Here’s a weird bit of contradiction that makes me the strange little Don Saas that I am. My tastes whether it’s books or movies or music generally run in the artsy direction, and I would prefer to watch a Darren Aranofsky film to a Michael Bay or James Cameron pic any day. I like Animal Collective and Radiohead, and I love James Joyce and Thomas Pynchon. So, part of me is terribly ashamed that one of my favorite authors of all time is Stephen King. There’s just something about his books and his twisted imagination that I find really interesting. Film adaptations of his books, on the other hand, are a terribly hit and miss affair that range from the awesome (The Shawshank Redemption, The Shining, The Mist) to god-awful terrible (Thinner, Needful Things). I just finished re-watching 1983’s Christine and it is easily the worst movie I’ve reviewed for this blog so far.

The basic story of Christine is more exciting than the film itself. Nerdy Arnie Cunningham buys a beat up 1958 Plymouth Fury named Christine and restores it to its beautiful pristine glory. It’s a great looking car. However, the car is evil or possessed or something (you never really find out). As Arnie becomes closer with his car, his personality slowly starts to transform to something much darker and ominous, and soon Christine goes on a killing spree killing everyone that gets between her and Arnie. It’s up to Arnie’s best friend and his girlfriend to try and save him and stop Christine.

This movie is just awful. It’s not scary. It’s not interesting. The acting is terrible. It lacks any bit of subtlety or imagination. It was only an hour and a half long but I kept checking to see how much time was left and for it to be over. Stephen King’s novels are always as much about his characters and the theme of the book as they are about horror, and this film failed to capture King’s signature voice. I can’t recommend this to anyone and I regret the hour and a half of my life that I lost watching this.

 Final Score: D

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