Richard Pryor was a genius. Let’s just start there because, honestly, if you don’t acknowledge his brilliance first, talking about his 1980s filmography becomes a lot more painful. In 1982, The Toy hit theaters, and it’s a movie that hasn't just aged poorly—it has basically become a museum piece for what Hollywood thought was acceptable back then. It’s a remake of a 1976 French film called Le Jouet, but something definitely got lost in the transatlantic crossing.
Most people remember the premise: a spoiled kid "buys" a grown man to be his plaything. It sounds like the setup for a horror movie or a gritty social commentary, but no, it was marketed as a family comedy.
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What Actually Happens in The Toy
Pryor plays Jack Brown. Jack is an out-of-work journalist in Baton Rouge who is desperate for cash. He’s about to lose his house. He’s taking any job he can find, which leads him to work as a cleaning lady—yes, in drag—at a department store owned by the local tycoon, U.S. Bates. Bates is played by Jackie Gleason, who brings a sort of blustering, terrifying energy to the role that feels way too real for a movie that is supposedly about a kid learning a lesson.
The kid is Eric Bates, played by Scott Schwartz. He’s given one week to pick anything he wants in the store. He skips over the bikes. He ignores the video games. He chooses Jack Brown.
It’s an incredibly uncomfortable setup. You’ve got a wealthy white billionaire buying a Black man to entertain his son. The movie tries to play this for laughs, but the subtext is screaming. It’s loud. It’s impossible to ignore if you’re watching it with modern eyes, or even if you were just paying attention in 1982. The film attempts to soften the blow by making Jack Brown a willing participant—or at least a financially coerced one—but the imagery of Jack being delivered to the Bates estate in a giant crate is... well, it’s a lot.
The Friction Between Pryor and the Script
Richard Pryor was famously unhappy during much of this period of his career. He was the biggest star in the world, but he was trapped in "high-concept" comedies that didn't always suit his edge. On set, things weren't exactly smooth. Reports from the time suggest that Pryor and director Richard Donner didn't always see eye-to-eye on the tone. Donner, fresh off Superman and heading toward Lethal Weapon, was a pro, but this material was a minefield.
Pryor’s comedy was built on truth and pain. The Toy tried to bury that under slapstick.
There’s a scene where Jack has to dress up as Wonder Woman. There are scenes where he’s being chased through the woods. It’s physical comedy that Pryor could do in his sleep, but you can see it in his eyes sometimes—the man knows the material is beneath him. Yet, because he’s Richard Pryor, he still manages to find these tiny, human moments. His chemistry with Scott Schwartz is actually kind of sweet in a warped way. You can see Jack Brown slowly realizing that Eric isn't just a brat; he’s a lonely kid whose father treats him like an acquisition.
Why the Critics Hated It (And Why It Made Money Anyway)
Critics were not kind. Roger Ebert gave it one star. He called it "one of the most depressed and depressing comedies" he’d ever seen. He wasn't wrong about the vibe. The movie feels heavy. It feels like everyone involved is working really hard to pretend the central conceit isn't horrifying.
Despite the reviews, The Toy was a hit. It made over $47 million at the domestic box office. In 1982 dollars, that’s a massive win. People went because they loved Pryor. They went because they loved Gleason. They went because the trailer made it look like a wacky romp. What they got was a weirdly cynical look at wealth, race, and parental neglect that didn't quite know what it wanted to say.
The Jackie Gleason Factor
Gleason is fascinating here. He represents the old guard of Hollywood comedy. His character, U.S. Bates, is a man who thinks he can purchase the world. He treats his wife like furniture and his son like a nuisance. There’s a scene where he tells Eric that "friends are something you buy." It’s supposed to show how out of touch he is, but it sets a grim tone for the rest of the film.
The interaction between Gleason and Pryor should have been legendary. These were two titans. Instead, they’re mostly separated by the plot, only coming together for a few scenes that feel more like a clash of acting styles than a comedic duet. Gleason is playing it big, while Pryor is playing Jack as a guy who is just trying to survive the week without losing his mind.
Does the Movie Have Anything Valid to Say?
If you squint, you can see the satire. The Toy is trying to talk about how the ultra-rich are emotionally stunted. It’s trying to show that Jack Brown, despite having zero dollars, is "richer" because he has a soul. But the movie keeps tripping over its own feet.
For instance, the subplot involving a local KKK-style organization is handled with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. It’s meant to show that Jack is a hero for standing up to them, but it feels like it belongs in a different movie entirely. You have this lighthearted music playing over scenes that involve genuine racial intimidation. The tonal whiplash is enough to give you permanent neck damage.
The Scott Schwartz Legacy
Scott Schwartz, the kid, actually holds his own. He went on to star in A Christmas Story (he’s the one who sticks his tongue to the frozen pole), and he’s gone on record saying Pryor was great to work with. He’s defended the movie over the years, noting that it was a product of its time. And he's right—to an extent. 1982 was a different world. But even by 1982 standards, the movie was pushing boundaries in ways that weren't always intentional or productive.
Reassessing The Toy in 2026
Watching The Toy today is an exercise in "cringe comedy" before that was an actual genre. It’s a fascinating cultural artifact. It shows us exactly where the line was in the early 80s and how much we were willing to overlook for the sake of a "family film."
It’s not a "hidden gem." It’s a loud, messy, uncomfortable movie that somehow became a staple of cable television for decades. If you’re a film historian or a die-hard Richard Pryor fan, it’s worth a watch just to see how he navigates the impossible script. But if you’re looking for a heartwarming comedy? Maybe stick to Brewster's Millions.
Moving Forward with Vintage Cinema
If you want to understand the 1980s film landscape, don't just watch the classics like Back to the Future. Watch the misses too.
- Watch the original French version: Le Jouet (1976) is a much darker, more focused satire. It helps you see what the American version was trying to do before it got "Hollywood-ized."
- Read Pryor’s autobiography: Pryor Convictions gives a lot of context to what his life was like during the early 80s. It explains the pressure he felt to deliver "safe" hits.
- Analyze the cinematography: Despite the script, Richard Donner’s direction is technically sound. The movie looks great, which makes the content even more jarring.
- Compare it to Silver Streak or Stir Crazy: If you want to see Pryor’s comedic energy used effectively, look at his work with Gene Wilder. The contrast is night and day.
The Toy remains a reminder that star power can sell almost anything, but it can't always save a broken concept. It’s a film that exists in the shadow of its leads' greatness—a weird, clunky footnote in the history of two of the funniest men to ever live.