Editorials
‘[REC]’ (2007) vs. ‘Quarantine’ (2008) [Revenge of the Remakes]
Welcome to ‘Revenge of the Remakes,‘ where columnist Matt Donato takes us on a journey through the world of horror remakes. We all complain about Hollywood’s lack of originality whenever studios announce new remakes, reboots, and reimaginings, but the reality? Far more positive examples of refurbished classics and updated legacies exist than you’re willing to remember (or admit). The good, the bad, the unnecessary – Matt’s recounting them all.
Jaume Balagueró and Paco Plaza’s [REC] played an instrumental role in morphing “Matt Donato, Horror Dabbler” into “Matt Donato, Forever Horror Enthusiast.” Around the film’s release, I’d spend my collegiate downtime nurturing a newfound love of cinema that’d subsequently recalibrate my post-graduation career trajectory. The funny part is, horror wasn’t my forefront focus or dedicated passion until university – until I discovered [REC]. One fateful Netflix DVD rental on an internet blog’s recommendation showed me how profoundly introspective, deceptively versatile, and scarily unforgiving the horror genre could reach. [REC] is bulletproof found-footage artistry that’ll forever rank in my class of horror “untouchables,” as I shy not from the foundational context of this month’s “Revenge of the Remakes” analysis.
In 2008, in the thick of Hollywood’s horror remake craze (either golden oldies or ineffable imports), Screen Gems looked to capitalize on the Spanish-language [REC] after heaps of overseas praise. If memory and IMDb release dates serve me correctly, their remake Quarantine beat [REC] to stateside markets with an October 10th, 2008 premiere versus [REC]’s long-last limited US drop on October 17th, 2008. Producers wasted no time enlisting brothers John and Drew Dowdle, hot off The Poughkeepsie Tapes, to Americanize [REC] for those who refuse to read subtitles. Why promote international cinema when you can spend millions of dollars to recreate, mimick, and swipe the credit for yourself, right?
The Approach
Jennifer Carpenter in Screen Gems’ thriller Quarantine.
The Dowdles’ screenplay mixes a 70%-30% blend of original scripting from [REC] and “unique” diversions that are infrequent, yet thematically drastic. While dialogue remains word-for-word mainly, the two most significant changes are cameraman Scott (Steve Harris) existing as much on-screen as he does behind his rig and a rabies explanation for the residential contagion outbreak. Quarantine adds a few new characters but remains slavishly dedicated to copy-pasting [REC]‘s narrative, sequential composition, and spouted lines to the point where you can easily ignore alterations.
Jennifer Carpenter steps in as late-night television personality Angela Vidal (familiar), host of a local program dedicated to spotlighting overnight professionals who work while we all slumber. Tonight’s episode devotes screentime to those brave men and women who combat blazing fires, as Angela quietly wishes for some “action” to shoot. When the station’s alarm goes off, she’s whisked away to shadow an apartment building alarm investigation. Angela tails firemen Jake (Jay Hernandez) and “Fletcher” (Johnathon Schaech) as they locate an unwell woman, only to find minutes later that the government has sealed every exit under contagious disease protocol. Tenants panic, tensions rise, and Angela informs Scott to record everything. Right until the proverbial – and physical – hammer drops.
It’s par-for-the-course duplication with the addition of verbatim conversation snatching. Scripted blueprints lay a repetitive groundwork, throwaway tweaks introduce “new material,” and you get a product that’s desperately familiar yet hopefully not mirrored enough to instigate objections from [REC] obsessors who’ve seen this movie before.
New name, same concept, more animal cruelty.
Does It Work?
Doug Jones in Quarantine
The difference between [REC] and Quarantine highlights the inefficiencies of modern American horror throughout the later 2000s. The brothers Dowdle inflate [REC]‘s body count and shift focus from ravenous tension to squeamish gore (Fletcher’s broken shinbone), but not as a method of expanded storytelling. [REC] is leaner, meaner, and develops characters where Quarantine throws civilians or crisis responders, whoever’s closest, into infected feeding frenzies. Balagueró and Plaza strive to elevate outbreak paranoia by introducing theological terror through Niña Medeiros (Javier Botet), creating this consummate horror arc that evolves throughout prototypical zombie ideologies. Quarantine is a more generic renovation, jettisoning mythological intrigue as Act III reveals barely touch upon a fleeting doomsday cult motive as Doug Jones’ “Thin Infected Man” suggests the sickly will transform even sicker.
Quarantine’s bolstered cast adds nothing outside of gratifying kill-count gnarliness, given how a moot pawn like Denis O’Hare’s “Randy” comes and goes with inconsequential impact. He’s introduced as an alcoholic dissenter, pushing back against Jake or Officer Wilensky (Columbus Short), only to be mauled by a Cerberus-lookin’ canine who’s in full rage-mode. Randy gets called into the lobby, makes a big deal about this being ‘Merica (in a matter of words), and after drunkenly stumbling out the building’s elevator, retreats only to have said doggo lunge past the closing doors as Angela watches in horror. We don’t witness the brutality, mind you. We merely glimpse Randy’s chewed-up corpse scenes later when Jake, Scott, and Angela use the same elevator. Utterly pointless, where random violence remains random and meaningless to the overall scenario.
In terms of atmosphere, I’d love to compare production design measurements between Quarantine’s entire four-story set – a fully functioning apartment complex – to [REC]’s shooting location. Quarantine increases the square footage, adds the aforementioned elevators, and lessens the pandemic claustrophobia that defines [REC]. Balagueró and Plaza work their asses off to emphasize the close-quarters intimacy of [REC], where the Dowdles favor spatial comforts. [REC] feels filmed on-location (read: natural) within some low-rent stack of rental units while Quarantine, architecturally, gives the impression of being a Hollywood rebuild.
Quarantine does more than other remakes to honor its source material. Still, those intentions are sometimes in question as Carpenter, Hernandez, Short, and damn-near every actor playing a legacy character reuses hijacked dialogue. Not as noticeable with time wedged between original vs. remake watches, but back to back? Try ignoring the carbon-copy nature, when what’s considered a “fresh take” instead steps back into a more seen-it-before realm — light on all-cylinders substantiality, heavy on grotesque effects and kill-em-all mentalities.
The Result
Javier Botet in [REC]
The differences between Quarantine and [REC] speak volumes to a definable period in horror history. In translation, Quarantine loses what makes [REC] a still buzzed-about anomaly. [REC] locks into a persistent fervor that champions first-person filmmaking for all it’s viciously worth. Quarantine might attempt the same route, and while faring better than other remakes and found-footage duds, it doesn’t deliver enough to separate itself from far superior influences. Even cleaner video feed visuals in Quarantine subtract from the primal severity captured in [REC]. Justification is paramount to a remake’s success, and there’s not enough customization to singularly appreciate another fast-tracked appropriation of ideas.
One single [REC] and Quarantine back-to-back viewing calls to attention just how little US-based horror films, at the time, believed in audiences. Take an example as simple as Scott, our tour guide. In [REC], we never see videographer Pablo (cinematographer Pablo Rosso). A sneaker gaze at most. In Quarantine, it’s seconds into shooting when Scott leaves his post and interacts with Angela in-frame. The Dowdles don’t trust that viewers can connect with a character who’s inescapably present, just maybe not shown, so Scott is forced into usage even when not required. He’s practically waving at the screen as a reminder that yes, Scott is real. It’s a pinhead-sized illustration of a massive problem, one that drove horror fans like myself towards courageous foreign titles that didn’t spoon-feed to the point of obliterating obviousness.
Quarantine will, in most cases, better appeal to someone who’s never seen [REC]. That’s the film’s purpose, and it’s hard to argue against the Dowdles’ attentiveness in restructuring those most frightening moments. An infected woman with bloodshot eyes lunges into Scott’s camera, foam frothing out her mouth (remember, rabies). Pipsqueak Briana (a toddler Joey King), dead-staring Wilensky as the policeman cautiously approaches a zombified child (not cautious enough). The attic scare – THE ATTIC SCARE. Again, if you’ve never seen [REC], your appreciation for horror elements alone should be rewarded – but I’ve seen [REC]. Therefore, I’ve seen all these scares executed on a higher level.
Are the sins of remakes past committed? Yes, but on a lesser scale. My argument is always surrounding the “Why?” of remake filmmaking, and Quarantine doesn’t deceive. Screen Gems’ [REC] Version .5 exists for a general public who either possess no viable option to watch [REC] or were never going to bother with words on their screen. Nothing makes this “John And Drew’s Signature [REC].” Quarantine is A Very [REC] Remake for better and worse, only distancing itself through Americanized pitfalls that plagued horror releases through much of the 2000s.
The Lesson
Manuela Velasco as Angela in [REC]
Allow me to share Jaume Balagueró’s reaction to a finished Quarantine:
“It’s impossible for me to like, because it’s a copy. It’s the same, except for the finale. It’s impossible to enjoy Quarantine after [REC]. I don’t understand why they avoided the religious themes; they lost a very important part of the end of the movie.”
That.
Maybe I should have led with Balagueró’s snippet, but then you could have ignored the rest of my thesis (resistance is futile). While Quarantine is classifiable as “different,” it’s not. There’s no fooling those who worship at the altar of Medeiros. You’ve revamped a deeply disturbing, blasphemously inclined, found footage wonder and stripped away advantageous traits in favor of a rat stomped underfoot and protruding bone fragments. Ah, the American way.
So what did we learn?
- A remake shouldn’t challenge an original in the style of Highlander (“There can only be one!”) – it should reinvent and repurpose in a way that offers some new experience for an audience who maybe has seen the first, maybe hasn’t.
- Understand *why* fans fell in love with an original. Don’t ignore the very reasons the source has become acclaimed enough for remake treatments.
- Trust your audience! I promise I knew Scott was a real human being without seeing his face shoved towards the screen!
- If you’re going to cycle through the same dialogue and sequential scene order, your execution better be bulletproof.
A silver lining, perhaps? Paco Plaza confirmed that our humble U-S-A remake ended up shifting newfound attention unto [REC]. “It moved a spotlight onto our film. You know, the fact that it was going to be remade in Hollywood, it was big news in Europe.” Quibbles and rants aside, there’s a smile on my face knowing an original piece of art gained further momentum thanks to a remake that ain’t down with the same sickness.
After fifty years of continuous writing, Stephen King has become a genre unto himself.
The unrivaled Master of Horror made a splash in 1974 with his debut novel Carrie and has been terrifying readers ever since. Two years later, Brian De Palma brought this shocking story to the screen with an equally electrifying horror film that remains a genre classic and a prototypical example of “Good For Her” horror. This dual debut seemed to open the floodgates, unleashing endless waves of Stephen King films.
From the highs of Misery, Cujo, and The Shawshank Redemption to the schlocky fun of Cat’s Eye, Creepshow, and Children of the Corn, the last five decades have seen just about every notable horror creator take a stab at the author’s massive collection.
In recent years, this singular subgenre has begun to burst at the seams, expanding to include Stephen King-esque fare. In 2016, brothers Matt and Ross Duffer debuted Stranger Things, a sci-fi series heavily inspired by two of King’s most famous books. The Netflix series remixes Firestarter and It by following a little girl with psychic powers and an intrepid group of kids on bikes who must battle an otherworldly foe and a sinister government agency. With its clever blend of modern effects and comforting nostalgia, this gateway horror series paved the way for Andy Muschietti’s It adaptation which remains the highest grossing horror film of all time.
Four years later, Mike Flanagan would create Midnight Mass, a spiritual adaptation of King’s second novel Salem’s Lot. Published in 1975, the book sees a tiny New England town torn apart by a centuries-old vampire. Though Flanagan’s story is perhaps more tender, both iterations of the classic horror tale follow close-knit communities shaken to their core by the presence of an ancient evil.
In addition to these recent hits, 2025 was a banner year for the Master of Horror. Audiences delighted in six mainstream adaptations, including the massively popular It: Welcome to Derry which chronicles earlier cycles of the titular clown’s reign. With this boost to King’s cultural cache, it’s no surprise that we’ve begun to see more unofficial adaptations of the author’s work and horror creators who build their own unique castles in King’s creative sandbox.
So what defines a Stephen King-esque story?
For the past fifty years, the prolific author has dipped his toes in nearly every subgenre from supernatural stories and grisly gore to western fantasy and science fiction. Including his vast catalogue of short fiction, King has tackled ghosts, demons, werewolves, zombies, aliens, mutants, and self-driving cars, not to mention bizarre monsters of his own creation. But what truly unites this vast array of horror is King’s focus on relatable characters. In his 2000 memoir/instructional text On Writing, the prolific author describes the amusement he finds in writing disparate characters, placing them in horrific scenarios, then exploring the ways they try to survive.
An unofficial Stephen King adaptation may take place in the author’s native New England — bonus points if it’s set in Maine — and reference his well-known heroes and villains. But what makes the King connection unbreakable is a character-driven story about average people who band together in the face of abject terror.
Weapons Captures Small Town Stephen King
Following his 2022 shocker Barbarian, Zach Cregger returned with Weapons, a sprawling story that begins in a doomed elementary school. On an otherwise ordinary day, Justine (Julia Garner) arrives at her desk to find that all but one of her students have disappeared. As the mystery grows increasingly violent, Justine and Archer (Josh Brolin), the father of a missing boy, find their way to the home of Alex (Cary Christopher), the class’ only surviving student. In some ways reminiscent of Salem’s Lot, Weapons swings wildly through the unfortunate town, introducing us to its flawed inhabitants as we watch their lives fall apart.
Cregger’s setup nods to a pair of King short stories. Both “Suffer the Little Children” and “Here There Be Tygers” tackle monstrous presences in elementary schools, but as Weapons reaches its final act, Constant Readers may remember another Stephen King tale. Featured in his 1985 collection Skeleton Crew, “Gramma” introduces us to George, a little boy tormented by an aging witch. On an afternoon alone with his sickly grandmother, the frightened child gradually realizes that the imposing old woman has been waiting for an opportunity to cast a spell that will extend her own life by possessing his body.
Alex finds himself similarly tortured by his aunt Gladys (Amy Madigan), a garish witch who orchestrates a desperate plot to sustain her own strength. Transforming humans into mindless weapons, Gladys has taken over Alex’s family home and lured his classmates to the basement. Holding them in a comatose state, she syphons off their energy to extend her own supernatural life.
Vastly different in many ways, both “Gramma” and Weapons hinge on a sinister witch who uses horrific magical spells to sacrifice the bodies of her vulnerable prey.
Hokum Echoes The Shining and 1408
It’s nearly impossible to watch a film about a haunted hotel without thinking of King’s third novel, The Shining. This icy story follows Jack Torrance, an angry writer struggling with his sobriety and a shameful incident haunting his past. Accompanied by his wife and young son, Jack has taken a job as the winter caretaker for the Overlook, a haunted hotel situated high in the Rocky Mountains. Snowed in, Jack finds himself tormented by dangerous ghosts who amplify his greatest fears.
Damian McCarthy’s Hokum follows a similarly troubled figure. Ohm Bauman (Adam Scott) is a surly writer who travels to the Bilberry Woods Hotel in rural Ireland to spread his parents’ ashes. Haunted by his own tragic past, Ohm finds himself trapped in the honeymoon suite, a decaying room that’s been permanently closed to protect visitors from a dangerous witch trapped within its walls. Visual nods to King’s text abound with woodcut figurines and an animated clock, mirroring ominous descriptions found in King’s text.
Another terrifying sequence sees Ohm staring with horror at a closed door, the only thing separating him from the approaching witch. As the door knob slowly turns, Constant Readers remember Jack’s narrow escape from the ghostly woman in room 217. And Ohm’s popular Conquistador books directly reference King’s long-running fantasy series The Dark Tower which follows a gunslinger named Roland Deschain tasked with protecting the nexus of the universe.
In addition to these thematic comparisons, Hokum bears striking resemblance to King’s terrifying short story “1408.” Collected in 2002’s Everything’s Eventual, the terrifying story follows Mike Enslin, a dejected writer who’s risen to fame penning essays about his adventures in haunted locations. Mike arrives at the Hotel Dolphin and bullies his way into the titular room, despite the manager’s dire warnings. McCarthy nods to this story with an ominously misplaced hotel room door, reminiscent of King’s entry to 1408, an unsuspecting portal that appears to move each time Mike looks away.
However, McCarthy’s most direct reference lies in a minicorder Ohm uses to capture notes. Trapped inside the dreaded honeymoon suite, this device offers well-timed messages while sitting next to a decomposing corpse. Mike records his time in 1408 with his own trusty minicorder. Described for the reader, his tape has captured the man’s slow descent into madness as the room prepares to swallow him whole. With conclusions that differ wildly in tone, both Ohm and Mike find their lives irrevocably changed by encounters with the supernatural realm.
Widow’s Bay Builds Its Own Version of Castle Rock
Katie Dippold’s Widow’s Bay has taken the idea of an unofficial King adaptation and turned it into an art form. The Apple TV series sees the residents of the titular island plagued by a curse that dates back centuries. Not only does the picturesque hamlet not accommodate wifi connections, those born on the island face certain death should they ever try to leave. Desperate to modernize the tiny town, Mayor Tom Loftis (Matthew Rhys) draws in waves of tourists just as a new cycle of terror begins.
Blending horror with deft comedy, Dippold makes cheeky references to King’s body of work. Tom warns that, “there’s something in the fog,” reminding readers of King’s 1980 novella The Mist. And Loftis’ own stay in the town’s haunted hotel sees him tormented by the ghost of a murderous clown. We even spy a vintage King hardback peeking out of a local book trade box.
In many ways Widow’s Bay feels like a new iteration of the author’s Little Tall Island, a tiny village off the coast of Maine. In addition to the 1992 novel Dolores Claiborne and a handful of harrowing short stories, this quaint fishing village is also the setting for King’s 1999 teleplay Storm of the Century. Premiering on ABC primetime, this tragic tale follows a terrified group of islanders who batten down the hatches for a dangerous Nor’easter only to find a more sinister threat lurking within.
Constant Readers may also be reminded of Castle Rock, the author’s favorite fictional town.
First introduced in the 1981 novel Cujo, the charming village becomes the star of Needful Things, King’s satire about consumerism. After several Castle Rock stories, we’re reintroduced to its residents as they gossip about the arrival of Leland Gaunt and the grand opening of his curio shop. Anything their hearts desire can be found in his varied inventory, so long as they’re willing to pay the price. Pitting cantankerous neighbors against each other, Gaunt ignites a wave of grisly violence by exploiting long-held resentments and feuds.
The town’s only defense against this supernatural threat is beleaguered sheriff Alan Pangborn. Still grieving the deaths of his wife and younger son, Alan struggles to connect with his older child and pick up the pieces of his shattered life. Also a widower, Loftis struggles to raise his own restless son and explain the strange details of his wife’s tragic death. Attempting to unravel the island’s dark secrets, Tom is aided by quirky residents including a surly fisherman named Wyck (Stephen Root) and Patricia (Kate O’Flynn), an earnest Town Hall employee. King’s own novels feature many of these proactive alliances with disparate characters combining their strengths to overcome insurmountable odds.
With Widow’s Bay renewed for a second season and Mike Flanagan’s Carrie series on the horizon, the future seems bright for new King adaptations, both spiritual and directly pulled from his catalogue. The prolific author also shows no signs of slowing down with two publications nearing release. His upcoming novel, Other Worlds Than These, is the long-awaited third Talisman book which teases direct ties to his Dark Tower world. Holly Forever will be a new installment of his crime series, offering a different kind of genre fare.
This embarrassment of riches spawning multiple worlds seems ripe for spiritual adaptation and will likely inspire horror creators for decades to come.
Kate O’Flynn, Stephen Root and Matthew Rhys in “Widow’s Bay,” now streaming on Apple TV.
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