looking like he’s waiting for a bus. His minions are useless, his plan nonsensical, and his motivation unclear. Imagine Satan outsourcing his apocalypse to three sock puppets and you’ve got the vibe.
Final Judgment
Puppet Master 4 is proof that sometimes franchises should stay buried, no matter how many formulas you inject them with. It’s a lifeless, joyless slog that mistakes rubber monsters and clunky exposition for entertainment. Even the puppets look embarrassed to be here.
If the real Toulon were watching, he’d probably beg to have his creations set on fire and scattered at sea. Instead, we’re stuck with Decapitron, the superhero puppet nobody wanted, blasting rubber demons with head lasers while Rick Myers delivers dialogue like he’s reading cue cards off a pizza box.
