Honey, I Shrunk the Kids (1989)

Nostalgia microdose

Honey, I Shrunk the Kids is maybe the most VHS-core movie of all time, an early ‘90s family movie night staple. It’s streaming on Disney+ these days, but I think it’s best as a movie vaguely remembered from childhood for the way it captures an overactive imagination: the goofy gadgets, the backyard jungle, Rick Moranis as a mad scientist, a first kiss, and the sadness of a tragic ant funeral.

Revisit the film as an adult, and it reveals itself as something strange, but not bad. It’s more ambitious, scarier, and weirder than you likely recall. It’s a fascinating portrait of a suburban family culture starting to shift from the open range, “be home by dinner” parenting of baby boomers to the more involved parenting adopted by Gen X and millennials — in fact, that topic is pretty much the film’s theme, how strange and scary it is for family members to be invisible and distant from each other despite sharing a roof. On the other hand, this isn’t really a movie about its themes so much as it is a neat production playground for its “what if” visual ideas.

The premise, if this somehow never crossed your path as a child and the title somehow didn’t tip you off, is that bumbling inventor Wayne Szalinski (Rick Moranis) accidentally shrinks his teenage daughter and son, along with the neighbor’s kids, down to a quarter inch tall due to a misfire of his shrinking ray device. The kids end up tossed into the backyard, which is suddenly a treacherous expanse of dewy blades of grass, lawn sprinklers turned monsoons, and insect kaiju encounters. While the grown-ups fret and search for their missing kids, the youth embark on a backyard survival adventure with stakes both internal — “can I convince this cute girl to like me?” — and external — “is this scorpion going to eat me?”

What’s astonishing about watching this in 2025 is the mind-blowing practical production. Coming in the last decade before CGI, this feels like the culmination of a century of production and camera tricks to make the journey physical and so very real. The texture of every oversized Cheerio and slick blade of grass pops off the screen. It revels in the daunting majesty of a tiny world brought to life. A decade or so later, these sets would be over-polished mo-cap CGI — think Spy Kids 3’s garishly fake and ugly world. But here, when a giant Lego brick becomes shelter or a water droplet becomes a bomb falling from the sky, it offers a daunting and immersive physicality.

It is, in fact, rather frightening to an imaginative childhood brain, which is no accident: Honey, I Shrunk the Kids marks the directorial debut of Joe Johnston, who cut his teeth as a visual effects artist at Industrial Light & Magic, but he was not the progenitor of the story. The original concept came from cult horror icons and Re-Animator duo Stuart Gordon and Brian Yuzna. The horror filmmakers both left the project before completion, but its roots in pint-sized terror persist.

I’m a bit colder on anything in the movie that isn’t its production: The performances are a mixed bag, though it’s hard to imagine anyone in the leading role other than Moranis, who brings his usual neurotic sweetness, well grounded here in wounded dad energy. (John Candy turned down the role, and it’s tough to imagine what the movie would be like with Candy as Wayne.) The kids actually have more to do in the screenplay than Moranis, but are much less memorable, played by a quartet of young actors with barely enough charm and angst to avoid torpedoing the film. Matt Frewer plays the neighbor’s dad with a distinct dark streak.

The dialogue and character development are a bit stodgy and unpleasant. The kids are written with that late ‘80s/early ‘90s version of “teen cool” where sarcastic and snotty ruled the day, like early Simpsons without any wit. It mostly means everyone is an asshole to each other. But the story ultimately builds to a payoff of family and community toegetherness which is effective enough at tying the film together.

Watching this again in the Disney+ era, it’s easy to see why this one stuck around in the consciousness of kids who grew up in the ‘90s. It has some punch and some really remarkable moments of adventure. The sequels get goofier, but the original is balanced and well-realized, a high concept that actually executes on its ambitious pitch. It’s a relic both in its depiction of family dynamics and in its dedication to practical production, but still charming decades later.

Is It Good?

Good (5/8)

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Dan is the founder and head critic of The Goods. Follow Dan on Letterboxd. Join the Discord for updates and discussion.