Four young boys save a mentally handicapped child from humiliation and harm by shooing his bullies away. Immediately afterwards, they befriend the mistreated soul, nicknamed "Duddits," and through other circumstances, manage to acquire telepathic powers for themselves. Many years go by, and save for Duddits, the childhood chums have gathered together at a remote cabin for an annual hunting trip and excuses to catch up with one another. One evening, they take in a random, seemingly ill stranger named Rick, who says he was lost in the woods before they found him. After two members of the group venture out for help, the others stick around to watch over the new visitor, but soon realize that something is amiss with the environment around them. Worse yet, our foreign houseguest seems to be harboring something far more sinister than an upset, bloated stomach.
As I have done on more than a couple of occasions this year, let me regale you with a story from my younger days. During my senior year at Montgomery Blair High School, we were given a rather unique, though fun-sounding assignment to complete within a week's time: pick up a novel of your choosing, read it, and then view its big/small screen adaptation in order to make comparisons between the two sources. The best aspect came from being told that save for pornographic material, there would be nothing in the way of restrictions. Being the gigantic nerd and weirdo that I am, opting to choose a work from author Stephen King seemed like a surefire way to ensure a decent grade. However, I soon hit a snag when I realized that the theatrical release for the horror icon's (then) most recent effort Dreamcatcher was set to premiere two days after the deadline of said project. Thankfully, our teacher granted me an exception so that I may properly view the picture without any interference or risk of failure. That, and she was just a very nice person in general.
So, if I did in fact, make my way to the cinema to see Dreamcatcher before, why am I writing about it this time around? Well, there are multiple reasons. The first is that I have virtually no memory of the book, film, or anything in between related to it. The second, though clichéd as it may sound, is due to recent discussions on a number of (social) media outlets and sources, including the excellent How Did This Get Made? podcast, about how atrocious the flick actually is. The idea is that it's one of Stephen King's most ridiculous, messy, awful, and just plain silly handlings to date. After seeing it again for the first time in thirteen years, I came to one simple conclusion in regards to those collective opinions.
They are one hundred and ten percent correct.
To call Dreamcatcher a catastrophe is rather harsh, but calling it anything other than a small train wreck would be wholly immoral. On paper, there is absolutely no chance in hell that it should turn out the way that it does. Your four leads are comprised of Thomas Jane (Boogie Nights, The Punisher), Jason Lee (Chasing Amy, My Name is Earl), Damian Lewis (Homeland, Band of Brothers), and Timothy Olyphant (Deadwood, Justified). Other supporting characters are portrayed by Tom Sizemore (Natural Born Killers, Saving Private Ryan) and MORGAN GODDAMN FREEMAN. Add to that the screenwriters of esteemed releases like The Empire Strikes Back and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and any human being with capable brain power or respectable taste should tell you that Dreamcatcher is too big to fail. Shockingly, and quite surprisingly, none of this seems to matter and is ultimately irrelevant. There is negative chemistry between any and all of our protagonists, with Lee in particular seeming like he just wants to get off the set as quickly as he possibly can and our beloved Shawshank Redemption veteran turning in a wacky performance that is worthy of winning a Razzie or three. When the audience considers what they're working with, be it dialogue, themes, or characters seemingly plagiarized from the creator's own previous compositions (take a shot for every similarity to It and Stand by Me, or for when Freeman's eyebrows seemingly grow larger), the aforementioned factor of bewilderment is more miniscule than we initially thought.
Though pointed out above, I do want to acknowledge the tremendous talent of Mr. William Goldman and Mr. Lawrence Kasdan. Their filmographies, be it as screenplay authors or directors (the latter is in the chair this time around), are truly the stuff of legend. So much so, that I believe Dreamcatcher's story was just too difficult to make into anything but a goofy picture. There are only so many ways that any number of folks can rewrite or reimagine an important plot point that revolves around giant, teethed leeches who crawl out of your posterior in order to attack nearby prey and threats (and are preceded by many instances of flatulence and belching from the host), or a man whose alien parasite sounds like an amusingly stupid impersonation of a British countryman after he has inhabited the body it has chosen (think of when one purposely imitates their boss at a drunken Halloween gathering). Considering that King was recovering from a nasty car accident which almost sent him into retirement, it would not have shocked me to hear of him watching 1986's cult classic Night of the Creeps while he was hopped up on OxyContin. One of the film's more memorable moments involves a creature being confined to a toilet while Lee sits atop in an attempt to prevent its escape. The Maine author said that he wished for this scene to do for bathrooms what Psycho did for showers, which while fine in theory, is immediately shot down when you hear Freeman's character officially refer to them as "Shit Weasels" later on. As someone who unashamedly loves another movie involving rectal-based monsters, I can say that when you bring up the colon as a significant element to take note of, then your serious factor goes into an irrecoverable nosedive.
In the end, despite some interesting ideas such as one's own mind acting as a private library, Dreamcatcher is far too idiotic for anyone to consider it frightening or suspenseful, yet is played too seriously to be properly, unintentionally hilarious. In fact, had this been retooled or marketed as a proper horror-comedy, there is a chance that the experience as whole would have been far more enjoyable, and its legacy left even an ounce stronger than it is. Instead, what you're left with is a giant, smelly turd made up of unoriginality whose source of inspiration is even disowned by the author himself. And if that's coming from the guy who directed Maximum Overdrive, then you know that he means what he says. As a fair warning, I should inform you that the movie is available for streaming via Amazon Prime, and can purchased as either a singular DVD or Blu-Ray from nearly every retail establishment out there (don't be shocked if this is also floating around somewhere at your local supermarket in the side-cap areas). Even better, it is also packaged together with other releases from the early 2000s that also rightfully washed out into the sewer, so you can torture yourself for an entire day if that is your thing.
To the film's credit though, it is still far more coherent and viewable than The Langoliers.
Then again, so is watching snails fuck.
Tomorrow, we dive right in and tackle our yearly anthology pick! And as luck would have it, this choice has far more in common with not just this month's celebratory holiday, but many more to follow...
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