LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS (1986). A Remake with a Twist

The 1986 Little Shop of Horrors is a remake of the 1960 production by Charles B. Griffith and Roger Corman. Americans love remakes. Well-known European titles often fall victim to this trend, but even within its own industry, Hollywood frequently recycles itself—with varying results. This approach isn’t always bad, though it does seem to make things too easy at times.

In the case of Little Shop of Horrors, Frank Oz took a bold experimental approach to form, which might be challenging for fans of the older version. However, with such a stellar cast? The film features many well-known actors. Rick Moranis isn’t necessarily the biggest name among them—Steve Martin, Jim Belushi, John Candy, Bill Murray, and Ellen Greene are the real standouts. Moranis could still be among them today had he not stepped away from acting. Nevertheless, he plays the lead role, something that rarely happened in his career, which is why I highly recommend Little Shop of Horrors—even if it’s a musical.

Yes, a musical—and a high-budget one at that, with $25 million spent on production. You can see it in the special effects and set design. Frank Oz elevated his Little Shop of Horrors remake from the depths of B- and C-movie obscurity (where Roger Corman’s films often resided) to a slightly higher level—all without stripping the film of its soul. Instead, he wrapped horror in a unique narrative inspired by Greek tragedy. In addition to the singing actors, the film features a chorus of three vocally gifted African American women, who not only tell the audience about the characters but also comment on the unfolding events. Surprisingly, this approach worked for me—even though I generally dislike musicals. It’s clear that the director is a professional unafraid to borrow and rework motifs from older films. And I’m not just talking about the 1960 Little Shop of Horrors.

If you ever get your hands on both versions, I strongly recommend watching and comparing them. The aesthetic difference will be obvious, but you’ll also see how the musical genre evolved over the years—how it influences pacing and the sense of horror. And hopefully, the answers won’t be as obvious as you might think. After watching these films, you may never look at Venus flytraps at Leroy Merlin the same way again.

The Story

The protagonist of Little Shop of Horrors is the seemingly innocent, naive, and socially inept Seymour Krelborn (Rick Moranis). He works at a failing flower shop, but his fortunes change when he purchases an unusual plant from a Chinese vendor. Displayed in the store window, the plant attracts customers, revitalizing the business. There’s just one problem—the plant has a taste for blood. In fact, it requires it to survive. As it grows, it starts to talk and manipulates Seymour into providing it with fresh, warm, and preferably human meat. The timid Seymour becomes an accomplice to a monstrous carnivorous plant, setting off a chain of bizarre events.

The story is filled with numerous songs and quirky, exaggerated characters—both hilarious and terrifying in their own right. Steve Martin plays a sadistic dentist. Bill Murray appears as a masochist. Ellen Greene portrays a woman with a victim mentality. There are many other memorable personalities, though at times, their emotional depth is somewhat diluted by the musical format. However, the film’s ending—at least in the director’s cut—is impressive, even for a musical. The plant becomes a mass murderer and even… well, let’s just say it’s one of those iconic film moments.

If you do manage to watch Little Shop of Horrors, pay attention to whether it’s the theatrical or the extended version. The theatrical cut has a sugary, typical-musical ending, while the director’s cut aligns much more closely with Roger Corman’s horror tradition. Here’s a tip—even if you can only find the theatrical version, at least seek out the director’s cut ending. Few films have such drastically different versions, and Little Shop of Horrors is one of them.

A Darker Side

Beyond its musical format, horror elements, and alternative endings, Frank Oz’s film has a second, more critical and thought-provoking layer. This is evident from the opening minutes, where we see the vivid yet grim world of the neighborhood where the flower shop is located. That’s also when we first hear the trio of singers, who tell a story about deep-seated social inequality—an oppressive system that seems impossible to break, like an iron curtain. Behind it, the innocent perish. The only way to save them? Revolution. And in this case, the bloodthirsty plant is its instrument.

But what is the ultimate goal of this revolution? For humanity—it’s total annihilation. There is no other way. In Little Shop of Horrors, the most valuable thing is freely available: the promise of an apocalypse.