Once upon a time there was an author who could spin a good yarn about some horrific occurrence in some place, namely Maine, or Colorado. He had a way of slowly enveloping the reader with characters caught in a mystery that partially revealed itself, and while delving into the supernatural, plausibility was never sacrificed in lieu of ridiculousness.
Of course, once that author began seeing he could make money in droves by basically adapting older horror stories and horror clichés into new book versions, quality went right out the window, never to be seen again (except on rare, non-horror stories, tales about a coming-of-age, or crime novellas).
And of course, falling in love with his prose also became a trademark. Telling tales with a didactic tone in which everything is seen and even minor flashbacks have to be played out in extensive, overdrawn passages (which also, to me, indicates needing to play out the part of the best-selling author who has to maintain an image and sell large, fat books) made for even poorer storytelling. Not that long novels and multiple story lines don't make for good storytelling... as long as it's related to what's being told. (See Dark Tower IV: Wizard and Glass for a prime example of a book seventy-five percent too long and who's backstory stops this massive yet simple story dead in its tracks for almost 500 pages. By far, this has to be the most voluminous flashback in literary history, and I don't mean it in a good way, even though I have admired this author since childhood. But admiration doesn't impede me to see that he seems to have lost his touch and hasn't truly evolved in favor of "the best-seller syndrome.")
Thirty years after achieving success with Carrie, Stephen King has essentially re-hashed the same story styles over and over again and become wealthy and ubiquitous in the process. Rose Red, a screenplay adapted for TV, is a summation of all of the things I've been writing about: overlong, with too many unnecessary characters, derivative of earlier stories which in turn were remakes of earlier literary works, and as predictable as the weather. The archetype of a house gone bad, holding deadly secrets and hungry spirits within its walls. The lead character who either comes back to face his demons or becomes obsessed, like Captain Ahab, by its secrets and subsequently dives into madness. The overuse of a child's nursery rhyme (used masterfully by Hitchcock). The presence of the loud, fat overbearing mother who vomits forth screams of Judgement Day and quotes from the Bible. The unpleasant small man prone to self-preservation. The reasonable woman who suspects something is wrong but doesn't really come involved until late in the story. The psychic child who acts as the catalyst, sometimes creepy, sometimes verbose, sometimes severely damaged, and who has the monster mother (or father, or both) for baggage. The evil which cannot be destroyed, ever, like mold, and feeds on the psychic prana of unsuspecting humans (foolishly) drawn to it.
It would work if there was an element of parody to the genre, but when for jolts we keep seeing dead people open their eyes as they hang from the ceiling, obvious CGI creations that simulate walking zombies and speak in seductive voices, bombastic scenes of explosions and wind, and the milky white appearance of a girl who beckons an autistic young girl to come to her (twice) while nobody does anything to help, or that laugh-inducing ending where all the ghosts slowly creep over Nancy Travis who unconvincingly carries out the aforementioned Captain Ahab role best seen previously in Stanley Kubrick's The Shining under Jack Nicholson's performance doesn't make for a good or especially frightening movie.
And the dialog... can we say cringe inducing? Like Emery's preferred "bon mot," it was simply "not there." A prime example where less is more, shorter is preferable, and atmosphere is everything. Watch only if particularly bored or if there is absolutely nothing else on.
Of course, once that author began seeing he could make money in droves by basically adapting older horror stories and horror clichés into new book versions, quality went right out the window, never to be seen again (except on rare, non-horror stories, tales about a coming-of-age, or crime novellas).
And of course, falling in love with his prose also became a trademark. Telling tales with a didactic tone in which everything is seen and even minor flashbacks have to be played out in extensive, overdrawn passages (which also, to me, indicates needing to play out the part of the best-selling author who has to maintain an image and sell large, fat books) made for even poorer storytelling. Not that long novels and multiple story lines don't make for good storytelling... as long as it's related to what's being told. (See Dark Tower IV: Wizard and Glass for a prime example of a book seventy-five percent too long and who's backstory stops this massive yet simple story dead in its tracks for almost 500 pages. By far, this has to be the most voluminous flashback in literary history, and I don't mean it in a good way, even though I have admired this author since childhood. But admiration doesn't impede me to see that he seems to have lost his touch and hasn't truly evolved in favor of "the best-seller syndrome.")
Thirty years after achieving success with Carrie, Stephen King has essentially re-hashed the same story styles over and over again and become wealthy and ubiquitous in the process. Rose Red, a screenplay adapted for TV, is a summation of all of the things I've been writing about: overlong, with too many unnecessary characters, derivative of earlier stories which in turn were remakes of earlier literary works, and as predictable as the weather. The archetype of a house gone bad, holding deadly secrets and hungry spirits within its walls. The lead character who either comes back to face his demons or becomes obsessed, like Captain Ahab, by its secrets and subsequently dives into madness. The overuse of a child's nursery rhyme (used masterfully by Hitchcock). The presence of the loud, fat overbearing mother who vomits forth screams of Judgement Day and quotes from the Bible. The unpleasant small man prone to self-preservation. The reasonable woman who suspects something is wrong but doesn't really come involved until late in the story. The psychic child who acts as the catalyst, sometimes creepy, sometimes verbose, sometimes severely damaged, and who has the monster mother (or father, or both) for baggage. The evil which cannot be destroyed, ever, like mold, and feeds on the psychic prana of unsuspecting humans (foolishly) drawn to it.
It would work if there was an element of parody to the genre, but when for jolts we keep seeing dead people open their eyes as they hang from the ceiling, obvious CGI creations that simulate walking zombies and speak in seductive voices, bombastic scenes of explosions and wind, and the milky white appearance of a girl who beckons an autistic young girl to come to her (twice) while nobody does anything to help, or that laugh-inducing ending where all the ghosts slowly creep over Nancy Travis who unconvincingly carries out the aforementioned Captain Ahab role best seen previously in Stanley Kubrick's The Shining under Jack Nicholson's performance doesn't make for a good or especially frightening movie.
And the dialog... can we say cringe inducing? Like Emery's preferred "bon mot," it was simply "not there." A prime example where less is more, shorter is preferable, and atmosphere is everything. Watch only if particularly bored or if there is absolutely nothing else on.