Welcome to the Playhouse of the Damned
There’s a special place in cinematic hell reserved for movies that make you laugh, cringe, and cheer for homicidal puppets — and Puppet Master: The Littlest Reich throws open the door with a Nazi salute and a wink.
Directed by Sonny Laguna and Tommy Wiklund, and written by the ever-provocative S. Craig Zahler (Bone Tomahawk, Brawl in Cell Block 99), this 2018 reboot of the Puppet Master franchise is so gleefully unhinged, so unapologetically tasteless, that it rockets past “bad taste” into the rarefied realm of “cult masterpiece.”
This is the twelfth entry in a 30-year-old series about killer marionettes — and somehow, against all odds, it’s also one of the best. It’s as if someone looked at Schindler’s List and said, “Needs more tiny fascists with knives.”
Nazis, Knives, and Nostalgia
Our story begins, as all great horror comedies do, with a Nazi trying to get laid. Udo Kier, whose face could make a priest flinch, plays André Toulon, a war criminal hiding in 1980s Texas. When his advances toward a lesbian bartender are rebuffed, he does what any self-respecting undead Nazi puppeteer would do: sends his tiny, sentient toys to brutally murder her and her lover.
It’s tasteless. It’s disturbing. It’s somehow hilarious. Welcome to The Littlest Reich.
Fast-forward to 2019, where sad-sack comic book artist Edgar Easton (Thomas Lennon, bringing just the right blend of schlub and sarcasm) finds one of Toulon’s puppets — “Blade” — among his late brother’s belongings. Hoping to sell it at an auction celebrating Toulon’s “art,” Edgar and his girlfriend Ashley (Jenny Pellicer) hit the road with his grumpy best friend Markowitz (Nelson Franklin, who steals every scene he’s in).
The event is held at a hotel so aggressively beige it screams “low-budget murder spree.” Among the attendees: collectors, weirdos, and a handful of people whose sole narrative function is to be sliced, diced, or drilled by something small and evil.
The Littlest Reich Rises
It doesn’t take long before Toulon’s puppets — led by the iconic Blade, Tunneler, and Pinhead — come back to life, fueled by Nazi magic and an apparent hatred of everyone who isn’t a straight white Aryan. Yes, these are racist puppets. Tiny, goose-stepping, politically incorrect death toys.
The murders begin in earnest, and they are glorious.
This is not a film for the faint of heart — or the politically correct. There’s puppet decapitation, puppet disembowelment, puppet flamethrowing, and one scene involving a pregnant woman that’s so shockingly vile you’ll need to shower and then send the filmmakers a thank-you note for having the guts (literally).
The gore is practical, plentiful, and proudly gratuitous. It’s like watching Team America: World Police if it were directed by Lucio Fulci after a head injury.
A Murderous Muppet Meta-Commentary
For all its sleaze, The Littlest Reich is surprisingly clever. S. Craig Zahler’s script manages to smuggle real satire between the entrails. The puppets aren’t just killing indiscriminately — they’re targeting minorities, Jews, and queer characters, echoing Toulon’s Nazi ideology.
It’s an equal-opportunity offender that mocks both fascism and fandom. The collectors who worship Toulon’s “art” are the same ones who get sliced open by it. It’s a sly jab at horror fans who idolize villains without recognizing the evil they represent.
In other words: if you think having a “Toulon Original” on your shelf is cool, this movie gleefully reminds you that you might be the next course on the charcuterie board.
Thomas Lennon: Everyman in a Nightmare
Lennon’s performance anchors the chaos. Best known for his comedy work (Reno 911!, The Odd Couple), he plays Edgar as the kind of guy who’s too exhausted to be horrified. When killer puppets attack, his reaction isn’t screaming terror — it’s more like, “Of course this is happening to me.”
He’s joined by Jenny Pellicer’s Ashley, a charmingly grounded presence amid the absurdity, and Nelson Franklin’s Markowitz, who deserves his own spin-off. Their chemistry makes the movie feel like Clerks meets Re-Animator.
And then there’s Barbara Crampton — horror royalty from Re-Animator and From Beyond — returning as Carol Doreski, the cop who killed Toulon decades earlier and now runs tours of his mansion. Her deadpan delivery and visible disgust at this puppet parade of nonsense make her the film’s unsung hero.
Udo Kier: The Face That Launched a Thousand Screams
Let’s talk about Udo Kier. This man has built an entire career out of looking like he knows where the bodies are buried — because he probably does. As André Toulon, he doesn’t have much screen time, but every second counts. He radiates sleaze and menace like a radioactive Bond villain.
When he reappears later as a zombified, reanimated corpse — complete with milky eyes and a smile that could curdle milk — it’s pure nightmare fuel. Toulon is the puppet master, but Kier’s performance reminds you that the real horror is always human (or whatever’s left of it).
Blood, Guts, and Belly Laughs
What makes The Littlest Reich so perversely delightful is its tone. It walks a tightrope between horror and absurdist comedy without ever losing its balance. The dialogue is snappy, the pacing brisk, and the violence so over-the-top that it crosses into slapstick.
You’ll find yourself laughing, then immediately feeling guilty — which is precisely the point. One moment you’re watching a puppet perform impromptu surgery on an unsuspecting victim; the next, you’re wondering if the filmmakers are trolling you. They are. And it’s glorious.
The practical effects are a love letter to 1980s gore — chunky, sticky, and proudly old-school. Blood sprays in artistic arcs. Heads roll like bowling balls. You could frame half these kills and hang them in a grindhouse gallery.
Fangoria Rises from the Grave
This film marked Fangoria’s grand return to filmmaking under its “Fangoria Presents” banner, and what a resurrection it is. The Littlest Reich feels like a mission statement: horror should be shocking, funny, and unapologetically weird.
It’s not trying to be prestige horror like Hereditary or The Witch. It’s the anti–A24 movie — a film that knows exactly what it is: cheap, mean, and deeply fun. It’s a reminder that not every horror movie needs a metaphor about grief. Sometimes, you just want a puppet with a drill for a head murdering a bigot in a motel room.
The Ending: Strings Attached
By the end, most of the cast is dead (in very creative ways), Toulon’s mausoleum has exploded, and his corpse has risen from the grave to murder again. Edgar escapes, emotionally scarred but artistically inspired — because apparently, trauma is great for comic book ideas.
It’s the perfect setup for a sequel that may or may not ever happen, but honestly, who cares? The Littlest Reich stands alone as a glorious piece of grindhouse excess — a carnival of bad taste and sharp craftsmanship.
Final Verdict: A Killer Comeback
Puppet Master: The Littlest Reich is the kind of movie that shouldn’t work — and yet it absolutely does. It’s funny, disgusting, and smart in ways that only the truly deranged can appreciate. It’s not for everyone, but for those who like their horror with a wink and a hatchet, it’s pure twisted joy.
In a genre oversaturated with remakes and soulless sequels, this film has the audacity to be fun. It’s confident enough to revel in its filth, and smart enough to know exactly how far to push it.
If you can handle blood, boobs, and biting social satire — sometimes literally — this is your new favorite bad dream.
Rating: 4.5 out of 5 homicidal hand puppets.
Because when life gets you down, remember: there’s always a tiny Nazi marionette somewhere having a worse day than you.
