There will be crumbs. And there will also be a lot of puns about gingerbread, cookies, and dough, so prepare yourselves. The Gingerdead Man really has nothing to do with Christmas at all besides the type of cookie that the movie’s murderer embodies – and while that’s disappointing for me, seeing as I have a column to do about christmas horror movies and the like, it doesn’t really make a lot of difference to the film seeing as The Gingerdead Man has more sweetness than spice.
The film moves like molasses, a very slow plod through a torturous plot about a killer come to life inside a gingerbread man that has been fueled by human blood. The killer is Gary Busey, although the film didn’t really need to use a gingerbread man for his likeness – one look at his crazy face is enough to kill most people. Anyway, the gingerdead man comes alive in a rundown bakery to terrorize three young kids working in the kitchen, and – okay, let’s just end the plot synopsis here, as that is literally all that is happening in the film.
Despite the slow pace of the film, there’s no actual backstory to Busey’s killer character – there’s an opening scene of him murdering our heroine’s family, but there’s not really any rhyme or reason to it. It’s also quite clear that there’s no reason why the gingerbread man should be inhabited by Busey either besides a little spilled blood in the batter. The film tries to copy from Child’s Play, giving Busey a revenge story to play with after one of his victims escapes. But what kind of revenge does he need? Who is this crazy motherfather? I don’t know, and neither will you after the film.
All you’ll really know is that gingerbread men can be quite vicious for their size. Of course, they also bake into hideously cute personages, and spout lame one-liners at you until you either fall over laughing or give up from embarrassment for the little bugger. There’s a sense that The Gingerdead Man is definitely not taking itself seriously; with that said, it’s also not fun, the key to a movie that never really makes sense in the first place. In fact, much of the plot consists of a couple of bad actors exchanging equally bad dialogue that not-so-cleverly disguises their lust for each other. I’d rather gag on a sharp cookie.
Clearly, then, there must be some enjoyment from either the stark nakedness of a beautiful woman or the fresh bloodspill of a nubile teen. Not really, though, because before these vignettes of rather tame killings can occur, one must swim through the doughy offal of boring conversation and action that The Gingerdead Man seems so keen on packing into its 70 minute runtime.
Slash to the Point: I haven’t been very nice to The Gingerdead Man, but that’s because there isn’t really anything about it that I can think of that would appeal to even the casual viewer. It’s like having a cookie, but having no milk to dunk it in; though, in this case I would have liked to have drowned the gingerdead man.