Buddy (2026) Review!!

Synopsis – A brave girl and her friends must escape a kids television show.

My Take – While audiences wait for Daniel Kaluuya and A24 to deliver their inevitably bizarre spin on Barney & Friends, the very talented Casper Kelly makes his own feature debut by weaponizing nostalgia. He takes something wholesome and turns it inside out, asking a single, sinister question: what if the cheerful purple Tyrannosaurus Rex who sang lessons and danced with children wasn’t a friend at all, but a demonic predator? Yup, nothing conjures nightmares like corrupted innocence.

Filmmaker Kelly already proved his knack for surreal horror in 2014’s viral short Too Many Cooks, where sitcom archetypes became trapped in a nightmare of sentience and slaughter at the hands of a serial killer. So here, alongside co-writer Jamie King, he dives back into the rabbit hole of ‘90s memory by presenting a contained, televised world of a children’s mascot as a surreal prison overseen by a malignant narcissist who can reach into the real world and pull people into his show. And it’s every bit as messed up as it sounds.

The film mixes tones with ease: it is part satire of kids’ TV, part jab at nostalgia, and part raw drama about a parent and child finding each other after trauma. It’s weird, unsettling, and oddly touching. Thanks to sharp puppetry and detailed sets, it creates a vivid nightmare world and squeezes every drop of fear from its idea.

Sure, it fails to stick the landing, but the journey earns its place as an inspired, original riff on horror. Wild, unhinged, and unforgettable.

The story drops us straight into It’s Buddy!, a forgotten children’s show from 1999. At its center is Buddy (played by Sergey Zhuravsky, voiced by Keegan-Michael Key), a towering orange unicorn with magic powers who sings, teaches lessons about bravery and tidiness, and ends each episode with hugs and a cheerful song from the kids. This time we meet Freddy (Delaney Quinn), Wade (Caleb Williams), Oliver (Tristan Borders), and Josh (Luke Speakman).

The plot seems simple: the kids are invited to a dance party, but Freddy isn’t sure she’s brave enough to join in. Wade calls on Buddy to help. At first Buddy is playful and whimsical, until one child refuses to follow the script. Buddy sends the group off to find Betty Bunny (Cedwan Hooks, voiced by Jimmica Collins), then corners the defiant kid alone, trying to force them back into his cheery routine.

When the children later ask about their missing friend, Buddy claims he’s gone to Diamond City. But Freddy grows suspicious after finding the child’s treasured book tossed in the trash—stained with what looks like blood. Another episode begins, everything reset to normal, yet Freddy’s unease lingers.

She teams up with Wade to uncover the truth, unravel the loop of endless episodes, and plot an escape to Diamond City with the help of their fellow cast mates. Meanwhile, in the real world, Grace (Cristin Milioti), a mother of two, senses something is wrong in her own life. Her husband Ben (Topher Grace) dismisses her worries, but Grace can’t shake the feeling that the show’s shadow stretches into reality

At its core, the film confronts what audiences have quietly suspected about Barney for decades: beneath the hugs and songs lurks a narcissist. Director Kelly reframes that cultural fixation with Freddy Krueger-style lunacy, creating a TV dream world where children are trapped in endless episodes, forced to “love” Buddy—or be replaced. But the tone applied here is the film’s crown jewel. The film shifts from a reverent ‘90s kids’ show pastiche, to suburban mystery, to a twisted Wizard of Oz nightmare. Each world has its own texture, its own questions, and its own lurking horrors.

What could have been a single-tone parody becomes a kaleidoscopic descent, and that unpredictability is what makes the journey sting. Supporting characters like Strappy (voiced by Patton Oswalt), Mr. Mailbox (Eric Bauza), and Charlie the Train (voiced by Michael Shannon) add sly layers, with Strappy emerging as a standout ally to the kids, his sparse dialogue landing with precision.

The craft also elevates the chaos. Anna Kathleen’s production design and Devon Hawkes Ludlow’s puppetry are essential, threading bright primary colors and chunky cartoon shapes into a world that feels both inviting and grotesque. Shawn Coleman’s sing-song ditties, echoing Too Many Cooks, deepen the uncanny charm. Zach Kuperstein’s cinematography nails the split: glitchy Academy-ratio tape for the show, crisp widescreen for reality.

Still, the film stumbles. The second half leans too hard on its gimmick, dragging us back into the show just as the real-world plot gains traction. The pacing falters, the humor curdles, and the conceit of Buddy’s “love” before violence begins to wear thin. By the third act, gore and mayhem escalate into cartoonish excess—fun at first, but exhausting by the end. Some satire feels overplayed, with psychedelic detours and off-color gags that undercut the sharper ideas. Yet the film remains worth watching for its handcrafted sets, practical effects, and puppetry.

Performance wise, Keegan-Michael Key anchors the film’s tonal tightrope with a performance that shifts from bubbly warmth to sudden menace. Key’s voice work is a masterclass in modulation—balancing Buddy’s saccharine musicality with subtle menace so that early bursts of violence land with shocking force. His transformation from best friend to worst nightmare is seamless, and it’s easy to forget the voice belongs to the star of Key & Peele.

Yet it’s Cristin Milioti and Delaney Quinn who truly steal the spotlight, each attacking Buddy’s grip from different angles. Milioti’s Grace adds depth and gravity, her adaptive performance peaking in a harrowing encounter with Buddy that drags the film into darker territory than expected.

The role recalls her turn in Black Mirror’s “USS Callister,” once again portraying a woman trapped in a hell engineered by a seemingly benevolent figure gone rogue. Grace grounds the story, expanding its emotional resonance beyond parody. Quinn effectively navigates the shift from playful children’s-show antics to survival horror with remarkable control, evolving into a potential final girl without losing the character’s humanity.

The supporting voice cast adds absurd charm: Patton Oswalt as Strappy the backpack, Michael Shannon as Charlie the Train, and Eric Bauza as Mr. Mailbox all lean into the surreal tone. Their cameos, though brief, are hilarious and unsettling in equal measure. Together, the ensemble that consists of Topher Grace, Madison Skyy Polan, Caleb Williams, Tristan Borders and Luke Speakman nails the heightened style demanded by Kelly’s horror pastiche. On the whole, ‘Buddy‘ is a delirious, gory satire that twists childhood nostalgia into a nightmare of corrupted innocence.