Ranking the ‘The Boy’ Franchise: A Chilling Exploration of Doll Horror
The doll has long been a staple of horror cinema, embodying the uncanny valley where innocence twists into terror. From the sinister ventriloquist dummy in Magic (1978) to the demonic possession in the Annabelle series and the murderous plaything Chucky in Child’s Play (1988), dolls exploit our primal fear of lifeless objects gaining sentience. They infiltrate the domestic sphere, subverting childhood nostalgia into nightmare fuel. This subgenre thrives on psychological dread, misdirection and the slow erosion of reality, often blending supernatural elements with slasher tropes.
Enter the The Boy franchise, a modern duology that revitalises doll horror with gothic atmosphere and audacious twists. Directed by William Brent Bell, these films centre on Brahms, a porcelain doll with an eerily lifelike presence, housed in a sprawling English manor. The original The Boy (2016) introduced the concept, while Brahms: The Boy II (2020) expanded the lore. What sets this franchise apart? Its meticulous build-up of unease, where the doll’s rules—feeding it, reading bedtime stories—create a ritualistic tension reminiscent of Poltergeist‘s toys-coming-to-life scares.
Ranking the franchise demands clear criteria: atmospheric immersion (how effectively the doll dominates the frame), narrative ingenuity (twists and lore consistency), performances (conveying parental paranoia), thematic depth (exploring grief, isolation and maternal instinct) and cultural resonance (spawned memes, fan theories and merchandise). With only two entries, this list pits sequel against original, revealing how the series evolved—or stumbled—in mastering doll horror’s delicate balance of subtlety and shock. Prepare for a deep dissection of Brahms’s reign.
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Brahms: The Boy II (2020)
Released amid the COVID-19 pandemic, Brahms: The Boy II picks up threads from the original, shifting focus to a new family moving into the Heelshire estate after a traumatic home invasion. Katie Holmes stars as Liza, a mother grappling with selective mutism in her son Jude (Christopher Convery), who forms an obsessive bond with the restored Brahms doll. Owain Yeoman plays the sceptical father Sean, while Ralph Ineson lurks as a groundskeeper with hidden motives. Bell returns as director, amplifying the manor’s claustrophobia with wider shots of dusty corridors and shadowed playrooms.
The film’s doll horror mechanics shine in its early acts. Brahms isn’t just a prop; he’s a psychological anchor. Jude’s adherence to the doll’s ‘rules’—mirroring the original’s nanny contract—builds dread through mundane rituals: tucking Brahms in, avoiding the walls at night. This echoes classic doll films like Dead Silence (2007), where James Wan’s ventriloquist dummy Mary Shaw enforces silence with fatal consequences. Here, sound design elevates the terror; Brahms’s porcelain clacks and faint whispers infiltrate the score, composed by Bear McCreary, whose dissonant strings recall his work on 10 Cloverfield Lane.
Thematically, the film delves into generational trauma. Liza’s backstory of loss parallels Greta’s in the first film, questioning how dolls become surrogate children for the bereaved. Convery’s performance as Jude captures the eerie innocence of doll obsession, his wide-eyed devotion evoking The Shining‘s Danny Torrance. Yet, the sequel falters in its second half. Plot contrivances strain credulity—familial secrets pile up without organic reveals—and the escalation into overt violence dilutes the subtlety that defined doll horror’s golden era, like Anthony Hopkins’s puppeteering in Magic.
Culturally, Brahms: The Boy II underperformed at the box office (£12 million worldwide on a £8 million budget), partly due to pandemic timing, but it garnered a cult following online. Fan theories on Reddit dissect Brahms’s ‘immortality,’ linking it to Victorian porcelain folklore where dolls housed spirits. Critics were mixed; Variety noted its ‘serviceable scares’ but lambasted the ‘needless sequelitis.’[1] It ranks second for solidifying the franchise lore while sacrificing some original spark, yet its domestic horror resonates in an era of homebound anxieties.
Trivia enriches its legacy: the doll was crafted by the same artisans behind Annabelle, using real human hair for authenticity. Bell cited Child’s Play as anti-inspiration, aiming for ‘quiet horror’ over gore. In doll horror canon, it expands Brahms from gimmick to mythos, paving potential for future entries—though its rushed pacing holds it back from top spot.
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The Boy (2016)
Launching the franchise with a bang, The Boy establishes Brahms as an icon of modern doll horror. Lauren Cohan delivers a star-making turn as Greta, an American au pair hired by elderly Brits Mr and Mrs Heelshire (Jim Norton and Diana Kent) to care for their life-sized doll in a remote manor. Rupert Evans co-stars as the enigmatic groundskeeper Malcolm, adding romantic tension amid the weirdness. William Brent Bell’s direction masterclasses restraint, using long takes to let the estate’s gothic decay seep into the viewer’s psyche.
From the opening credits—porcelain shattering in slow motion—the film hooks with visual poetry. Doll horror here is pure psychological warfare: Greta must follow 10 strict rules, from porridge feeds to music boxes at bedtime. This gamifies terror, akin to The Ring‘s videotape curse or Truth or Dare‘s demonic game. The manor’s walls hide secrets, with production designer Jon Jashni drawing from real haunted dollhouses like Robert the Doll in Key West, whose legend inspired warnings of misfortune for non-believers.
The narrative’s ingenuity lies in its centrepiece twist (spoiler-free: it redefines Brahms’s agency), blending Psycho-esque misdirection with supernatural ambiguity. Cohan’s arc—from sceptic to believer—anchors the emotional core, her vulnerability amplifying maternal fears explored in Dolly Dearest (1991), a lesser-known gem of killer ragdoll rampage. Supporting turns elevate it: Norton’s Heelshires evoke quiet madness, their exit scene a masterstroke of exposition through ritual.
Cultural impact? Box office triumph (£35 million on £8 million budget) spawned the sequel and endless ‘creepy doll’ TikToks. Roger Ebert’s site praised its ‘old-school chills,’[2] while Fangoria hailed Bell for ‘reviving porcelain peril.’ The film nods to doll horror forebears: Trilogy of Terror (1975)’s Zuni doll chase influences chase sequences, and Demonic Toys (1992)’s possessed playthings inform the lore. Brahms even inspired real merchandise, outselling Annabelle in some markets.
Production insights reveal Bell’s passion: shot in Victoria, British Columbia, standing in for England, with practical effects for Brahms’s movements—no CGI shortcuts. Rainey Luedtke’s score, with its music-box leitmotifs, became meme fodder. Ranking first for flawless dread build-up, airtight twists and Cohan’s powerhouse lead, The Boy perfects doll horror’s formula: what seems childish becomes catastrophically adult.
Conclusion
The The Boy franchise cements doll horror’s enduring appeal, proving porcelain can out-scare slashers. While the sequel deepens the mythos, the original’s precision edges it ahead, together forming a diptych of domestic dread. In a subgenre crowded by Annabelle‘s jumpscares and Chucky’s quips, Brahms stands quiet and watchful—a reminder that true horror lurks in the playroom. Future films could explore Brahms’s origins, blending Victorian seances with contemporary tech fears. For fans, it’s a rewatchable ritual; the rules still apply.
References
- Barton, R. (2020). ‘Brahms: The Boy II Review.’ Variety.
- O’Hehir, A. (2016). ‘The Boy Movie Review.’ RogerEbert.com.
- Jones, A. (2018). Creepy Dolls: A History of Haunted Toys in Cinema. Midnight Marquee Press.
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