Martin Carr reviews the series premiere of Castle Rock…
With both Stephen King and producer J.J. Abrams steering the ship of Castle Rock there was much to be hopeful for when it finally landed. Drawing from a literary career and mine of characters which shows no sign abating, Castle Rock takes King’s cannon and cherry picks people, themes and moments before throwing it all into a televisual blender.
Introducing the town through panoramic wide shots, selective flashbacks and more than a few famous faces ‘Severance’ gives us an hour to drink in that detail. Those unfamiliar with King need not worry because lack of knowledge takes away nothing from seeing all these creations together in the same time and place. Shawshank prison might just be the only universally known location in that vast back catalogue which rears its head, but as ever with his work story is King.
Disappearing children, snowy locations, inventively gruesome suicides and segregated prisoners all feed into the overall ambience of this opening salvo. From Scott Glenn through to Sissy Spacek and beyond the performances are defined and performed with confidence. Relationships are forged under the watchful eye of the author who was brought on board early and has nothing but praise for this latest incarnation. Small details in isolated character moments whether that be rediscovery of a missing person poster, small mementoes from childhood or that nightmarish suspicion which haunts you into adulthood, that is where Castle Rock draws strength.
Underneath the nature of ambition, formative trauma and people’s ability to inflict harm and horror on others sits conscience. King has always been careful to draw his characters with a richness that imbues those stories with life and reality, counterpointing moments of horror with snippets of the mundane. Balancing both story elements and character beats whilst instilling a sense of unease which simultaneously repulses and engages, is what makes Castle Rock such an interesting proposition. Filled to the brim with Easter eggs and actors from adaptations both old and new, recognisable and otherwise, this slow burn career retrospective dressed in the Emperor’s new clothes works well.
Clues are not so much given as inferred, horror not so much revealed as remembered subjectively. Horror for King exists in the all too human behaviours of those with agenda, ambition and unscrupulous moral ambiguity. That is what makes you look away when the darkness seems impenetrable, those monsters too close and an extinguished light only offers up an opportunity for more of the same.
Martin Carr
