I read Anne Rivers Siddons's excellent book some years ago. Stephen King, in his essay DANSE MACABRE, refers to the novel as one of the best haunted house stories ever written, and he is correct. Unfortunately, in translation from the printed page to the small screen, quite a bit is lost.
The basic plot remains intact, happily: a young, hot-shot architect (Mark-Paul Gosselaar) builds a new, contemporary house on a vacant lot next door to the Kennedys, Col and her husband Walker, who frame the story and serve as the narrators (Here is where the inexplicable differences begin: in the novel, Col was Colquitt and Walker was Walter, and the book is told in first-person by Colquitt). During the course of the next year and a half or so, three couples occupy the house, and each of them suffers terrible tragedy, leading Col to the conclusion that there is something malevolent about the house.
She's right, but some of the terror has been diluted by two things: the choice to make this a television movie, and the choice to update it by nearly thirty years (the novel was published in 1978). Had it been made as a feature film set in the Atlanta suburb of the original late-Seventies novel, perhaps they could have captured the indescribable creepiness of the book.
The cast isn't much help, either. Lara Flynn Boyle leads the proceedings as Col, but she seems miscast (To be fair to Boyle, Siddons never actually gives a physical description of Colquitt in the novel, but Boyle is not what I myself pictured), and worse, she underplays the role so severely that she often appears comatose. And the massive amounts of collagen plumping up her lips on one side don't help matters any either; in some scenes her mouth is such a distraction it is easy to miss what is going on. Still, there are moments when her dreamy, almost-hypnotized stare does send a chill through you as you realize what the house next door might be doing to her, never mind the neighbors. And Colin Ferguson is just about right as her husband; he wisely plays his role at the same emotional level so as not to upstage her or make Walker seem foolish.
Unfortunately, the rest of the cast is not worth talking about. In the novel, the effect of the malevolent house was felt by eight of the neighbors on the street, and each, especially the women, reacted in his/her own way. The supporting cast in this telefilm is so homogeneous that unless Boyle says their names it is hard to tell them apart. A pity, because Siddons described them quite vividly.
Mark-Paul Gosselaar as the architect was probably cast to pull in the young girls, but he is probably the worst choice of all. For starters, he still can't act. He couldn't as a kid on "Saved by the Bell;" he couldn't on "NYPD Blue;" and he still can't. All he can do is pose and look pretty. Which he does very well, except that the role does not call for it. The architect wasn't unattractive in the novel, but he certainly wasn't a pretty boy like Gosselaar.
I can't say I hated it. I loved the novel, and there's still enough of the novel left to make this worth sitting through on a rainy afternoon if you've nothing better to do. But I'd sooner recommend reading the novel; you'll get all the shivers that way, and you won't think Stephen King has terrible taste in horror stories.
The basic plot remains intact, happily: a young, hot-shot architect (Mark-Paul Gosselaar) builds a new, contemporary house on a vacant lot next door to the Kennedys, Col and her husband Walker, who frame the story and serve as the narrators (Here is where the inexplicable differences begin: in the novel, Col was Colquitt and Walker was Walter, and the book is told in first-person by Colquitt). During the course of the next year and a half or so, three couples occupy the house, and each of them suffers terrible tragedy, leading Col to the conclusion that there is something malevolent about the house.
She's right, but some of the terror has been diluted by two things: the choice to make this a television movie, and the choice to update it by nearly thirty years (the novel was published in 1978). Had it been made as a feature film set in the Atlanta suburb of the original late-Seventies novel, perhaps they could have captured the indescribable creepiness of the book.
The cast isn't much help, either. Lara Flynn Boyle leads the proceedings as Col, but she seems miscast (To be fair to Boyle, Siddons never actually gives a physical description of Colquitt in the novel, but Boyle is not what I myself pictured), and worse, she underplays the role so severely that she often appears comatose. And the massive amounts of collagen plumping up her lips on one side don't help matters any either; in some scenes her mouth is such a distraction it is easy to miss what is going on. Still, there are moments when her dreamy, almost-hypnotized stare does send a chill through you as you realize what the house next door might be doing to her, never mind the neighbors. And Colin Ferguson is just about right as her husband; he wisely plays his role at the same emotional level so as not to upstage her or make Walker seem foolish.
Unfortunately, the rest of the cast is not worth talking about. In the novel, the effect of the malevolent house was felt by eight of the neighbors on the street, and each, especially the women, reacted in his/her own way. The supporting cast in this telefilm is so homogeneous that unless Boyle says their names it is hard to tell them apart. A pity, because Siddons described them quite vividly.
Mark-Paul Gosselaar as the architect was probably cast to pull in the young girls, but he is probably the worst choice of all. For starters, he still can't act. He couldn't as a kid on "Saved by the Bell;" he couldn't on "NYPD Blue;" and he still can't. All he can do is pose and look pretty. Which he does very well, except that the role does not call for it. The architect wasn't unattractive in the novel, but he certainly wasn't a pretty boy like Gosselaar.
I can't say I hated it. I loved the novel, and there's still enough of the novel left to make this worth sitting through on a rainy afternoon if you've nothing better to do. But I'd sooner recommend reading the novel; you'll get all the shivers that way, and you won't think Stephen King has terrible taste in horror stories.