FRANKIE FREAKO - Mark Reviews Movies

Frankie Freako, Shout! Studios

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Review by Mark Dujsik | October 3, 2024

Writer/director Steven Kostanski is aping such a specific subgenre of movie with Frankie Freako that it's difficult to come up with more than maybe a couple examples that people might know. We'll ignore the direct comparisons, then, especially since Kostanski's film is both embracing and slightly mocking the concept, and simply offer up the broad premise. It's about a social outcast who learns a thing or two about being cool from a group of weird little creatures, brought to life by way of puppets.

The joke here isn't just the creatures, which have a lot of detail, in terms of the physical texture and costumes, but move like rudimentary hand puppets. There's plenty of charm to these little guys, who believe partying amounts to causing as much destruction as possible and that the height of humor is a well-timed fart. Their drink of choice, by the way, is a brand of soda from their home planet that lets out a toot and the aroma of gas when the aluminum top is popped. It's not so much the humor itself that's funny, but it is the Freakos dedication to the joke.

It's also Kostanski's dedication to the overall joke of the film, which is decidedly weird beyond the puppet monsters and their devotion to mildly controlled chaos. That extends to the story's human protagonist, for example, who's an adult man in reality but is closer to the sort of kid or teenager who likely would have been in one of the movies inspiring this one.

Most adults, hopefully, don't worry about looking cool, but Conor (Conor Sweeney) definitely does. One day, his boss Mr. Buechler (Adam Brooks) calls Conor's presentation for an upcoming meeting "bland," and that sets him on an existential crisis.

Surely, he couldn't come up with something bland. The man's in denial in ways that are constantly funny. Upon returning home from work, he discovers his statuesque Australian wife Kristina (Kristy Wordsworth) dressed in lacy lingerie, waiting to greet her husband with a romantic evening in bed. He gets exactly what he wants from the night, but his notion of a sexy time is some very intense hand-holding.

Kostanski establishes the tone, style, aesthetic, and wacky humor of the film from the start and somehow finds ways to make it more than a one-gag premise. The basic conceit is the film feels as if it has been pulled directly from the shelf of a video store during the 1980s or '90s. It looks intentionally cheap and cheesy, but the effects here are actually pretty elaborate—using a slew practical of practical techniques, from those puppets, to miniatures, and to visual effects that look exactly like they might have if the film was made 40 years ago. At a time when we seem to losing the hand-crafted skill of special effects in even low-budget indie movies, here's one that implements them with affection and to hold together the entire scheme of the film.

It's mostly the over-the-top cheesiness that's endearing, though. Conor decides to be rebel while his wife is away on business. While his initial plans consist of some intricate dusting and ordering a pizza for dinner, he has become inexplicably drawn to a just-post-primetime TV ad for a 900-number hotline. Since sex doesn't seem to be in Conor's realm of experience or knowledge, however, the ad isn't offering what one might expect.

No, it's for Frankie Freako (voice of Matthew Kennedy), the self-proclaimed "ultimate party animal" who promises a party like no other. Conor calls the number, and in the morning, he awakens to his house being an absolute wreck and three little goblin-like things hanging out in his kitchen. They're Frankie and his two pals, cowgirl Dottie Dunko (voice of Meredith Sweeney) and machine-freak Boink Bardo (who only says "shabba-doo" or some variant of it), who don't want the party to stop. Conor wants his house and life back in order, so that's a problem for the Freakos.

At first, the creatures are akin to gremlins, vandalizing the house, sabotaging Conor's efforts to clean the place, and setting up surprisingly deadly booby traps for the potential party-pooper (One of the jokes about the wife, apart from the fact that she's clearly out of Conor's league and doesn't seem to bothered by his disinterest in sex, is that she's obsessed with guns). It's a solid joke, building and building in disorder and not-too-severe menace, but Kostanski isn't content with just one comedic premise.

From there, we learn more about the Freakos (by way of an educational film), their origins from a distant planet ravaged by a business mogul-turned-president, and their plight to evade capture by Freako-killing robots and fulfill their intrinsic, partying natures. At this point, it should be obvious that Kostanski isn't content to simply explain the creatures' story, either, and sure enough, there's an eventually trip to the Freakos' planet, which adds more layers of practical effects, even stranger puppets, and, of course, a new world of jokes to explore.

It's a delightfully oddball adventure that knows exactly what it wants to do, how it needs to look, and, most importantly of all, why a sense of consistent style, tone, and humor is necessary to hold the whole thing together. Frankie Freako is an affectionate riff on a very particular kind of movie, but its screwball charms and imagination make it more than just a broad parody of those.

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