Being the richest kid in the world sounds fantastic until you realize your best friend might be a robot and your family portrait requires an entire mountain. That’s the wonderfully ridiculous world of *Richie Rich* (1994), a movie where unlimited money can buy roller coasters, helicopters, gadgets, and apparently the zoning permits necessary to carve your own faces into a cliff.

Macaulay Culkin plays Richie, the absurdly wealthy but surprisingly normal son of billionaire parents Richard and Regina Rich. He lives in a mansion large enough that getting grounded probably requires GPS coordinates. He has servants, expensive toys, his own personal trainer, and even a McDonald’s inside the house—which may be the most aggressively 1994 definition of wealth imaginable.

There is, however, one luxury Richie doesn’t have: friends.

Yes, underneath the dollar signs, private amusement park rides, and a family fortune that could probably pay off several national debts, *Richie Rich* is basically about a lonely kid who wants someone to play baseball with.

And honestly? That part works.

Culkin makes Richie likable because he never plays him as a spoiled brat. Richie has everything but doesn’t act like he deserves everything, which prevents the character from becoming completely insufferable. He genuinely wants friends, and when he finally meets some regular kids, the movie gets a little heart to go with its enormous checking account.

Of course, nobody bought a ticket to *Richie Rich* for a thoughtful examination of childhood loneliness.

We came for the mansion.

Richie’s home is essentially what would happen if you gave a 10-year-old unlimited money and told him to design the coolest house imaginable. There are gadgets everywhere, a roller coaster, ridiculous vehicles, endless rooms, and Mount Richmore—a gigantic mountainside sculpture of the Rich family.

Mount. Richmore.

It is such an impressively stupid display of wealth that you almost have to respect it.

Eventually, John Larroquette’s wonderfully named Laurence Van Dough decides he wants the Rich fortune for himself. Van Dough is exactly the kind of villain this movie deserves: greedy, theatrical, not particularly bright, and apparently unaware that being named “Van Dough” might make people suspicious of his financial motivations.

His evil plan pushes the movie into familiar kids-versus-adults territory, with Richie and his new friends using gadgets, tricks, and the natural incompetence of grown men in 1990s family movies to save the day.

This is also where *Richie Rich* starts feeling like *Home Alone* wandered onto the set of *DuckTales*.

Unfortunately, it isn’t nearly as funny as that description sounds.

The biggest problem is that the movie has a fantastic playground but doesn’t always know what to do with it. Richie has virtually unlimited resources, an enormous mansion, bizarre inventions, incompetent bad guys, and Macaulay Culkin. That combination should produce absolute chaos. Instead, the movie frequently settles for a fairly ordinary family adventure.

There are fun moments, but rarely hilarious ones. The villains are amusing without becoming memorable. The action is energetic without becoming exciting. Even the gadgets sometimes feel like they’re waiting for a better movie to come along and use them.

And Culkin inevitably suffers from the Kevin McCallister problem.

It’s almost impossible to watch him running around a gigantic mansion, dealing with criminals and using elaborate contraptions without expecting someone to get hit in the face with a paint can.

Nobody gets hit with a paint can.

Disappointing.

Still, *Richie Rich* has aged into a charming little piece of ’90s family-movie excess. Everything is colorful, enormous, slightly cheesy, and completely sincere. There’s no attempt to make Richie’s world realistic because realism would only get in the way of installing another roller coaster.

There’s also something oddly wholesome about its message. After spending an entire movie showing us all the incredible things money can buy, *Richie Rich* ultimately concludes that friendship and family matter more.

Which is a lovely sentiment.

Although I notice Richie doesn’t actually give up the mansion.

Smart kid.

At **5/10**, *Richie Rich* is perfectly average entertainment wrapped in extremely expensive packaging. It’s not especially funny, exciting, or memorable, but Culkin is charming enough to keep it moving and the ridiculous displays of wealth provide plenty of nostalgic fun.

You probably won’t finish the movie wishing you could watch it again immediately.

But you absolutely might finish it wondering why your parents never installed a roller coaster in the backyard.

Some childhood disappointments never heal.