Four stars. Rated R, for bloody violence, frequent profanity and crude behavior
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 9.8.17
This one has teeth.
Literally.
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| Having determined that their supernatural tormentor's home base is the very-very-very creepy haunted house at the outskirts of town, Bill (Jaeden Lieberher) advises an all-for-one-and-one-for-all assault: a suggestion met with incredulous unwillingness by, from left, Ben (Jeremy Ray Taylor), Richie (Finn Wolfhard), Bev (Sophie Lillis), Eddie (Jack Dylan Grazer), Stanley (Wyatt Oleff) and Mike (Chosen Jacobs) |
Director Andy Muschietti’s
handling of Stephen King’s It is that
rarest of creatures: a film adaptation that is superior to its source novel.
Despite being undeniably scary,
King’s 1986 chiller is a bloated, self-indulgently over-written mess at 1,138
pages: a slog even for the author’s most dedicated fans. Scripters Chase
Palmer, Cary Fukunaga and Gary Dauberman have pared down the book quite deftly,
discarding the parallel narratives and retaining only the (far superior) kid-centric
half of the saga.
The result plays like a
coming-of-age blend of Stand By Me
and TV’s Stranger Things, albeit far nastier
... as befits the storyline. Muschietti and his writers retained the essential
plot beats from King’s novel, while accelerating the thrills and chills by
subjecting the key characters — and us viewers — to a relentless barrage of
impressively scary/creepy tableaus.
This campaign of terror is
orchestrated by one of King’s finest creations: Pennywise the Clown, played
here with viscerally shocking intensity by Bill Skarsgård. Between his, ah,
behavior, and the way Muschietti choreographs said activities, impressionable
viewers likely won’t sleep well for weeks.
I don’t say this lightly. Since
1979’s Alien, I could count — on the
fingers of one hand — the films that have well and truly frightened me.
Muschietti’s adaptation of It makes
the list, and with good reason: He understands the true nature of fear. Unlike
too many contemporary horror filmmakers content to repulse viewers, short-term,
by wallowing in gore, Muschietti messes with our minds ... which is as it
should be.
Anticipating the worst — not knowing
precisely what’s coming, albeit having a dismayed notion — plants a much more
powerful anxiety bomb in our nervous little heads. Muschietti plays us like a
fiddle.
Which is not to say that this It is without its gruesome moments.
Hardly. Muschietti bares his atmospheric fangs right from the start, which (of
course!) leaves us unsettled for the rest of the ride.
That’s only half of the equation.
This film’s success also derives from the exceptional work by its young
ensemble cast, which brings a level of emotional resonance — even poignancy —
that is likely to surprise folks. Genuine pathos in a horror flick? That’s an unusual combination ... and
that’s precisely why the story grabs us so persuasively.
The setting is the late 1960s in
Derry, Maine (one of King’s favorite cursed townships). Following a horrific
prologue, the narrative begins on the final day of middle school, as our
protagonists — a gaggle of misfits, nerds and outcasts who’ve self-defensively
banded together as the Losers’ Club — contemplate their impending summer.
Except that it’s no ordinary
summer. Bill Denbrough (Jaeden Lieberher, well remembered from St. Vincent and The Book of Henry), a shy stutterer who serves as the gang’s
unofficial leader, hasn’t recovered from the recent, inexplicable disappearance
of his beloved younger brother Georgie. Bill’s eyes are forever haunted, his
attempts at conversation stifled as much by anguish, as by his speech
impediment.
Bill’s best friend, Richie Tozier
(Finn Wolfhard, recognized from the aforementioned Stranger Things), is relentlessly vulgar and profane: a
motor-mouthed jokester who conceals multiple insecurities behind a brash
exterior. He tries much too hard, and never is as funny as he assumes.
Eddie Kaspbrak (Jack Dylan
Grazer), a diminutive hypochondriac, is forever tethered to a fanny pack laden
with medications, asthma inhalers and all manner of sanitizers. His every move
is curbed by a panicked assumption that physical contact with the world is
unsafe.
Stanley Uris (Wyatt Oleff), on
the cusp of the 13th birthday that mandates Bar Mitzvah studies, is an OCD
victim who demands order in an untidy world; he straightens paintings and
shelved books.
Elsewhere in town, we meet Ben
Hanscom (Jeremy Ray Taylor), a pudgy intellectual whose soft-bellied physique
makes him the frequent target of vicious local thugs led by Henry Bowers
(Nicholas Hamilton). Accustomed to being ignored by his peers, Ben occupies
himself with the intriguing, library-focused study of Derry’s rather tempestuous
history.
Mike Hanlon (Chosen Jacobs), a
home-schooled African-American kid who lives on the outskirts of town, keeps to
himself as a self-defensive response to latent local racism. (This is, after
all, the 1960s.) That said, he’s the most “normal” and down-to-earth of the
bunch: a perceptive soul who, we suspect, would be fiercely loyal to his
friends ... if he had any.
And, finally, there’s Beverly
Marsh (Sophia Lillis), a plucky, proudly independent girl just entering
womanhood, who has run similarly afoul of her
gender peers. No surprise, then, that — as the story proceeds — the Losers’
Club expands to include Ben, Mike and Beverly.
The latter’s presence alters the
group dynamic significantly, as Bev seems blithely unaware of the effect that
she has on her pre-pubescent friends ... when, obviously, she’s fully aware. We can see it in Lillis’
eyes: She delights in disrupting her companions’ sang-froid, but not in a cruel, taunting way. Bev simply can’t help
basking in the glow of being liked, and sought after, as both a friend ... and
a girl.
Aside from a few sidebar victims
whose faces pop up on “Missing Child” posters, it’s intriguing that Pennywise concentrates
his deranged activities on our seven protagonists. King constructed this
malevolent clown’s behavior as a mystery of sorts, and this film follows that
template: What links the disparate tortures that Pennywise arranges for each of
the Losers? And — more to the point — why?
Not that you’ll have much time to
ponder such questions. Despite running a generous 135 minutes, Muschietti and
editor Jason Ballantine never, ever let up; their all-out assault is, quite
literally, breath-taking, peer-out-from-behind-your-sweater disturbing.
And not merely for Pennywise’s
activities. As often is the case with a King story, some of the monsters are
much closer to home. Henry Bowers is a flat-out psychopath, and Hamilton’s
performance is unpleasantly credible: the only slightly exaggerated epitome of
the abusive bullies we all remember from kidhood.
Eddie’s mother (Mollie Jane
Atkinson) is a disturbing, excessively overweight couch potato whose hovering, smothering
embrace is moistly icky. Stephen Bogaert is even more horrifying as Bev’s
father, whose fixation on his “little girl” slides way into the Unwholesome Meter’s upper registers.
We only briefly meet the adults
in the lives of Bill, Mike and Stanley; while they seem benign, they’re also
distant and disconnected from their children’s lives. Ergo, the Losers must
rely on each other for support, validation and protection ... particularly once
the balloon-wielding Pennywise ramps up his malicious campaign.
The most blood-curdlingly ghastly
aspect of this clown is the way he moves: the rapid, crab-like scuttling that
Muschietti borrows from recent Japanese classics such as Ring and Ju-on (The Grudge).
Doesn’t matter how often Pennywise impossibly pops out of unlikely places; it
shocks us every time. Sheer directorial genius.
The tech credits are top-notch,
with cinematographer Chung-hoon Chung giving production designer Claude Paré’s
Derry a Norman Rockwell-esque tranquility — particularly during overhead
establishing shots — that belies the rot beneath. At the other extreme, much of
the action takes place within the walk-through storm drains beneath the city,
and inside the petrifying, shadowy corridors of the world’s best small-town
haunted house: a veritable masterpiece of ramshackle ookie-spookiness.
Benjamin Wallfisch’s sinister, at
times almost subliminal orchestral score is a retro nod to kid-oriented
adventure flicks of the 1980s, such as The
Goonies, complete with distinct themes for the Losers, Derry and poor
Georgie. Pennywise’s theme makes ample use of “Oranges and Lemons,” an
unsettling 17th century children’s rhyming chant. (Look up the lyrics, if
you’re curious.)
Many
years have passed, since the arrival of a big-screen chiller that could be
termed a true horror classic. This one, no question, will disturb viewers for
just as long.
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