Bored? Like to party down? Dial 1-900-555-FREAKO to talk with Frankie Freako. It’s just $1.99 for the first minute, and $0.99 a minute after. When you do, Frankie and his band of rebels from Freakworld will shake up your life. Forget the telephone conversation. When they show up at your house, fuelled by cans of Fart Classic cola, they’ll bring the party to you, even as they turn your life upside down. That’s just what happens in Frankie Freako, Steven Kostanski’s follow-up to his outrageous cult favorite PG: Psycho Goreman (2021). A hilarious riff on ‘80s chaos creature movies—Gremlins (1984), Critters (1986), Ghoulies (1985), Troll (1986), Munchies (1987), and Mac and Me (1988), and in some cases, their sequels—the Canadian writer-director’s latest is an irreverent and ironic lark that plays like one big in-joke, populated by puppets and absurdist humans. The result is nonstop fun and silliness, piling one ridiculous gag atop another for 82 minutes.

Having earned a reputation for his excellent practical effects, including some sublimely nasty work on this year’s In a Violent Nature, Kostanski sets aside the blood and gore for some family-friendly entertainment. Then again, Frankie Freako could hardly be called wholesome, despite the production eschewing violence, nudity, and coarse language. Kostanski still manages to test the limits of good taste with his joyfully puerile sense of humor. It’s appropriate for all ages in the same way that PG-rated movies from the ‘80s were, in that occasionally, you might see something that traumatizes you forever. One sequence on Frankie Freako’s home planet involves a rubbery puppet named Crunch subjecting himself to a freak-meter that doles out punishment based on the level of the user’s freakness. The device melts Crunch’s already worried face, like someone dumped acid on the puppet’s head. Granted, none of it looks real, but the idea may leave scars on your mind. 

Kostanski’s script takes place in the late 1980s or early 1990s and follows Conor (Conor Sweeney), an office employee hoping to earn a promotion. His boss, played by PG star Adam Brooks, criticizes his presentation for an upcoming deal as “bland,” prompting Conor to question: Am I bland? His wife Kristina (Kristy Wordsworth), who has a penchant for guns and sexy lingerie, admits Conor is “square.” She’s not wrong. He doesn’t swear. He dresses in generic outfits. The best insult he can come up with for his coworkers is “boneheads,” which he finds very funny. And instead of bedding his ready and willing wife, he wants to hold her hand (just one) in bed and watch his favorite show: Antique Connoisseurs. “What else is there?” he wonders. “Square” becomes Conor’s trigger word, setting him off when he sees a late-night advertisement for Frankie Freako’s hotline. Cue the music: Whenever Conor sees something he secretly desires, the music by regular Kostanski collaborators Blitz//Berlin evokes the dreamy fantasy music from Body Double (1984), marking a delightfully odd allusion to Brian De Palma and voyeurism in the midst of this goofball affair. 

With Kristina away for the weekend, Conor’s big cheese pizza plans go awry when he calls the 1-900 number, and he’s visited by “a little gremlin guy that likes to party.” The rock-n-roll Freako named Frankie (voiced by Matthew Kennedy) arrives, along with gun-toting  Western gal Dottie Dunko (voiced by Meredith Sweeney) and cyborg techie Boink Bardo (voiced by Brooks). The next morning, he wakes up to find his home in tatters, with offensive words such as “butt” and “crust” spray-painted on the walls. Conor attempts to restore order and fight off the Freakos, but not long after trying to kill each other, he realizes they’re allies. They help him at work with his low-energy and duplicitous boss, while he helps them stand up to the sleazy, slimy, grinning President Munch of their home planet.

Much like PG, Kostanski thrives on using elaborate in-camera effects, giving Frankie Freako an unmistakable handmade appeal. The Freakos consist of rubbery hand puppets operated without mechanical parts, far from the competent animatronics used in Gremlins or Child’s Play (1988), and more attuned to the Mac and Me level of plastic-looking alien molds without much potential for expression beyond the voice acting. They look like full-bodied versions of The Boglins—those hand-puppet toys from the ‘80s. This, like much of the lo-fi production details, is intentionally cheap and admirably embraces a throwback style. Take a sequence on Freakworld, where Conor may become President Munch’s new “sweet thing” concubine. Conor and the Freakos get there in an intergalactic mine cart, riding through a city of miniature alien buildings in a nod to Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984), except less convincing.

Kostanski’s movie operates on a unique wavelength, at once replicating yet sending up those kiddie creature features of old—those movies we watch today and ask, “These were for kids?” Kostanski’s persistent ironic tone leaves everything at a remove, embracing strangeness, offbeat moments, and nonsensical chaos. Frankie Freako belongs to a contingent of Canadian throwback cinema that harkens back to inappropriate vintage trash that many now-middle-aged viewers grew up watching on VHS, with modern films such as Manborg (2011) and Turbo Kid (2015) embracing that same style. This approach and its flavor of ‘80s schlock won’t be immediately recognizable or palatable for everyone. But for what it is, and what it’s trying to achieve, the movie hits a sweet spot that embraces its juvenile ludicrousness and retro effects in a way that will be catnip to lovers of Kostanski’s other work.