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Mop Til you Drop THE TOXIC AVENGER

By. Professor Horror 

                                                                                    

 

In 2023, Macon Blair’s THE TOXIC AVENGER made a splashy, splattery premiere at Fantastic Fest, then promptly vanished into the cinematic ooze like a half-melted VHS tape left in a hot car. For nearly two years, fans wondered if this mutant hero had been lost in the toxic sludge of distribution limbo. But now, finally, it has crawled out of the barrel, dripped onto the multiplex floor, and strutted proudly into theaters. My advice? Mop your schedule clean and see it as soon as you can. This isn’t just a remake…it’s a radioactive love letter, equal parts gleefully grotesque and shockingly heartfelt, that proves a janitor with a glowing mop can still outshine most caped crusaders.

                                        

The story, as ever, begins with a hapless custodian. Peter Dinklage plays Winston Gooze, a man drowning in debt, disease, and stepdad woes. He’s a janitor for a corrupt pharmaceutical company, a single father figure to a boy (Jacob Tremblay) who would rather pirouette his way out of their shared life, and, to make matters worse, he’s given a medical diagnosis that would send anyone to the bottle, let alone the bucket. Desperate, Winston tries to rob his own company to pay for treatment, only to find himself the target of his grotesque boss Bob Garbinger (played with feral glee by Kevin Bacon). Things go from bad to brain-melting when Winston is shot in the head and shoved into a vat of toxic sludge. Out comes Toxie, tutu fused to his torso, eyes glowing, mop in hand, dripping green goo like he just crawled out of Nickelodeon’s worst nightmare.

The character is not new, but Dinklage plays it all with an astonishing mix of sincerity and slime. This isn’t a phoned-in campy performance. Even covered in prosthetics and goop, he somehow delivers a performance that throbs with humanity. He’s still a dad who just wants his son to look at him without disgust, even as half his face slides off. It’s absurd, it’s grotesque, and yet (dare I say it) it’s touching. Blair’s script knows exactly how to wring pathos out of a mutant with a mop, and the result is a superhero film with actual heart beneath the hardened ooze.

                                    

But let’s not kid ourselves: the villains steal this movie like sewer rats at a pizza buffet. Kevin Bacon eats…no, really, he eats, devouring every line with the gusto of a man who knows he’s playing a billionaire vampire in pastel suits. His Garbinger is a blood-transfusing megalomaniac who struts around like Gordon Gekko dipped in formaldehyde. Elijah Wood, meanwhile, hunches, limps, and cackles his way through Fritz, Garbinger’s creepy brother and the de facto leader of the Killer Nutz, a punk-gang-turned-garbage-disposal for the rich. Watching Wood totter around like Gollum after a Slipknot concert is worth the ticket alone. Then there’s Taylour Paige as J.J., a vigilante journalist who’s so effortlessly cool she manages to outshine even a tutu-clad mutant. Together, they form a rogues’ gallery that would make Batman jealous, and a hero’s circle that actually feels human.

                                      

The film itself is a glorious swamp of tones. One moment, a head explodes like a water balloon dropped off a parking garage; the next, a father-son exchange leaves you surprisingly misty-eyed. Blair doesn’t just homage Troma…he marinates in it, then sprinkles on his own seasoning. The practical effects ooze charm, the CGI does just enough heavy lifting to keep things modern, and the jokes land with impeccable timing. Heads roll, limbs fly, goo sprays, and yet there’s always a wink, a grin, a reminder that the filmmakers are in on the joke and so are you. This isn’t “so bad it’s good.” This is so good it’s gloriously vile.

And then, like a cherry bobbing in radioactive punch, Lloyd Kaufman himself shows up. It’s a cameo that feels less like a nod and more like a blessing, as if the Pope of Goo himself came down to slime the audience and say, “You’re part of the family now.” Fans of the original Troma insanity will find the Easter eggs aplenty: warped names, twisted gangs, even the Killer Nutz who look like they raided the wardrobe of ICP after a nuclear blast. But Blair wisely avoids making this just a nostalgia trip. Instead, he builds a world that feels bigger, richer, and, oddly enough, more relevant. The film takes jabs at the healthcare system, climate corruption, billionaire cults of personality, and the price of trying to stay human in an inhumane system. It’s silly satire with guts (literal guts…spilled all over the floor) but also brains. Squishy, goo-covered brains, but brains nonetheless. If I have a quibble, it’s only that the movie sometimes feels like it’s sprinting when I wanted to wallow in the muck a little longer. The sound mix can also turn dialogue into sludge now and then. But those are nitpicks in what is otherwise a full-on splatter symphony. The film zips, zaps, and splats with a confidence that most big-budget superhero movies can only dream of. Where Marvel buries its soul under CGI rubble, Blair finds heart in a glowing mop and a green-skinned janitor who still loves his kid.

                                          

So, is this movie for everyone? Absolutely not. If blood geysers, exploding skulls, and a tutu-wearing mutant make you squeamish, you might want to mop your way to another theater. But for everyone else (for the sickos, the slime-lovers, the midnight-movie faithful, and anyone who believes cinema is better with a little ooze) this is manna from the sewer. After the film is over, you don’t feel you just watched a remake. You feel like you witnessed a resurrection. Blair and company didn’t just honor Troma…they pumped radioactive life into it, added complexity, and reminded us that sometimes the filthiest stories are also the ones with the cleanest heart. THE TOXIC AVENGER is here. It’s messy, it’s mean, it’s full of goo and gags and Bacon sizzling on screen. And somehow, through all the carnage, it makes you feel. Who knew a mop could wring out this much heart?