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The Guardian
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Killer space meatballs to cursed shrubbery: Stephen King's TV adaptations – rated bad to best
There are several things we have come to expect from small-screen adaptations of Stephen King's many, many novels and short stories and they are, generally speaking, these: there will be a small town beset by an Ageless Evil. There will be children, some of whom will be dead, others merely telekinetic and/or screaming in pyjamas. There will be blood. And flannel shirts. And dialogue so awful you will want to bludgeon it with a spade and inter it in an ancient burial ground, despite the suspicion that it will rise from the dead and continue to torment you. Like the generally superior film versions of the author's works, some of these TV adaptations will, in fact, be very enjoyable. Others will not. And then there is The Institute (MGM+), a new adaptation of a middling 2019 thriller that manages to capture the endearingly wonky essence of King's genius by being both extremely well crafted and, at times, astonishingly silly. But how does it measure up to its predecessors? Let us clamber into a flannel shirt and, screaming pre-emptively, explore the best and worst of small-screen Stephen King. The Shining (1997) Enraged by Stanley Kubrick's magnificent interpretation of his 1977 novel (too little substance, apparently), King responded with a 'definitive' adaptation of his own. Cue this two-part abomination, in which writer Jack Torrance (Steven Weber) terrorises his family with his definitive denim blouson and definitive inability to act. Further definitives: CGI topiary, a young Danny Torrance seemingly incapable of speaking without snuffling (sinusitis?) and a final showdown consisting of a mallet-wielding Jack chasing his nasal son past the same endlessly looped stretch of hotel corridor. Under the Dome (2013-2015) A thunderously bovine fusion of small-town soap and big-budget sci-fi that includes plucky teens, military machinations, a soundtrack packed with SUDDEN and UNECESSARY NOISES and a bit where a pensioner in dungarees shouts, 'OHHHH SHIIIIIIT' at half a sliced-in-two CGI cow. Stuffed from the word go, frankly, due to a premise so risible (alien egg makes indestructible transparent dome descend on town) you wouldn't be surprised if the remaining half of the sliced-in-two CGI cow turned to camera and begged to be put out of its misery. Storm of the Century (1999) A tiny Maine island is besieged by exposition when a stranger in a small hat arrives during a blizzard. The upshot? Tedium. Plus? Levitating guns, CGI snow and hundreds of minor characters, one of whom will, every half hour or so, extend their neck out of the gloom to announce a terrible new subplot before telescoping it back in again while everyone else nods and says, 'yuh'. Not an adaptation, per se, but an original 'novel for TV' (© Stephen King), which is shorthand for '257 minutes of Stephen King being emphatically Stephen King only more so'. The Stand (2020-2021) The apex of the 'large group of out-of-focus extras stands around nodding while a foregrounded hunk expounds on the best way to tackle whatever is threatening the community' genre. In this instance, the threat is twofold. Namely 1) a viral apocalypse and 2) a script that takes King's outstanding 1978 fantasy by its ankles and shakes it until its brain falls out. Makes even the 1994 adaptation (Gary Sinise shouting 'Noooo' at a field for six hours) look tolerable by dint of bewildering flashbacks, zero tension, general confusion, Whoopi Goldberg and wolves. The Langoliers (1995) Some people disappear from a plane, some other people argue about it, one of these people gets eaten by angry space meatballs, the end. A terrible reminder that the worst King has always been sci-fi King, this three-hour duffer has more in common with the appalling 'shouting ensemble' disaster films of the 70s than anything 'one' might wish to watch with one's 'TV dinner'. The result? A miniseries so volcanically dull you had to prick your telly with a fork, like a baked potato, to let the yawns out. The Institute (2025) A tyrannical bootcamp for telekinetic children, you say? With a small-town backdrop, federal bastardry and eccentrics in plaid prophesying on porches? Why, 'tis season four of Stranger Things! Except it isn't. Welcome, instead, to a very solemn eight-part thriller, in which awful things happen slowly to good actors (not least Joe Freeman, son of Martin Freeman and Amanda Abbington) and YA friendships bloom despite the presence of lines of the 'you are about to participate in saving the world!' variety. It is, if you will, Stranger Kings. The Tommyknockers (1993) Nothing says 1993 like Jimmy Smits being punched by an alien while shouting 'Woah' in chinos. And so it proved with this confounding oddity, a sci-fi potboiler that cartwheels into the 'actually hugely watchable' category by virtue of everything from acting to special effects being coated in an almost certainly accidental layer of camp. Cue swirling green gas, comedy dogs, cursed shrubbery, killer dolls, xenomorphs tiptoeing gingerly around a cardboard spaceship and the line, 'I'm gonna nuke you!' Salem's Lot (1979) Not just the finest Stephen King TV adaptation, but one of the finest horror 'events' of the 1970s, by jove. The reason? Genuinely nightmarish imagery (dead schoolboys clawing at bedroom windows, bald vampires rising slowly from kitchen floors, etc) and a near-constant sense of clammy dread. Further proof that when it comes to miniseries, it pays to employ a proper director (Tobe 'Poltergeist' Hooper, in this instance) as opposed to, say, an upturned bucket in a turtleneck. It (1990) King's 1,100-page masterpiece becomes a wildly memorable miniseries, with the obligatory horrible bits (bloodied plugholes, whispering plugholes, murderous transdimensional entities bursting out of plugholes, etc) accompanied by a smart pace and rare emotional investment in the fate of its trembling young protagonists. And then there is, of course, Tim Curry as Pennywise the Clown; a performance of such grotesque enormousness it threatens to explode out of the screen. The Outsider (2020) HBO steeples its fingers over King's 2018 midweight mystery and proceeds to say, 'Hmm' slowly … across 10 episodes … of glacially paced … child murder and …Detective Ben Mendelsohn's … investigative … jeans. And yet. The direction is excellent, the themes (buried grief! The nature of faith!) are explored thoughtfully rather than pounded feverishly with hammers and everything is marinated in that woozy greige lighting that indicates we are in the presence of Proper Acting and are thus unlikely to encounter, say, a pensioner in dungarees shouting, 'OHHHH SHIIIIIIT' at half a sliced-in-two CGI cow.
The Guardian
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Killer space meatballs to cursed shrubbery: Stephen King's TV adaptations – rated bad to best
There are several things we have come to expect from small-screen adaptations of Stephen King's many, many novels and short stories and they are, generally speaking, these: there will be a small town beset by an Ageless Evil. There will be children, some of whom will be dead, others merely telekinetic and/or screaming in pyjamas. There will be blood. And flannel shirts. And dialogue so awful you will want to bludgeon it with a spade and inter it in an ancient burial ground, despite the suspicion that it will rise from the dead and continue to torment you. Like the generally superior film versions of the author's works, some of these TV adaptations will, in fact, be very enjoyable. Others will not. And then there is The Institute (MGM+), a new adaptation of a middling 2019 thriller that manages to capture the endearingly wonky essence of King's genius by being both extremely well crafted and, at times, astonishingly silly. But how does it measure up to its predecessors? Let us clamber into a flannel shirt and, screaming pre-emptively, explore the best and worst of small-screen Stephen King. The Shining (1997) Enraged by Stanley Kubrick's magnificent interpretation of his 1977 novel (too little substance, apparently), King responded with a 'definitive' adaptation of his own. Cue this two-part abomination, in which writer Jack Torrance (Steven Weber) terrorises his family with his definitive denim blouson and definitive inability to act. Further definitives: CGI topiary, a young Danny Torrance seemingly incapable of speaking without snuffling (sinusitis?) and a final showdown consisting of a mallet-wielding Jack chasing his nasal son past the same endlessly looped stretch of hotel corridor. Under the Dome (2013-2015) A thunderously bovine fusion of small-town soap and big-budget sci-fi that includes plucky teens, military machinations, a soundtrack packed with SUDDEN and UNECESSARY NOISES and a bit where a pensioner in dungarees shouts, 'OHHHH SHIIIIIIT' at half a sliced-in-two CGI cow. Stuffed from the word go, frankly, due to a premise so risible (alien egg makes indestructible transparent dome descend on town) you wouldn't be surprised if the remaining half of the sliced-in-two CGI cow turned to camera and begged to be put out of its misery. Storm of the Century (1999) A tiny Maine island is besieged by exposition when a stranger in a small hat arrives during a blizzard. The upshot? Tedium. Plus? Levitating guns, CGI snow and hundreds of minor characters, one of whom will, every half hour or so, extend their neck out of the gloom to announce a terrible new subplot before telescoping it back in again while everyone else nods and says, 'yuh'. Not an adaptation, per se, but an original 'novel for TV' (© Stephen King), which is shorthand for '257 minutes of Stephen King being emphatically Stephen King only more so'. The Stand (2020-2021) The apex of the 'large group of out-of-focus extras stands around nodding while a foregrounded hunk expounds on the best way to tackle whatever is threatening the community' genre. In this instance, the threat is twofold. Namely 1) a viral apocalypse and 2) a script that takes King's outstanding 1978 fantasy by its ankles and shakes it until its brain falls out. Makes even the 1994 adaptation (Gary Sinise shouting 'Noooo' at a field for six hours) look tolerable by dint of bewildering flashbacks, zero tension, general confusion, Whoopi Goldberg and wolves. The Langoliers (1995) Some people disappear from a plane, some other people argue about it, one of these people gets eaten by angry space meatballs, the end. A terrible reminder that the worst King has always been sci-fi King, this three-hour duffer has more in common with the appalling 'shouting ensemble' disaster films of the 70s than anything 'one' might wish to watch with one's 'TV dinner'. The result? A miniseries so volcanically dull you had to prick your telly with a fork, like a baked potato, to let the yawns out. The Institute (2025) A tyrannical bootcamp for telekinetic children, you say? With a small-town backdrop, federal bastardry and eccentrics in plaid prophesying on porches? Why, 'tis season four of Stranger Things! Except it isn't. Welcome, instead, to a very solemn eight-part thriller, in which awful things happen slowly to good actors (not least Joe Freeman, son of Martin Freeman and Amanda Abbington) and YA friendships bloom despite the presence of lines of the 'you are about to participate in saving the world!' variety. It is, if you will, Stranger Kings. The Tommyknockers (1993) Nothing says 1993 like Jimmy Smits being punched by an alien while shouting 'Woah' in chinos. And so it proved with this confounding oddity, a sci-fi potboiler that cartwheels into the 'actually hugely watchable' category by virtue of everything from acting to special effects being coated in an almost certainly accidental layer of camp. Cue swirling green gas, comedy dogs, cursed shrubbery, killer dolls, xenomorphs tiptoeing gingerly around a cardboard spaceship and the line, 'I'm gonna nuke you!' Salem's Lot (1979) Not just the finest Stephen King TV adaptation, but one of the finest horror 'events' of the 1970s, by jove. The reason? Genuinely nightmarish imagery (dead schoolboys clawing at bedroom windows, bald vampires rising slowly from kitchen floors, etc) and a near-constant sense of clammy dread. Further proof that when it comes to miniseries, it pays to employ a proper director (Tobe 'Poltergeist' Hooper, in this instance) as opposed to, say, an upturned bucket in a turtleneck. It (1990) King's 1,100-page masterpiece becomes a wildly memorable miniseries, with the obligatory horrible bits (bloodied plugholes, whispering plugholes, murderous transdimensional entities bursting out of plugholes, etc) accompanied by a smart pace and rare emotional investment in the fate of its trembling young protagonists. And then there is, of course, Tim Curry as Pennywise the Clown; a performance of such grotesque enormousness it threatens to explode out of the screen. The Outsider (2020) HBO steeples its fingers over King's 2018 midweight mystery and proceeds to say, 'Hmm' slowly … across 10 episodes … of glacially paced … child murder and …Detective Ben Mendelsohn's … investigative … jeans. And yet. The direction is excellent, the themes (buried grief! The nature of faith!) are explored thoughtfully rather than pounded feverishly with hammers and everything is marinated in that woozy greige lighting that indicates we are in the presence of Proper Acting and are thus unlikely to encounter, say, a pensioner in dungarees shouting, 'OHHHH SHIIIIIIT' at half a sliced-in-two CGI cow.
Mint
25-04-2025
- Business
- Mint
This isn't your usual uncertainty. No one can predict where the economy is headed.
President Donald Trump's singular control over tariff policy makes predictions difficult, Steven Weber writes. When United Airlines put out not one but two separate profit guidances for the second-quarter on April 15, the company was 'leaving it up to investors to choose their own adventure," Omar Sharif of Investor Insights said. That wasn't a compliment. Nor was The Wall Street Journal's comment comparing the dual guidance to Schrödinger's cat—a famous thought experiment in quantum mechanics that even physicists have a hard time understanding intuitively. I see United's guidance differently. The company's decision was courageous. It may not fit neatly into stock analysts' valuation models., But United's approach does something much more important: It demonstrates that the company's leadership understands the concept of radical uncertainty and the importance of building strategy for multiple scenarios at once. Radical uncertainty is nothing like conventional risk. Business decision-making systems tend to leave leaders paralyzed when the world moves outside the boundaries of what we know from the past and the distribution of probabilities on plausible outcomes can't reasonably be estimated. People get deeply anxious. Markets gyrate. Leaders' confidence corrodes. You only have to look at collapsing consumer confidence numbers, dramatic moves in the S&P 500, the fall in capital expenditure plans, and other such indicators over the past month to see evidence of the impact of radical uncertainty across the economy. This isn't a systemic crisis unfolding from unknown or poorly understood risk in financial markets like the 2007-2009 Great Recession—at least not yet. It is a product of intentional decisions by President Donald Trump, which means it could be reversed—or doubled-down on—at the behest of a single person on any given day. That isn't a partisan statement. It is simply a factual observation that profoundly shapes the business environment, regardless of whether you support or oppose the president or his administration's agenda. It is also a fact that most businesses, like individuals and financial markets, crave the opposite: greater certainty about their operating environments. It is almost banal to hear a CEO say that their firm can adapt to almost any set of regulations or policies, so long as the rules and incentives are clear and consistent. That desire for clarity presents an obvious bargaining power arbitrage play for the side that is willing to accept greater uncertainty. If the party on the other side of the table wants something (certainty, in this case) much more than you do, then you are in a strong position to get that party to pay you an outsize amount (in money, or in other concessions) to get you to give it to them. That is not illegitimate or coercion per se; it is just power negotiation. Some of this is hard-wired in individual psychology. Behavioral economists have demonstrated that people will pay excessive amounts to reduce the probability of a bad outcome from small to zero (thus the pricing around deductibles in insurance). Some of this risk-aversion influences how leadership groups typically make strategic decisions. Firms like leaders and consultants with a strong point of view that they can anchor on and use to define the 'best-practice" answer. Everyone can breathe a sigh of relief, get moving, and execute on the directive. That is better than analysis paralysis. But if the leader's point of view turns out to be categorically wrong, then executing on a plan tied to that single point prediction about the future can be dysfunctional or even disastrous. In the early 1970s, Royal Dutch Shell developed a methodology to do better. The 1973 oil shock threw energy markets into a state of radical uncertainty, where the price of oil, which had varied only at the margins and thus presented hedgeable risk for decades, suddenly shot outside that typical scope of risk. Pierre Wack, a Shell executive and the father of modern scenario thinking, took the view that if you couldn't reasonably predict the future, then the best response was to stop trying. Instead, he developed a decision-making method that described multiple scenarios—logically-derived causal narratives of what were different plausible worlds within which the price of oil would be determined. The goal, Wack said, should be preparation against a landscape that contained all those scenarios, not the prediction of which one would come to pass. And that preparation meant designing a strategy that was robust and adequate, regardless of where among those multiple scenarios the real world eventually landed. Scenario thinking evolved over the course of the following decades outside of the energy sector and has been used by firms and governments around the world. Yet it remains a challenging practice for organizations, because it isn't easy or familiar for leaders to say, out loud, 'we don't know." What United signaled in its recent profit guidance was a better mind-set: we cannot and won't try to predict the state of the macroeconomy going forward, even though it is one of the most essential elements that shapes our business. Instead, we will prepare our business and our investors for multiple scenarios, track the incoming evidence in a disciplined way without indulging wishful thinking, deploy a strategy that is robust against the landscape of plausible outcomes, and be transparent with our shareholders about the rationale for that plan. Good for United. More firms should do the same at this moment. About the author: Steven Weber is a partner at the advisory firm Breakwater Strategy and a professor at the UC Berkeley School of Information. Guest commentaries like this one are written by authors outside the Barron's newsroom. They reflect the perspective and opinions of the authors. Submit feedback and commentary pitches to ideas@
