It’s hard to be a millennial in ‘Benny Loves You’

No wonder Jack is stressed and depressed when we’ve got headlines like this referring to older millennials (those apparently born between 1980 and 1985) as “geriatric.” More than a decade ago, we inherited an economic recession from which most of us have never recovered, yet we’re still labeled lazy and entitled. Might as well dig our own graves while we’re at it! In Karl Holt’s Benny Loves You, Jack (Holt) is 35 and lives at home. A creative lead at Toy Box, a toy company eyeing the next big hot ticket item, he’s treading water, stagnant in almost every facet of his life. As he’s vying for that new shiny promotion for creative director, Jack is forced to confront his childhood and what it means to be an “adult” in an ever-changing, forever-broken ecosystem.

“You haven’t evolved,” his boss, the squirrelly Ron (James Parsons), spits with a snide iciness. The archetypal boomer, he blames Jack for his myriad of problems before giving him the news that he’s been axed. In that same breath, Ron offers Jack a significant pay cut in a junior creative role. “I just gave you a job. Give me a smile,” Ron sneers. And all Jack can do is swallow his pride and accept this allotment in life. We haven’t even gotten to the hack ‘n slash yet and the real-world horrors have already set in. It’s chilling to consider the delusion of the American Dream, even out-of-reach and out-of-touch in the 1950s, that hangs as thick cobwebs around everyday life. You only need to scroll through social media and you’ll see the vitriol lobbied at millennials for taking out student loans to go to college; it’s somehow our fault Sally Mae is not unlike a vampire, sucking us dry (quite literally) and leaving our carcass on the side of the road.

Jack can’t get ahead because the system is rigged. The system is rigged because wrinkly old white dudes still have total control. They have control because we (society) let them. Rinse and repeat. So, to see Jack’s room still plastered with childhood memorabilia and holding onto his favorite stuffed animal Benny makes total sense. It’s a way to have some semblance of control in his life, and it also gives him great comfort. Look, I still have numerous stuffed animals from my childhood, including a slew of Beanie Babies and a cutesy Pineapple named Humpty Dumpty (my feeble toddler brain thought it was an egg). We were sold a bill of goods, and such sentimental objects make us feel as though we’ll get through it somehow. That’s probably why we’re so nostalgic these days; adulthood sucks, and it’s not what we bargained for. Yes, we can blame the boomers.

When Jack’s parents die in a freak accident on his 35th birthday, he’s tossed into the blender, so to speak. Unable to pay the mortgage on his family’s home, he gets the loans reconsolidated with payments that’ll result in him paying four times as much. Even if Jack were to get the raise he wants (and probably deserves), he’ll be so far in debt that he’ll be back right where he started. “It must get lonely. It’s more of a family home,” realtor Phil (David Wayman) remarks when coming to appraise the property. It’s more than just a statement; it’s a turning point. As a self-help tape plays over a montage, Jack decides to box up all his posters, stuffed animals, and anything else from his childhood — and that includes Benny. “It’s time to let go of your past,” the disembodied voice instructs. He swaps out his cool Jaws rip-off poster “Teeth” for generic art and an “I Heart NYC” photograph. He’s determined to make some changes, even if it means wearily slipping into the tired expectations off past generations.

The film presents another fascinating thread here: when we become proper adults, we’re supposed to discard childish fancies like video games and comic books and instead invest interest in boring domesticated life. We’re supposed to get that two-car garage home with the white picket fence, get married, have kids, and get a dog. Or at least that’s what tradition tells us. Jack resigns himself to upholding these rigid expectations, but Benny is not about to have any of it. When his fluffy and adorable stuffed teddy begins slaughtering those around him, first beginning with the account manager who handles the mortgage loan, Jack’s story becomes symbolic of our own war against the system but the impenetrable feeling of being tethered to our formative years.

What we experienced growing up, from our favorite TV shows and films to toys, is far more than pieces of entertainment; for example, Saved by the Bell is silly by today’s standards but it taught me so much about being a teenager in the modern world, trying to navigating romance and impending doom (er, adulthood). It would be careless to reject these things as frivolous. They’re life-defining. Jack retools his renewed friendship with Benny, as warped as it might seem, as inspiration for a new line of toys called Scare Bears. Figures named Dead Fred, Stabby Abby, and Redneck Rex, among countless others, become hallmarks for his reinvention, personally and professionally, thus earning him the promotion. He’s not being defined by his child, but he takes the spirit of what made him so happy then into his adult life now. He’s finally evolved.

But Benny wreaks more havoc throughout Jack’s life, including spearing the realtor like shish kabob and hatcheting Ron’s pug Princess. It’s all out of love of course, emblematic of how childhood artifacts can save one’s life — yet it quickly becomes evident Jack must “kill” Benny, once and for all, to stop more bloodshed. After Home Alone‘ing his house with co-worker Dawn, who we learn has her own murderous doll to contend with, he is able to have one final one-on-one confrontation with Benny. “I’m sorry for treating you like a toy,” he says, a bit misty-eyed. It’s those words that melt away Benny’s craving for revenge, and he sacrifices himself by flying out the upstairs window and being gunned down by the cops.

In Benny Loves You, Jack learns he doesn’t need to completely severe ties with the past. He needs to evolve, absolutely, but that doesn’t have to come at the expense of changing everything he is. There is immense emotional value in films, TV, and memorabilia that defined his childhood. It’s essential to his DNA and how he navigates the adult world. Despite what the boomers say, he’s far from lazy and entitled.

Excuse me while I go watch Homeward Bound for the 100th time in my life.

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