The Toxic Avenger: Still Avenging Vengence!

Alright, strap in. We’re diving headfirst into radioactive sludge and corporate malpractice, and I’m bringing floaties made of pure charisma.

Let’s talk about The Toxic Avenger—the 2023 mutation of The Toxic Avenger, now reborn under the slightly unhinged guidance of Macon Blair. Back in ’84, Lloyd Kaufman gave us a mop-wielding monstrosity who looked like he crawled out of a nuclear septic tank and immediately chose violence. It was cheap, it was gross, it was punk rock cinema shot through a slime filter. It also had all the subtlety of a brick through a windshield. And I loved it.

Now? We get Peter Dinklage as Winston Gooze—a terminally ill janitor who falls into toxic waste and comes out looking like a microwaved avocado with a justice complex. On paper, this sounds like Hollywood trying to “elevate” the filth. In execution? It’s like someone took the original’s crusty VHS tape, dipped it in acid, and said, “Let’s add feelings—but not too many.”

The bones are the same. Sad sack. Chemical plant. Corporate greed so cartoonishly evil it makes RoboCop’s OCP look like a charity bake sale. Toxic dip. Mutant vigilante. But where the 1984 version was a midnight-movie fever dream fueled by beer and bad decisions, this one actually cares about Winston. That’s the big mutation.

Dinklage doesn’t just grunt and swing a mop like he’s cleaning up a murder scene sponsored by Nickelodeon slime. He plays Winston with genuine sadness. The guy’s dying. His insurance screws him over. He’s trying to be a decent stepdad in a world run by corporate vampires. Then he gets marinated in neon waste and suddenly he’s ripping henchmen in half like overcooked rotisserie chickens.

The original Toxic Avenger was a splatter comedy with a conscience. This one? It’s a splatter comedy with a thesis statement. And surprisingly, that works.

Where Lloyd Kaufman’s Tromaville felt like a town designed by a drunken comic-book artist, Blair’s St. Roma’s Village is a slightly more polished circus—but the freaks are still front and center. Corporate corruption isn’t just implied; it’s gift-wrapped and labeled “Late-Stage Capitalism.”

Enter Kevin Bacon as Bob Garbinger. Listen. If there were an Olympic sport for playing morally bankrupt CEOs, Bacon would have more gold medals than Michael Phelps. He chews scenery like it’s made of ethically sourced drywall. It’s glorious. His Garbinger isn’t just greedy—he’s the type of guy who’d deny coverage for a papercut and then sell you the bandage at 400% markup.

Then you’ve got Elijah Wood as his grotesque brother, Fritz, looking like a rejected Batman villain who got stuck halfway through a melting wax museum exhibit. Together, they’re corporate creep royalty. In the original, villains were broad caricatures. Here? They’re still caricatures—but with sharper teeth and better suits.

And that’s the difference.

The 1984 Toxic Avenger was anarchic chaos. This version is controlled chaos. The gore? Still absurd. Limbs fly. Organs dangle. Mop handles become instruments of surgical disassembly. But Blair orchestrates it like a blood-soaked symphony. It’s cartoonish, yes—but it’s confident.

And here’s the wild part: beneath all the exploding intestines and face-smashing slapstick, there’s actual commentary. Health insurance as horror? That’s not satire—that’s Tuesday in America. The real villain isn’t just to
Toxic sludge. It’s paperwork.

Does it top the original in pure grindhouse insanity? No. And it shouldn’t. The original was lightning in a radioactive bottle. It was unfiltered Troma madness. This remake doesn’t try to out-trash it. Instead, it evolves it.

Think of it like this:

1984 was a crusty basement punk band screaming about pollution.

2023 is that same band, now older, angrier, slightly more articulate—but still willing to smash a guitar over your head.

Blair understands the assignment. He doesn’t sanitize it. He doesn’t apologize for it. He amplifies it. Legendary Pictures backing something this weird is like a Fortune 500 company funding a backyard wrestling league. Risky. Bold. Slightly unhinged. I respect it.

Is it for everybody? Absolutely not. If you can’t handle gallons of fluorescent gore and jokes that land like a brick wrapped in barbed wire, this ain’t your smoothie. But if you’ve ever loved the smell of VHS tape and moral outrage, this thing delivers.

The original Toxic Avenger was a cult oddity that grew into legend. This version? It’s proof that the monster still has a pulse—and a surprisingly big heart under all that radioactive eczema.

Final verdict?

It doesn’t replace the original. It mutates it. And sometimes, dead franchises don’t need to stay dead—they just need a toxic bath and a mop.