If It Bleeds (2020) by Stephen King: Stephen King returns to the four-novella volume he previously explored in Different Seasons (1982), Four Past Midnight (1990), and Full Dark, No Stars (2010). I think it's a stronger quartet than Four Past Midnight but not quite as good as Full Dark, No Stars and definitely not as good as the excellent Different Seasons.
That last one yielded three movies from three of its novellas (Stand by Me from "The Body," Apt Pupil from "Apt Pupil," and The Shawshank Redemption from "Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption"), while the fourth, still-unadapted novella is an above-average 'Club Story' ("The Breathing Method").
Onwards!
"Mr. Hannigan's Phone": Childhood nostalgia meets The Twilight Zone, as in "this is the most Twilight Zoney novella here!". King manages to tweak an already-overused horror trope that started with telephones and moved on to cellphones. Bittersweet dark fantasy more than horror.
"The Life of Chuck": A backwards-moving triptych of linked stories exploring the title subject. Again, this is bittersweet and more than a little elegiac.
"If It Bleeds": Private investigator Holly Gibney of the Bill Hodges Trilogy and The Outsider returns to battle another supernatural menace. This is a horror thriller, enlivened by both the concept and by the always engaging Holly, who keeps her personal demons at bay while battling another monster hiding in human form. or forms.
"Rat": King returns to exploring the lives of writers, in this case a man who not only has never finished a novel but was driven nearly insane by his last attempt to do so. We return to the unincorporated townships and fishing cottages of Maine, and an unexpected visitor with more than a bit of Monkey's Paw DNA.
Overall: Not much horror here, but certainly a worthwhile read. Recommended.
The Dark Half (1989) by Stephen King: The Dark Half falls into the transition zone between drug and alcohol abuse and sobriety for Stephen King, whose loved ones staged an intervention some time during the novel's initial composition. And among other things, the novel features a novelist who has struggled with alcohol addiction.
Protagonist Thad Beaumont also struggles with his best-selling pseudonym having been 'outed' -- or forced into an outing, really, in order to deprive the discoverer of a writer's 'dark half' of any financial windfall after that discoverer tried to blackmail Beaumont. King's own pen-name, Richard Bachman, died of "cancer of the pseudonym" in 1986 under less blackmaily circumstances.
Beaumont himself writes (or, writer's blocked, wrote) mainstream literary fiction, with his first novel almost winning a major prize. His 'own' novels have never sold that well. Writer's block caused him to start writing violent, hard-boiled crime fiction as 'George Stark.' 'Stark' nods to the prolific Donald Westlake's 'Richard Stark' pen-name, if you're interested.
The protagonist of two of these best-selling novels, Alexis Machine, also nods to a character in a novel by crime writer Shane Stevens, as King notes in his afterword.
Man, that's a lot of nods! One last one would be that Beaumont's name seems to be a gesture towards the prolific fantasy and horror writer Charles Beaumont, with 'Beaumont' itself having been a career-long pen-name for Charles Nutt.
So Beaumont retires George Stark -- in a feature article in People magazine no less! Thad's wife feels relief at this. She never liked the way Thad acted when he was writing as Stark, almost as if he were another person.
Well, yes -- George Stark does indeed turn out to be a different person. Or a different something, anyway. And he's really pissed at having been 'retired.' And he looks and acts a lot like Alexis Machine, the violent and amoral criminal protagonist of two of the Stark novels.
The Dark Half entertainingly wrestles with a surprising number of meta-fictional issues amidst its mostly propulsive plot. King structures the novel in an interesting way. It's what I guess I'll call the 'Two Steps Forward, One Step Back' Structure.
Stanley Kubrick famously used this structure in The Killing because that's the structure the novel that was the basis for The Killing used. The plot follows one character for awhile until some sort of crisis is reached. Then it jumps back in time to a different character and proceeds forward until the crisis has been reached and passed for another crisis. Then, rinse and repeat. The studio found this structure confusing and forced an infamous voice-over onto The Killing. Here, it mostly works.
Recurring King character Sheriff Alan Pangborn appears here because some of The Dark Half occurs in Pangborn's Castle Rock. Pangborn would soon be the protagonist of Needful Things (1991) and, in an alternate-universe version, a character played by Scott Glenn in the first season of Castle Rock. Here, he's introduced to the weirdness of Castle Rock for the first time (Pangborn hails from New Jersey) but certainly not the last.
In all, The Dark Half is enjoyable, occasionally piercing, and only sometimes a bit padded, especially with lengthy, narrative-halting biographies of peripheral characters, a recurring problem in King. King would re-use some elements of The Dark Half decades later in The Outsider.
Somewhat bizarrely, King also gives an academic friend of Beaumont's some traits previously given to a character in "The Crate" (adapted in Creepshow). I have no idea if this was intentional or if King forgot that he'd used elements such as a wife/significant other who annoyingly tells people "Just call me Billie!"
King does manage the feat of making the common sparrow into a magical figure of hope and dread. You wouldn't think sparrows could conjure up the Sublime, but The Dark Half somehow pulls that trick off.
Recommended.
The Institute (2019) by Stephen King: Novel: Stephen King returns to the world of psychic children in his new novel with mostly positive results.
The eponymous Institute kidnaps children and puts them to work doing... what? Well, if I told you, I'd spoil the novel. Suffice to say that the people behind the Institute believe that the ends justify the means and that they're the good guys.
They really must think they're the good guys because they've been killing a whole lot of children for decades. And their families. King remains fairly ruthless throughout the novel, making things seem more plausible. There's a heck of a death toll, both depicted and implied, and the vast majority of those deaths are children between the ages of about 8 and 14.
But soon after the novel begins, the Institute makes one mistake -- they kidnap a boy genius. They didn't kidnap him because he's a boy genius. Human intelligence is irrelevant to their aims. Well, until it interferes with them.
King plays a bit with structure in the novel, beginning with a secondary protagonist -- a former police officer who goes walkabout and ends up as the Night Knocker in a small Southern town. After about 50 pages, we jump to our primary protagonist. A beginning writer would probably be told not to do this shift. But King can do what he wants -- and the structure does cause suspense insofar as we wonder how events in demon-haunted Maine (where the Institute is located) and the Southern whistle-stop will dovetail.
In all, it's enjoyable and fairly tight. The characterization of the children is typically astute. And the characterization of the assorted antagonists, while occasionally one-note, makes sense when one considers that they're people doing terrible things for what they believe is a noble cause. That's going to disconnect one from empathy -- or require people with low empathy from the get-go. It's also the only King novel I can think of in which probability calculations play a major role. Recommended.
Elevation (2018) by Stephen King: A novella set in Castle Rock -- much like King's low-key 2017 collaboration with Richard Chizmar, Gwendy's Button Box -- Elevation is a story about a kinder, gentler Castle Rock, though not one without its flaws and magical weirdnesses.
In this case, our middle-aged protagonist discovers that he's losing weight. Not mass, weight. Steadily and perhaps even increasingly rapidly, he's gone from 240 pounds to 210 pounds without looking as if he's lost any weight. And anything he carries or wears loses ALL its weight. A recognizable medical condition, this is not.
However, unlike the vaguely similar Thinner, Elevation is not a horror story. It's a quieter fable of smaller kindnesses and redemption spurred by that weight loss. I'd compare it to Ray Bradbury if King were a poetic writer like Bradbury. In this case, though, King's own dedication -- to genre great Richard Matheson -- seems apt, at least for Matheson in his quieter moments.
Rod Serling's Twilight Zone would also be an apt comparison, with one Changed Premise illuminating the good parts of the human condition as well as the bad. Think "A Passage for Trumpet" or "In Praise of Pip," two gentle, sad TZ episodes starring Jack Klugman. And a middle-aged Klugman would actually make a good fit for our protagonist!
It's a slight work but an enjoyable one, and it's not going to take you long to read. I'd almost swear that an embattled lesbian couple in Elevation may have appeared in the first draft of King and his son's Sleeping Beauties before being cut. They're embattled because small-town Maine isn't ready to patronize the restaurant of two openly gay women. Or is it? Recommended.
Sleeping Beauties (2017) by Stephen King and Owen King: Not the worst novel Stephen King has either written or co-written (that would be The Tommyknockers). But it shares some commonalities with that terrible work.
One is that it's less a novel than a screed -- in the case of Sleeping Beauties, a screed against the patriarchy. There's nothing wrong with that, and the two Kings score a number of points against our male-dominated world. But screeds need to be relatively short. At nearly 700 pages, Sleeping Beauties is not short, and one wearies of the same points being hammered again and again and again, with little variation. We get it. Men are assholes.
The novel was so wearying that I put it down with 50 pages to go and didn't pick it up again (except to move it) for eight months. And that in the middle of an action-packed climax that seemed to be written with all four eyes of the writers squarely on a movie or television version. Explosions, gunfire, dogs and cats living together.
King has also never been good when he moves too far into pure fantasy rather than dark fantasy. The wheel of the plot turns on a magical woman named Eve who has magical powers and talks like a Buffy villain. She's not a villain. Or is she? In any case, she's tied to a worldwide phenomenon in which all women, regardless of age, go into a coma and sprout a cocoon as soon as they fall asleep. Attempts to get them out of their cocoons result in homicidal action by the otherwise still-comatose women/girls/babies.
All this worldwide turmoil focuses on the small Appalachian town in which the novel is mostly set, where the fate of the world will be decided by what the women of that town decide, and what the increasingly desperate men do.
I think maybe this would have been a dandy, angry yawp of a novel at about 300 pages. But the characters are all so flawed and so often unsympathetic -- men and women -- that things get pretty dire, pretty fast, and then go on forever.
Sleeping Beauties has its moments. But I can't shake the feeling that the genesis of the novel came when King and son Owen were discussing Y: The Last Man, the comic-book series in which all men on Earth die in the first issue, all men but one. King called this entertaining, poppy series, written by TV guy Brian K. Vaughan, the greatest graphic novel in history. That comment tells you a lot about King's tastes, or at least that maybe he needs to read more graphic novels.
But Vaughan's anti-patriarchal comic was nuanced and subtle compared to Sleeping Beauties. Indeed, the scariest thing about Sleeping Beauties is a reference in the acknowledgements to a much longer first draft of the novel. Please, God, let that not be released! Not recommended.
The Pet (1986) by Charles L. Grant: The late Charles L. Grant was a much-published anthologist, novelist, and short-story writer from the 1970's through the 1990's. He championed "quiet horror," a choice that set him vocally at odds with the rise of splatterpunk in the 1980's. He's probably most important now as an anthologist, especially as the editor of the long-running Shadows series of original horror anthologies.
The horror boom of the 1970's and 1980's also meant that Grant published a lot of novels. More than I was aware of, frankly. While I was a major consumer of those anthologies back in the day and read a couple of his short-story collections, I hadn't read a Grant novel until I recently finished The Pet.
I'm of two minds about The Pet, though these minds are not mutually exclusive. Wait, does that make three minds? So confusing.
Anyway, The Pet may be a satire of slasher movies and Stephen King novels of the 1970's and 1980's.
Or The Pet may be an attempt to replicate the success of slasher movies and Stephen King novels of the 1970's and 1980's by putting their elements into a blender and pressing the 'On' button.
Or it may be both. It's certainly not of a piece with those Grant short stories and novellas I've read.
OK, that's really three, isn't it?
So we have a bullied, withdrawn protagonist of high-school age. That's Donald 'Duck' Boyd. His parents are both over-controlling and under-caring. He has a dead younger brother. His Mom is sleeping with a high-school teacher who hates Don and keeps marking him unfairly. His Dad is the principal of the school Don attends. This gets Don bullied even more, especially because Don's father doesn't believe him when bullies start framing him for various misdemeanors. His parents both preferred the dead brother. Three years after the death, his Mom still occasionally calls Don by the dead brother's name.
Whew! That's about 35 King stories and novels right there!
A mean chemistry teacher also singles Don out for unwanted persecution. We can tell this chemistry teacher is bad because he's a confirmed bachelor who watches porn movies in his basement.
IN HIS BASEMENT! PORN!
Sorry.
A super-hot, 17-year-old cheerleader seems to be making advances on Don. Ha ha, she's also making advances on his Dad! Yes, a teen-aged girl who is sexually aggressive and makes advances on her teachers. Is this Grant's salute to the Police song "Don't Stand So Close To Me"? Or is it just a really unpleasant part of the novel that has not aged well?
So so unpleasant.
Then a serial killer dubbed The Howler shows up in Don's small town of Ashford, New Jersey. The Howler has killed and partially eaten several teenagers in New Jersey and New York.
You might think this would cause the formation of some sort of police task force or even an FBI presence.
You would be wrong!
Dealing with The Howler in Don's town devolves down to that town's small police force of what seems like three idiots, which does a whole lot of nothing. Boy, is this part of the novel ridiculously unbelievable! And it gets worse!
The town's two high schools are remarkably modest in their response to two students being murdered and eaten in a one-month period. And the police. Really, everyone. Don survives an attack from The Howler and his parents have him back in school within 36 hours. Seriously, Grant is just phoning in this shit.
So, as the back-cover blurb tells us, Don's encounter with The Howler unleashes a supernatural monster that makes The Howler look like a fart in an elevator. And that monster has a connection to Don, targeting those who've wronged Don in some way. It's sort of Carrie by way of Christine, except it's a giant super-horse sprung full-grown from one of the animal posters on Don's bedroom wall.
Oh, yeah. Don loves animals and wants to be a vet. His parents think being a vet is a road to financial ruin, which shows how stupid they are. This is definitely the only novel I've ever read in which parents resist the idea of their son becoming a veterinarian for financial reasons. I mean seriously, parents, you're school teachers. In the United States of America. Your salaries are not that big!
If Grant is trying to emulate King in the next 200 pages or so, he's hamstrung by his "quiet horror" approach insofar as the novel pulls away from the attacks of the monster at the moment of attack, returning to show the aftermath without too much explicit description. Grant also can't bring himself to give the novel a big climax (remember Carrie's death march through school and town?) or even a physical confrontation between Don and the super-horse (remember the garage battle in Christine?).
At one point, Don hears the screams in the town football stadium and believes the monster has attacked the football game. If you think, as I did, "Bring it on!" at this point, forget it. The monster is not there.
Part of the problem with the novel is that Don is an odd but sympathetic figure, with so many problems heaped upon his head by Grant, with Don's tormentors (including his parents) consistently shown to be selfish, brutish, thoughtless assholes.
Another problem lies in peculiar absences. The dead brother is the worst of these: our sum total of knowledge about why Don's parents prefer the dead son to the live one is that the dead one was obedient. OK! A flashback showing rather than telling about the brother never materializes. Even the trauma that would come with a dead son and brother is muted, barely considered by parents or Don.
Once the horse starts killing people -- well, who cares, really? Grant's small town is such an abysmal place that it deserves to get leveled. Other than Don and Don's two best friends, Tracey and Jeff, there are no sympathetic characters. Well, OK, there's an old guy and his daschund. But even Jeff is a cipher, there only to form a potential romantic triangle with Tracey and Don, who also has a crush on Tracey.
Tracey is drawn somewhat sympathetically until the last ten pages or so, when she does something that is completely unbelievable given what she's learned about Don and the supernatural in the previous hundred pages. Unless she's suicidal.
At the end (which isn't even really an end but more of a pause), I"m left again wondering if this was a failed attempt by Grant to write a Stephen King novel, or a failed attempt at parody. Or both. Its flaws, large and legion in number, are fascinating enough to make it worth reading. And frustratingly good moments of tension and character-building keep floating to the surface before being submerged again in the slurry. Just don't expect to feel satisfied at the end. Lightly recommended.
'Salem's Lot: adapted from the Stephen King novel by Paul Monash; directed by Tobe Hooper; starring David Soul (Ben Mears), James Mason (Straker), Lance Kerwin (Mark Petrie), Bonnie Bedelia (Susan Norton), Ed Flanders (Dr. Norton), Lew Ayres (Jason Burke), and Reggie Nalder (Barlow):
The first miniseries adaptation of a novel by Stephen King, and still among the two or three best. There are necessary condensations and eliminations from King's giant cast of small-town Maine residents whose town is about to get vampirized. The reduced role of Father Callahan is probably the most keenly felt -- he's got two scenes and then he's gone. Oh, well.
David Soul is solid as writer Ben Mears, returning to the home of his childhood and discovering it both unaltered and about to be severely altered. Bonnie Bedelia and Lance Kerwin do nice work as well. James Mason dominates the miniseries. Not as the vampire Barlow, though, but as his majordomo Straker.
This is really the major change from the novel: Barlow the vampire doesn't speak at all, though he does hiss a lot. Straker speaks a lot, to the extent that one starts to wonder why the screenwriters didn't just have James Mason play the vampire. Barlow's make-up and prosthetics make him an homage to the vampire in F.W. Murnau's seminal vampire movie Nosferatu (1922) much different a creature than the smooth-talking Dracula figure of King's novel.
Tobe Hooper (Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Poltergeist) directs ably. The horror effects of vampires floating outside the windows of their prey is surprisingly spooky. Hooper also has a solid touch with the actors. His experience with Texas Chainsaw Massacre in terms of implying but not actually showing horrible images comes in handy on a project that must pass the network censors. All this and Fred Willard in his underwear being threatened with a shotgun! Recommended.
Room 237 (2012): written and directed by Rodney Ascher; featuring theories about Stanley Kubrick's The Shining (1980) from Bill Blakemore, Geoffrey Cocks, Juli Kearns, John Fell Ryan, and Jay Weidner: To paraphrase a Jack Kirby cover blurb, "Don't ask -- just watch it!"
Rodney Ascher unpacks and illustrates nine, count them, nine 'fan' theories about the secret meaning of Stanley Kubrick's movie of Stephen King's The Shining. Oh, brother. The loopiest is that The Shining is Kubrick's coded confession that he faked the Apollo 11 Moon landing. The most wide-ranging is that The Shining is about ALL OF HUMAN HISTORY.
If you want to understand the Ourobouros of the theory, of becoming transfixed by an idea that seems objectively insane... well, this movie is for you. Asture observations occasionally surface, only to be drowned in the red flood of hermetic hermeneutics. Learn the mystery of the Impossible Window! Marvel at carefully detailed, viewer-generated maps of the floor plan of the Overlook Hotel! Realize that somewhere, Stanley Kubrick is busting a gut! An absolutely fascinating work of documentary, non-judgmental about the validity of the theories described herein.
The most astonishing moment probably comes when, prompted by one theorist's statement that The Shining must be viewed backwards and forwards to truly be understood, a film theatre screens The Shining played backwards and forwards, projected on the same screen at the same time. I've got to guess that a lot of headache medication was taken during and after that adventure. Highly recommended.
The Outsider (2018) by Stephen King: 40-year-old Terry Maitland is a beloved high-school teacher and Little League coach in the small Oklahoma town of Flint City. But overwhelming witness, fingerprint, and DNA evidence suggest that he brutally raped and murdered an eleven-year-old boy.
So Detective Ralph Anderson makes the call to arrest him. Because Anderson is freaked out by the fact that his own son played Little League, Anderson decides to arrest Maitland in as public and humiliating a way as possible -- during a Little League game, with the stands packed.
A problem soon develops, however, as Maitland's lawyer and his own investigator discover: equally overwhelming evidence shows that Maitland was nowhere near Flint City at the time of the rape and murder.
Does Maitland have an accomplice? Did he try to commit the perfect crime? But if he tried to commit the perfect crime, why did he go out of his way to talk to witnesses before and after the murder while wearing a blood-soaked shirt? Why do the plethora of fingerprints and bloodstains suggest that he went out of his way to leave physical proof of his crime?
So begins The Outsider, Stephen King's new novel. This one is in many ways like a very detailed X-Files episode. No Mulder and Scully, but halfway through the novel Holly Gibney of King's Bill Hodges Trilogy (Mr. Mercedes, Finders Keepers, and End of Watch) will be called upon to fill the role of an outside investigator with experience when it comes to the paranormal.
For King the novel is pretty tight (it's 500 pages, so yeah, maybe there could be some trimming -- though I really only wished for more, not less). The details of the investigation are ably portrayed. The characterization is superb. It's a mash-up of the supernatural and the police procedural that works really well, perhaps in part because King practiced with End of Watch.
The novel also examines how good police can make catastrophic mistakes, as Ralph Anderson does with that initial public arrest. Anderson is the protagonist here, a good cop faced with something beyond his normal experience. Thankfully, brave, extremely intelligent Holly is there, a most unlikely Van Helsing, but an effective one. Her A/V presentation on what kind of thing they're facing is a miniature masterpiece of horror laced with unlikely comedy that rapidly turns to dread.
There are certainly derivative elements -- there are always in King, a master of synthesis far more than thesis. But the characterization and the pacing keep things going, along with some new (for King) locales. The climax is a dandy, another dark descent made by unlikely heroes in service of the light. Highly recommended.
The Dark Tower (2017): adapted by Akiva Goldsman, Jeff Pinkner, Anders Thomas Jensen, and Nikolaj Arcel from the series by Stephen King; directed by Nikolaj Arcel; starring Idris Elba (Roland), Tom Taylor (Jake), and Matthew McConaughey (Walter): On second viewing, The Dark Tower still works better for me than its audience or critical reception. Idris Elba is great, Tom Taylor is great, and Matthew McConaughey is OK, though direly in need of a sandwich or three. It's also one of the few movies I saw last year in a theatre that I wanted to be longer. Recommended.
See also
It (1990): adapted from the 1986 Stephen King novel by Tommy Lee Wallace and Lawrence D. Cohen; directed by Tommy Lee Wallace; starring Harry Anderson/ Seth Green (Richie Tozier), Dennis Christopher/ Adam Faraizi (Eddie Kaspbrak), Richard Masur/ Ben Heller (Stanley Uris), Annette O'Toole/ Emily Perkins (Bev Marsh), Tim Reid/ Marlon Taylor (Mike Hanlon), John Ritter/ Brandon Crane (Ben Hanscom), Richard Thomas/ Jonathan Brandis (Bill Denbrough), and Tim Curry (Pennywise):
It (2017): adapted by Chase Palmer, Cary Fukunaga, and Gary Dauberman from the novel by Stephen King; directed by Andy Muschietti; starring Bill Skarsgard (Pennywise), Jaeden Lieberher (Bill), Jeremy Ray Taylor (Ben), Sophia Lillis (Bev), Finn Wolfhard (Richie), Chosen Jacobs (Mike), Jack Dylan Grazer (Eddie), and Wyatt Oleff (Stanley):
The 1990 miniseries adaptation of Stephen King's It is more faithful to the book in many ways, even allowing for the fact that the miniseries tells the whole story while the 2017 movie deals only with the childhood sections of the novel. In the miniseries, British Columbia plays Derry, Maine while the real-world locations for the movie are mostly located in Ontario, Canada. Hmm.
The faithfulness of the miniseries does lead to a certain breathlessness at points, as the filmmakers cram an astonishing amount of the novel into about three hours. Why didn't ABC make It a six- or eight-hour miniseries? No idea. Without commercials, the miniseries clocks in at about 187 minutes, less than an hour longer than the 2017 movie while tackling the entire novel. That's some impressive condensation!
The performances by both the children and the adults the children grow into are good, for the most part, with Brandon Crane as a young Ben Hanscom especially seeming truer to Ben's physical appearance in the book than Jeremy Ray Taylor in the 2017 movie. We will not go on at length about the ponytail sported by Richard Thomas as the adult Bill Denbrough except to say that it is immensely distracting. Tim Reid is especially impressive as the adult Mike Hanlon. Yes, Venus Flytrap from WKRP. John Ritter is also pitch-perfect as the adult Ben Hanscom.
One of the oddities of the miniseries is that Harry Anderson as the adult Richie Tozier towers over the other characters (Anderson is 6'4" while Ritter was 5'11" and Thomas is a shade below 5'9"), which seems weird if one has read the novel. Ah, Hollywood.
Movie It's Jeremy Ray Taylor's Ben Hanscom seems about six inches too short for his character, and lacks the character-defining sweatshirts of his novel and miniseries counterparts, though only the novel explains the significance of a 'fat' kid wearing sweatshirts even in the hottest weather. Both miniseries and movie could use more character-building like this, as just the sweatshirt stuff in the novel makes Ben more poignant while also showing the young Richie Tozier's combination of insight and crude bonhomie.
The miniseries also hews closer to the age of the children in the novel while the movie up-aged them by a couple of years. Tim Curry's Pennywise is a brasher, less physically startling Pennywise than Bill Skarsgard's, though neither actor really captures the novel's idea that Pennywise should be appealing at first meeting. Their Pennywises are just creepy and scary all the time, a decision made by the directors, I'd assume. An ingratiating John Candy would have probably made the best Pennywise.
The miniseries leaves the truly cosmic origins of It (the creature) mostly untouched. Supposedly, the next movie will actually delve into this. I'll be interested to see how that goes. Both the movie and the miniseries do admirable jobs of adapting King's work. I'd guess that most people who saw the miniseries last when it aired probably remember it as beginning, as with the movie, with Georgie's fateful encounter with Pennywise in the storm drain.
Not so! And it's not a puzzling choice, as the miniseries has to set up the dual timelines of its plot immediately. But it did seem a little Mandela Effect for a moment as I rewatched the miniseries for the first time in 28 years. Live and learn. Both miniseries and movie: recommended.
Full Dark, No Stars (2010) by Stephen King: King's third four-novella collection (after the great Different Seasons and the indifferent Four Past Midnight) is a bleak affair in which three of the four novellas feature women revenging themselves against monstrous men.
1922: This is the closest thing King has ever written to a noirish novel by James M. Cain (Double Indemnity) or Jim Thompson (The Killer Inside Me). Out in the bleak Midwest of the Year of Our Lord 1922, a farmer plots to kill his wife because she wants to sell her land to a hog-butchering firm. Narrated by the farmer in first-person, 1922 is a bleak tale of (possibly) spectral revenge with a hint of Poe's "The Tell-tale Heart."
King does a great job here of writing a protagonist whom, while well-spoken, is as dumb as a fencepost. He doesn't go Blood Simple -- he's simple long before he sets out on his murderous course. And he takes a lot of people with him. It's a haunting, distressing piece of work with no particularly sympathetic characters.
Big Driver: Things go terribly wrong for a female mid-list mystery novelist on her way home from a speaking engagement. Is revenge in the cards? Yes. Yes it is. The protagonist is sympathetically drawn (and is one of King's few characters with a cat as a pet, for what that's worth). The antagonists sort of slide off the believability plateau about two-thirds through, allowing for gruesome revenge without any need to parse the rightness or wrongness of it all.
Fair Extension: The shortest piece is also the grimmest. Well, maybe. A cancer-stricken man makes a deal with the Devil (or a devil, perhaps), possibly the same one from King's award-winning short story "The Man in the Black Suit." Things go poorly, though perhaps not as one thinks. It's a sort of one-note horror piece, drawn out a bit too long.
A Good Marriage: Revenge will be served again, as a woman married for more than 20 years to a seemingly good-guy accountant discovers that he's a serial killer. The novella's examination of what one would do under these circumstances is nuanced and suitably thrill-filled, backed by a sort of existential dread about just how much anyone knows about even their closest friends and loved ones. The investigator who shows up at the end seems to be a dry run for Bill Hodges in character if not in physical appearance.
Overall: Well worth a read. Nothing here hits the heights of the four bruisers in Different Seasons (Apt Pupil, Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption, The Body, and The Breathing Method). Really, what could? And when do we get a goddammed movie of The Breathing Method, btw?
Night Shift (1978) by Stephen King:
- Jerusalem's Lot (Previously unpublished)
- Graveyard Shift (October 1970 issue of Cavalier)
- Night Surf (Spring 1969 issue of Ubris)
- I Am the Doorway (March 1971 issue of Cavalier)
- The Mangler (December 1972 issue of Cavalier)
- The Boogeyman (March 1973 issue of Cavalier)
- Gray Matter (October 1973 issue of Cavalier)
- Battleground (September 1972 issue of Cavalier)
- Trucks (June 1973 issue of Cavalier)
- Sometimes They Come Back (March 1974 issue of Cavalier)
- Strawberry Spring (Fall 1968 issue of Ubris)
- The Ledge (July 1976 issue of Penthouse)
- The Lawnmower Man (May 1975 issue of Cavalier)
- Quitters, Inc. (Previously unpublished)
- I Know What You Need (September 1976 issue of Cosmopolitan)
- Children of the Corn (March 1977 issue of Penthouse)
- The Last Rung on the Ladder (Previously unpublished)
- The Man Who Loved Flowers (August 1977 issue of Gallery)
- One for the Road (March/April 1977 issue of Maine)
- The Woman in the Room (Previously unpublished)
Stephen King's early short stories appeared for the most part in markets that don't exist any more -- "girly" magazines that published stories in between the sections of nude photos. And those markets paid much better than the genre markets for short stories.
Night Shift appeared the same year as The Stand, after the success of Carrie (novel and movie), 'Salem's Lot, and The Shining (and after the pseudonymous publication of Rage as by Richard Bachman). 40 years (and many re-readings of many of the stories) later, a few observations.
King was very generous here with unpublished material -- four stories! And they're good stories. "Jerusalem's Lot" is King's most Lovecraftian pastiche, and it's a lot of fun. "Quitters, Inc." is a solid thriller with a twist. And "The Last Rung on the Ladder" and "The Woman in the Room" are moving, "slice-of-life" stories then atypical for King.
The published stories are almost all horror. And they're still very effective. "The Boogeyman" is my all-timer here, one of King's ten best horror stories. Throughout the collection, King's ability to synthesize horror and the mundane waxes and wanes. I do love the transformative, tainted beer in "Gray Matter" (based on a true story, sort of!).
King's world in these stories is one in which, pushing H.P. Lovecraft to the fringes of absurdity, eldritch tomes of forbidden knowledge are available at your public library. King goes to the well of easily-acquired magical books a couple of times too many. He would lose this tendency very quickly, coming up with more normative, intuitive ways for his characters to do battle with the forces of darkness.
The suspense/thriller stories are also top-notch, none moreso than "Battleground," with its cool-headed assassin faced with a most unlikely payback. "The Ledge" and "Quitters, Inc." are also nice, taut pieces of suspense based on clever ideas. The latter two were memorably filmed as part of the under-rated Cat's Eye movie, while the former was brilliantly adapted and filmed for the Nightmares and Dreamscapes miniseries of more than a decade ago.
I count six other film or TV adaptations besides the ones noted above. But no "Gray Matter" or "Jerusalem's Lot"! Ridiculous! Highly recommended as one of the five or six greatest original horror collections ever published. All-timer!
Gwendy's Button Box (2017) by Stephen King and Richard Chizmar: In 1974, twelve-year-old Castle Rock native Gwendy Peterson meets a man in black sitting on a park bench. He's peculiarly convincing but no pervert. No, he wants her to take on stewardship of a peculiar small wooden box covered with buttons. She's the best person for the job. And as compensation, the box dispenses rare silver dollars on occasion and one exquisite chocolate once a day.
So begins this peculiar, affecting coming-of-age novella/short novel (it's really an abbreviated kunstlerroman). King handed it in unfinished form to writer-editor-publisher Richard Chizmar, who came up with ways to finish the narrative. The two work seamlessly together. The prose is a bit leaner, perhaps, than the King norm, but I'd be hard-pressed to figure out who wrote what.
The gem here is the character of Gwendy, who is perfectly believeable in the midst of increasing weirdness centered on that box and those buttons. As to who the Man in Black is -- well, I'll leave that to you. He sure does like the word 'palaver.'
The horror in Gwendy's Button Box is mostly quiet and psychological, though King and Chizmar do throw in one gross-out scene, a brief one. In all, a rewarding, short read. Recommended.
Stephen King's Graveyard Shift (1990): adapted by John Esposito from the short story by Stephen King; directed by Ralph S. Singleton; starring David Andrews (John Hall), Kelly Wolf (Jane), Stephen Macht (Warwick), Vic Polizos (Hose Guy), and Brad Dourif (Exterminator): Singleton's only film-directing credit; he was primarily known as a producer on such projects as Pet Sematary, Clear and Present Danger, and... Juwanna Mann? Well, at least he had range.
Rats are a problem at a decrepit Maine cotton mill in both the superior short story and this inferior movie.
Stephen King observed that the movie dumped a lot of money into the Maine economy. That's high praise!
But it's an enjoyable piece of trash, with mostly decent acting (though Pennsylvanian Macht's over-the-top struggles with a Maine accent are intermittently hilarious). Brad Dourif has an almost entirely self-contained and pointless cameo role. But he's always good, even in this dog.
Director Singleton seems to have no idea how to create mood in a horror movie. The basements, sub-basements, and sub-sub-basements are unterrifyingly well-lit, and Singleton is no Kubrick when it comes to well-lit horror.
Pre-CGI problems abound with the rat actors as well. Real trained rats can't actually flood areas with people in them the way they do in the claustrophobic, rat-crowded story. So they instead put in appearances from time to time, looking unbearably cute. By the end, the movie seems to be about a heroic human saving a bunch of cute rats from a lifetime of servitude to a mean, giant rat-monster tyrant.
The giant rat-monster (you knew there was a giant rat-monster in this, right?), so effectively revealed in the short story, instead just keeps showing up throughout the movie. Apparently it has a clock to punch. As it seem to have free access to the upper levels of the mill whenever it wants that access, its Final Boss Monster status has been completely eroded by the conclusion, when we see it for about the hundredth time (subjectively).
Still, there are worse ways to spend 100 minutes. And the beefy, yelling guy with the high-pressure hose is an unintentional bit of exquisite comedy. Badly recommended (new rating!).
It (2017): adapted by Chase Palmer, Cary Fukunaga, and Gary Dauberman from the novel by Stephen King; directed by Andy Muschietti; starring Bill Skarsgard (Pennywise), Jaeden Lieberher (Bill), Jeremy Ray Taylor (Ben), Sophia Lillis (Bev), Finn Wolfhard (Richie), Chosen Jacobs (Mike), Jack Dylan Grazer (Eddie), and Wyatt Oleff (Stanley): Solid, occasionally inspired adaptation of Stephen King's enormous 1986 novel clearly aims at the mass market and, based on that stunning box-office performance, succeeds. One loses some of the best elements of the novel because of the crowd-pleasing approach. On the other hand, a halfway faithful adaptation of (half of) IT would be longer than Berlin Alexanderplatz.
The filmmakers ditch the three-timeline structure of the novel (roughly, for those counting at home, the 1950's narrative, the 1980's narrative, and Mike Hanlon's archival narrative that fills in the history of Derry, Maine as Mike moves closer and closer to the 1980's narrative).
Instead, we get It Chapter 1, set in autumn 1988 and then summer 1989. That moves It up from its 1950's/1980's original timeline so as to avoid the entire movie being a period piece. King has done this with his own novels (The Stand was jiggered forwards in time for its 'Director's Cut' 1990 edition, for instance), so no big whoop. Well, except for the chuckleheads who immediately started comparing It to Stranger Things instead of the other way around. Idiots.
I do wonder if there's a 3-hour director's cut of It waiting on the shelves. Changes to the late-summer portion of the narrative almost suggest that a big chunk of material was filmed and then edited out so as to keep the movie below 2 1/2 hours. The kids lose a certain amount of that Hollywood touchstone AGENCY in this version, not so much planning their engagements with It as running willy-nilly into them.
Unfortunately, the communal bonding elaborated upon in the novel is here reduced to one happy set-piece (swimming at the quarry) and one grim one (cleaning Bev's bathroom of spectral blood that only the kids can see). Gone, too, the Native-American smokehouse vision of It's arrival on Earth, apparently shunted to Chapter Two.
There are some decisions -- especially to temporarily make Bev into Penelope Pit-stop near the end -- that suggest the film-makers are setting up things to be paralleled in the next movie that are not paralleled in the novel (specifically, using the wife of one of the grown-up kids as bait, and even subjecting her to It's mysterious, brain-frying Deadlights). I'd have also liked more emphasis on the rotten nature of Derry in general.
And Mike Hanlon really gets hosed, though again this looks like a decision glancing forward to a greater role in Chapter Two. The monsters and the dread are here. And Pennywise is creepy, though neither the filmmakers nor Pennywise-portrayer Bill Skarsgard seem to have the slightest idea how to make Pennywise appealing as a prelude to the revelation of his/Its true nature. He/It is just too scary to draw anyone into his web. The kids, though -- the kids are dynamite. Recommended.
The Tommyknockers (1987) by Stephen King:
"The Tommyknockers is an awful book. That was the last one I wrote before I cleaned up my act." - Stephen King, the "act" being his addiction problems.
Who am I to argue with Stephen King on the topic of Stephen King?
The Tommyknockers is the worst thing -- novel, story, screenplay, comic book, greeting card, you name it -- the prolific King has ever written. I don't think it's even that close between The Tommyknockers and the second-worst thing.
King wrote The Tommyknockers at pretty much Peak Addiction, and it is interesting from an autobiographical perspective as page after page dwells on the alcohol addiction of protagonist James Eric 'Gard' Gardener.
And the townsfolk of fictional, tiny Haven, Maine (near demon-haunted Derry in Stephen King's Maine) also succumb to addiction of a type: well, an infection, anyway, from a long-buried spaceship that ends up getting unburied when Gard's former lover, Western writer Bobbi Anderson, stubs her toe on a projecting part of a giant spaceship in the woods behind her rural home.
Once exposed to air, the spaceship infects people with some sort of airborne virus or nanotechnology. The virus makes people progressively less human as it also turns them into assholes who like building high-tech gadgets. Soon, Haven is hard at work, working towards The Becoming, when they'll finish excavating the spaceship (it's saucer-shaped, natch) and go do bad things somewhere on Earth or elsewhere.
All this seems to have been predicted by a Maine folk rhyme about 'the Tommyknockers' that begins 'Late last night and the night before/ Tommyknockers, Tommyknockers, knocking at the door.' Even buried for millennia, the spaceship has exerted some malign influence on people living near it. It reminds me of King's previous novel, It, in which we see It crash into the primordial forest that would one day become Derry. Derry is located about 30 miles from Haven. Is there some sort of magnet that causes weird stuff to crash in this area of Maine? Is Amelia Earhart's plane out there too?
There's probably an OK but derivative short science-fiction novel buried in the bloat of The Tommyknockers. The novel's most obvious antecedent is Quatermass and the Pit/ Five Million Years to Earth, in which an alien spaceship is unearthed during a London subway dig and proceeds to alter the humanity around it as it draws power from its environment. The Tommyknockers is the rural version of that, and this time the Martians aren't Nazis: they're gadgeteers. They're King's heavy-handed, repeatedly spelled-out metaphor for the human beings who make atomic bombs, nuclear power plants, intelligence agencies, and every other ill on the Earth caused by technology.
King plays bait-and-switch with his protagonists. Bobbi Anderson takes point, but once the alien infection takes hold, the narrative switches to Gardener. And once Gardener gets really drunk in the middle of the book, the novel jumps around among various townsfolk and outsiders until Gardener starts to sober up around page 350 or so. The structure plays Hell with readerly sympathy, a problem compounded by...
The Tommyknockers give us King's least sympathetic, most caricatured set of characters in all of his writing. It's far and away King's sourest book. Part of the problem seems to come from King's decision to only supply characterization for most of the townsfolk after they're already turning into gadget-building assholes. Part of the problem comes from the fact that King falls back on some of his recurring stereotypes for characters, even when they should be at least nominally sympathetic.
To cite one, we get a nebbishy man who lives at home with his mother who browbeats him. We also get a crusty senior citizen who knows where all the bodies in Haven are buried, not one but two writers as co-protagonists (and Gard is alcoholic -- did I mention that?), a super-smart kid who's ostracized by his peers but beloved by his younger brother, and a lot of small-minded small-town types. Once most of those stereotypes get infested, they're really annoying.
Even the people outside Derry are assholes. Gard has to deal with a mean woman who runs the travelling poetry show that pays his salary. You can tell she's mean because she's an upper-class twit with a pinched face and no breasts. Bobbi has been repeatedly terrorized throughout her life by an insanely domineering, evil sister, and you can be sure that evil sister will show up in Haven before the end of the novel. The bad characters in The Tommyknockers have no redeeming qualities. But we will spend a lot of time with them. Even doomed minor characters from outside Haven are assholes who sort of deserve to die. And die they will!
And we will know that many of them will die before they die for one of two reasons. Maybe King will employ probably his least endearing, corpus-wide trope -- the narrative voice telling us that the character we're reading about is going to die before the end of the novel. Or maybe King will indulge in the frustrating, suspense-cancelling structural tic he developed for The Tommyknockers, in which the novel describes events building to something catastrophic before jumping backwards in time to show us the events building to that same something catastrophic from a different narrative POV. This happens again and again, and indeed accelerates in the last 50 pages or so, as we see the same thing happen over and over again from a seemingly endless series of POVs. So long, suspense!
Two major characters have steel plates in their heads. And this is a major plot point. Two characters! What are the odds! King also brings back the evil Coke machine from Maximum Overdrive. I shit you not. I wish he'd also brought back Captain Trips from The Stand so that everyone in this fucking novel could die by page 100.
At several points, either King or his characters basically throw up their hands and start using other people's works to explain things. Thus, Peter Straub's Floating Dragon gets a shout-out from Bobbi and Gard. So, too, Poul Anderson's Brain Wave (wrongly in terms of Brain Wave's plot), the work of Robert Heinlein (dismissively and not remotely accurately in the assessment, BTW), and some of King's own work. It's Pennywise cameos for no real reason other than that a couple of characters drive through Derry.
The Heinlein moment is especially weird. Having learned that the aliens (or 'Tommyknockers' if you prefer) are neither benign nor particularly intelligent, Gard thinks "So much for Robert Heinlein." As Heinlein wasn't known for writing a lot about benign, technologically advanced aliens, this statement makes little sense.
It makes even less sense when one knows that one of Heinlein's most famous novels of the 1950's was The Puppet Masters, in which malign parasitic aliens invade Earth and take possession of human beings to advance their goals. They even stick people in fluid-filled tubes, as do King's Tommyknocker-possessed humans.
And King even repeats a much different Heinlein trope, one seen in many American science-fiction works: humanity has something so special about it that unlike other races, it offers resistance to this alien threat. King has met the enemy, and King is Heinlein.
Much, much odder is a section in which King's narrative voice sings the praises of Canadian writer Robertson Davies and, specifically, Davies' Deptford Trilogy and, most specifically, those portions of the Deptford Trilogy dealing with the young Dunstable Ramsey's attempts to master magic tricks in the company of the younger Paul Dempster, who really will master magic and go on to become professional magician Magnus Eisengrim. So King really likes Robertson Davies. Not one of the characters -- King's narrative voice. OK. This novel is brought to you by the Deptford Trilogy. I'm surprised the narrative voice doesn't warn us that Robertson Davies is going to die.
I could go on, but I'm sort of exhausted. The novel ends in part with an astronomical statement that makes absolutely no sense. That pretty much sums it up. Populated with characters unpleasant or boring or both, derivative or dismissive of far superior works, The Tommyknockers is indeed, in King's own words, "awful." To flip the punchline of an old joke... and such large portions! Not recommended.
The Dark Tower (2017): adapted by Akiva Goldsman, Jeff Pinkner, Anders Thomas Jensen, and Nikolaj Arcel from the series by Stephen King; directed by Nikolaj Arcel; starring Idris Elba (Roland), Tom Taylor (Jake), and Matthew McConaughey (Walter): Shortly before its release, The Dark Tower was called a sequel to the 8-novel+ Stephen King series by its creators. And it actually makes sense as one if you've read the series.
Is it a great movie? No. It's bracingly short and compact, though maybe 20 minutes' more questing and world-building would have been nice. Idris Elba does fine work as a more tortured Roland the Gunslinger than we see in the novels. Tom Taylor does fine work as Jake, the boy on 'our' Earth who dreams of the Gunslinger and his fantastic quest to save the Dark Tower at the centre of reality. And Matthew McConaughey is suitably smarmy and smug as Walter, the Man in Black who's trying to bring down the Dark Tower in service to his own dark god(s).
There are Stephen King Easter Eggs galore (Hello, Charlie the Choo-Choo! Hello, Room 1408!). There are rat-men and assorted other servants of darkness. Its weakness is occasionally seeming rushed, though that's better than bloat in my book any day. The Dark Tower also understatedly offers a multi-racial cast, something that seems to have gone unremarked upon the curious critical rush to pan the movie. Oh, well. Recommended.
The House Next Door (1978) by Anne Rivers Siddons: Colquitt and Walter Kennedy are upper-middle-class semi-twits (demi-twits?) in a posh suburb of Atlanta. On the lot next to them, a young architect plans and builds his first house. A couple moves in. And then things start to go horribly wrong for anyone living in the house and, occasionally, for anyone even remotely connected to anyone living in the house.
But as the Kennedys (make of that last name what you will) joke at one point relatively early in the novel, there's no record of the new house being built on an Indian burial ground or any other such stereotype of ghostly house haunting. It's a new house. And the things that happen could, for the most part, just be a string of increasingly dire coincidences.
Well, up to a point.
Stephen King praised The House Next Door in his early 1980's non-fiction book on horror, Danse Macabre. And it is excellent. Siddons has not, so far as I can tell, ever ventured again into the realm of horror. Pity. Just in terms of the horror elements, she's very good here, avoiding pitfalls that plague many a gifted, committed horror writer.
And as King observed, this is a horror story involving reputation -- the house strikes again and again at the social standing of its inhabitants and their friends. It's a monster devoted to embarrassment, at least initially. But it gets hungrier and more dangerous as the narrative progresses.
Siddons creates a fascinating world of privilege and gossip and extremely reluctant 'heroes.' Just the act of trying to save people from the house brings down embarrassment, loss of social standing, and loss of work on the heads of the Kennedys. In trying to defeat the house, they feed it. And where does the colossal enmity and growing danger of the house come from?
Well, Siddons will answer that last question, sort of, by the end of the novel, in a manner that satisfies while also preserving the mystery of Evil in the world of The House Next Door. This is a deeply satisfying horror novel with finely observed sections of social commentary and satire. Really, a remarkable work, and one of the four or five finest 'Haunted House' novels I've ever had the pleasure to read. Highly recommended.
From a Buick 8 (2002) by Stephen King: King's closest foray into what people now call the New Weird. Sort of. From a Buick 8 is as the very least a foray into the cosmic in which the horror elements are reined in, making Cosmic Mystery rather than Cosmic Terror the order of the day.
Circumstances leave Pennsylvania State Troop D with a bizarre automobile stored in a shed. It was left at a gas station by a creepy looking fellow. Its design is just enough off-normal to make it disturbing. And a quick check of its engine -- or its dashboard -- reveals that it shouldn't be able to run. Stamped on the engine block are the words 'Buick 8,' though the troopers will come over the years to call it a Buick Roadmaster. And on its first day in storage back in 1979, a veteran officer disappears off the face of the Earth, never to be seen again.
Stylistically, this is one of King's great achievements. Several first-person narrators (with one primary narrator) tell the story of the Buick Roadmaster over the course of one long night in 2001. The narrative voices are separate and distinct, and the rhythms of the telling approximate the stops and starts of oral storytelling. They're telling a ghost story around a campfire, but there's no fire and the ghost is real -- and not something as simple as a ghost.
There are a number of effective horror scenes scattered throughout the narrative, mostly rooted in Fear of the Unknown. In many ways, From a Buick 8 is a lengthy riff on H.P. Lovecraft's seminal "The Colour Out of Space." But this time it's a car -- a car whose paint colour doesn't seem quite right to any of those who look at it.
King avoids the third-act problems of many of his more science-fictiony novels here by avoiding any final explanation for the presence and purpose of the Buick Roadmaster. Where Under the Dome or The Tommyknockers sputtered out at the end with disappointing explanations, From a Buick 8 roars off into the silence, unexplained and unknowable. Highly recommended.
