Originally published July 28, 2018. Updated January 8, 2019.
Martin Carr reviews the second episode of Castle Rock…
Conviction and the power of belief is a dangerous thing. Suicide attempts, softly spoken sons of hell fire and social anxiety shut-ins are par for the course. There is a stagnating malaise which permeates this fictional place and weighs heavy on everyone. More murder mystery and detective whodunit than horror story this is a slow burn proposition with dramatic legs. Creators and writers Sam Shaw and Dustin Thomason know the devil is in that detail, whether this happens digging in the dead of night, hiding from a world behind sun glasses or contracting cancer through contact, Castle Rock revels in creating unease from the ordinary.
Misconceptions, miscommunications and gossip bind a town together in suspicion providing consistency and understanding whilst assuaging fear. That ignorance born of mistrust is given substance through prophetic voice over read by key characters from beyond the grave. Past crushes and perceived emotional attachments giving the present a new resonance which may or may not feed into forthcoming events.
What has become apparent even in the first two episodes is how good the writing is which has less to do with source material and more to do with actual pen on paper. Stephen King can spin a yarn that much has been proven but adaptations of his work are historically hit and miss. Whatever lessons there are to be learned from those failures Shaw and Thomason have taken them on board here, providing subtle references, nuanced tension and proportionally balanced backstory interwoven amongst the everyday occupations of people.
Performances across the board feel more seasoned and polished than you might expect from a series still in its infancy. Sissy Spacek, Bill Skarsgard, Andre Holland and Scott Glenn amongst others instil their creations with human concerns and characteristic flaws, which both engage and broaden without grandstanding. Piece by piece the plot is being discovered like a jigsaw of constellations dotted across an evening sky. Each new discovery leading somewhere new, each flaming comet hinting at fresh elements on the horizon. Leaving you ultimately in the presence of a literary treasure trove from which these writers can draw at any moment to weave their narrative. As our silent cellmate finally sees the light of day there are more than a few revelations which some might wish never be told to a living soul.
Martin Carr
