Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

Sorry the formatting is all over the place on this one. I've tried a million times to put the text right and it's just not possible. Pro tip: a google document does not copy paste to blogger, like at all.

Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, 2019.

Didn't you traumatize me in fifth grade?

d. Andre Ovredal

written by: Dan Hageman, Kevin Hageman

starring: Zoe Margaret Colletti, Michael Garza, Gabriel Rush, Dean Norris 

“You like that scary stuff?” 
This is what the school librarian asked me the first time I brought one of Alvin Schwartz’s
short story collections to the checkout counter. It was the now-famous triology’s second

volume, More Scary Stories; the first had been lost or stolen and the third not yet released,
but I was still excited that my name had come up on the waitlist and I could finally get my
hands on it. I not only liked the scary stuff but thrived on it, and together with my younger
brother, sought it out regularly, anywhere I could. We eventually read all three of Schwartz’s
novels, and together with favorites such as Mother Bates, the beguiling Grady sisters of the
Overlook, and Pet Semetary’s Zelda, committed the stories and their creepy images (courtesy
of illustrator Stephen Gammel) to the depths of our horror-crazed memories. 

It was easy to get hyped for film adaptation--André Ǿvredal (Trollhunter) and producer
Guillermo del Toro are two brilliant, talented artists who have a solid grasp on the narratives,
techniques and themes of effective horror. Overall, the film delivered with a skillful mix of new
fear and old school ghost/monster horror (think Stranger Things or the recent It adaptations with
the music of Lana del Rey mixed in for fun), but I suspect true fans of the books, like me, would
happily trade a half hour off the film’s beginning or end for just one more of Schwartz’s stories. 

You don't read the book, the book reads YOU!

The vehicle of the stories--a group of awkward teenagers who steal a magical book out of a

haunted house--is intriguing, but it eats up a lot of time in setting up how and why everything
is going to go down. As it’s no longer unheard of to experience character development in horror
films, we get some, and it’s sort of nice, but not all that necessary; we came to the theater for
“The Toe” and “Me Tie Doughty Walker,” (not backstory) and we could forgive a few less
personal details in favor of a few more scary things from the books. 

Aesthetic detail, large and small, was what this film succeeded at best--the places and all the little pieces
within them gave a classic, almost John Carpenter feel to the story (rather fitting
considering all the hurting, maiming, and killing that begins on Halloween here). Dark and
shadowy nights alternate with gold, rusty days. It’s 1968, so the cars are huge, as are the
eyeglasses. Drive-ins are still a thing. Corn fields, haunted houses, and psychiatric hospitals
are pretty standard horror staples, and we see a lot of those, but we also get innocent little
objects like a music box, a wax cylinder recording, and a self-writing book that assume very
sinister properties in the context of the lighting, sound, and creature design of the film.

Without spoiling any of the story-within-a-story choices or accompanying villains,

I will tell fellow fans of the book to rest assured: you will recognize each “enemy” and
often cringe or shield your eyes because you know what’s coming next once it has been
introduced. I brought my kids to this film and afterward, each of us walked out having
been wickedly disturbed by a different character, so in addition to being well-designed
and true to the source, they’re a pretty broad reaching crew, as well.

Dust off the old books, grab a friend, and see this one for the nostalgia. If you, too, like
the scary stuff, let’s talk again next month after the second part of It, shall we?

Pet Sematary

One of the children has (once again) stuck loose change into the Playstation3 that we normally watch disks on; Tales From The Crypt will commence again once Matt either removes the money or just buys a simple DVD player---both of these things are extremely unlikely, to be honest, so who knows when I'll be able to do more of those . . .

In the meantime, let's talk King:
Pet Sematary, 1983, (by Stephen King)

On the back of the copy I have it says, "the most frightening book Stephen King has ever written," and granted, this was before 1408, (the short which I find the most terrifying) but I'll say that it's definitely the darkest. I didn't even consider how much more difficult this was going to be as a mother. Of sons, one of them two years old. Both blonde. Since I saw this film back when it was released, I obviously kept the image of Gage from it, and damned if it doesn't hold a very strong similarity to my littlest boy. Watching the film (and remembering it) is one thing, but Jesus, these words---reading about the thoughts and feelings that go along with everything that happens---very nearly did me in. Many of the paragraphs about Gage were read with shaking hands and tears, and I'm not celebrating it as it's clearly HORRIBLE, but inside I am (and will constantly be) marveling at just how skillfully, how honestly King writes about parenthood, denial, and fear:

"Kite flyne!" Gage cried out to his father, and Louis put his arm around Gage's shoulders and kissed the boy's cheek, in which the wind had bloomed a wild rose.
"I love you, Gage," he said---it was between the two of them, and that was all right.
And Gage, who now had less than two months to live, laughed shrilly and joyously. "Kite flyne! Kite flyne, Daddy!"

 "Louis saw with something like alarm that Steve was starting to cry.
'Sure,' he said, and in his mind he saw Gage running across the lawn to the road. They were yelling at Gage to come back, but he wouldn't . . . 'That's right,' Louis agreed, and in his mind, it started to happen again, only this time he leaped two feet farther right at the end, and snagged the back of Gage's jacket, and none of this was happening."

SICK! 

"This time he moved away from the gate, walking along the wrought-iron fence until it turned away from Mason Street at a neat right angle. There was a drainage ditch here, and Louis looked into it. What he saw made him shudder. There were masses of rotting flowers here, layer upon layer of them, washed down by seasons of rain and snow.
Christ. 
No, not Christ. These leavings were made in propitiation of a much older God than the Christian one. People have called Him different things at different times, but Rachel's sister gave Him a perfectly good name, I think: Oz the Gweat and Tewwible, God of dead things left in the ground, God of rotting flowers in drainage ditches, God of the Mystery." 


When considering this book together with the film, I think it was a well-done adaptation (which King wrote the screenplay for) and that the book is darker but the film is more terrifying. Zelda and Pascow, in particular give me the chatters. . . . !

Boy. It was a great novel but I really have to admit that I'm glad I'm done with it; it seriously took a lot out of me. Something a bit more light-hearted for next time, maybe?