CASTLE ROCK: There Are Only Traces of True Horror Here

The first question one should ask after watching the first season of Castle Rock should concern how strongly the series evokes the work of Stephen King, which is after all the primary source of inspiration. The titular town was invented by the famous writer, who in the past set the action of his books in Castle Rock. Indeed – in the ten-episode season we find references to a murderous Saint Bernard and Jack Torrance, and we spend several episodes in Shawshank prison, while one of our guides through this world is Alan Pangborn, the main character of The Shop of Dreams.

But the more familiar elements appear, the more the series frustrates. Although the title bears the name of the town, it is treated in a half-hearted manner, more like a model than a living organism. Despite the similarity of the starting point with King’s work, the narrative is conducted in a manner entirely different from his. Finally, although the series is stamped with the name of the king of horror, what it lacks is precisely the sense of dread.

Seemingly everything is in its place – with the departure of the old Shawshank prison warden (and his swift, macabre suicide) a secret of the facility is revealed. In an inactive block, a guard finds a young man imprisoned in a cage, who behaves as if he has not seen the world for years, and his only words are Henry Deaver. Henry Deaver is summoned, a defender of those sentenced to death and a former resident of Castle Rock, not very popular because of his mysterious past. We quickly see that his client exerts a malevolent influence, and a voice-over by the deceased warden clearly indicates that the man in the cage is the devil in human form.

We know what happens later – the gradual downfall of the town and its community, which in the face of evil (in the form of a strangely looking man or a curse over Castle Rock) begins to decay. Not here. True, episode four ends with the madness of one character and her bloody march, and later a newly arrived couple quickly turns their motel into a final resting place for guests, but these are oddly isolated cases that affect the main character more than the town. We do not witness the disintegration of interpersonal bonds and a once lively place that suddenly resembles a ghost town, perhaps because Castle Rock already appears in the first episode as a sad, hopeless hole.

Molly Strand, trading in real estate, attempts to change this, but her actions after a television appearance have no follow-up. Similarly, the issue of the woman addicted to substances – stemming from her struggle with a fantastic gift – has little impact on the plot or her development. We meet Jackie Torrance, niece of the famous Jack – are we to expect her genes to manifest in madness and violence? Not here, or at least not fully. The problem of a series drawing from King’s work is the reckless use of his elements without understanding the essence of his prose.

One might try to invert familiar motifs to present something fresh, but Sam Shaw and Dustin Thomason, creators of Castle Rock, conceal their best ideas until the very end of the season. The mystery of the imprisoned man is revealed so late that there is scarcely time to explore it.

When the finale confronts him with the protagonist, questions about the genesis of evil prove more intriguing than the duel that ends in ellipsis. Bill Skarsgård’s passive-demonic portrayal does not imply he is the devil by birth. Episode nine, devoted entirely to his character, forces us to reconsider the entire plot – it suggests evil arises not from a mythical source, but from human deeds.

Even this notion can be refuted, as the creators ultimately choose to multiply questions rather than answer them. It is unsurprising – one of the producers is J.J. Abrams, responsible in the past for Lost, where the unfolding of events mattered more than coherence. Perhaps here lies my biggest problem with Castle Rock. It is not a series for fans of Stephen King, but for fans of series itself. Each episode’s near-hour projection serves primarily as a stepping stone to the next, with no clear dramaturgy. Where once a work had a beginning, middle, and end, now only the middle matters, and the ending is postponed to the next season.

This might not be a problem if the series were engaging, but Castle Rock also fails here – everything is slow, devoid of pace, overly serious, and predictable from the start. When the mystery is dull, it does not matter how good its resolution may be.

It is a pity for talented actors who either have nothing to play (Jane Levy as Jackie Torrance appears and disappears, her character feeling tacked on) or struggle in their roles (André Holland as Henry is too indifferent for a protagonist, and Melanie Lynskey cannot enliven her Molly).

Bill Skarsgård, less striking than in It, elicits fear only by his appearance and glare.

Scott Glenn and Sissy Spacek emerge unscathed – he combines the roughness of old age with surprising warmth, making Pangborn the true heart of the series, and she (the legendary Carrie from the first King adaptation) shines in episode seven, revealing her character’s distorted perspective, fear, and uncertainty. Only for this one episode is it worth enduring the previous six of Castle Rock. Three episodes remain.

King once said that he does not write horror, but rather psychological dramas that happen to be horror. Castle Rock attempts the same but misses the mark both as an insightful portrait of people confronting not only the unknown but everyday life, and as a tale of terror. There are only traces of true horror here. And if the new series says anything truthful about Stephen King’s work, it is that he is not easy to imitate. The devil, as they say, is in the details.