Not all Stephen King adaptations are created equal, but the author usually keeps his criticisms to himself. The one exception is The Shining; King has been famously vocal, to varying extents over the years, about his issues with Stanley Kubrick’s take on his 1977 novel. King’s constant readers also grapple with the disconnect between the movie and its source material.

For his third published novel, the author penned a tragic, personal story about coming to terms with his alcoholism. The 1980 film — masterful technical achievement though it is —is more of a clinical exercise in dread. King has called it “a big, beautiful Cadillac with no engine inside it.”

So when ABC approached King to do another TV miniseries based on his work following the success of 1994’s The Stand, the author expressed interest in The Shining. To ensure this version was more faithful, King translated his own 447-page novel into a three-part teleplay. The general plot is the same as Kubrick’s — a recovering alcoholic moves into a haunted hotel with his family — but there are several impactful changes along the way.

After Brian De Palma — who, of course, was the first to adapt King with Carrie — passed on helming the project, King reunited with The Stand and Sleepwalkers director Mick Garris. Produced by Warner Bros. Television, the 1997 miniseries was filmed in 72 days on a budget of $21 million. (For the project to move forward, Kubrick was paid $1.5 million, and it was stipulated that King could not disparage the original movie.)

The production was largely filmed on location at The Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado; the allegedly haunted locale that inspired King to write the novel. Most of the cast and crew resided there during the shoot, and some even reported feeling a paranormal presence. King was present for approximately two thirds of the shoot, during which he was writing The Green Mile.

King’s chief criticism of Kubrick’s The Shining is Jack Torrance’s lack of a character arc; rather than a slow descent from family man to madman, King found Jack Nicholson’s portrayal to be crazy from the start. Many actors approached for the role of Jack — including The Stand lead Gary Sinise — turned it down out of fear of being compared to Nicholson. With pressure mounting, Wings star Steven Weber read for the role and was cast a mere three days before shooting began.

Weber has gone on record saying he did not feel any trepidation; rather, he relished the opportunity to flex his acting chops after being typecast as affable goofballs for so long. The lack of intimidation paid off, as Webber brings the nuance of King’s words to the screen in a way that Nicholson — undeniably iconic as he is — did not.

King has also taken umbrage with Kubrick’s misogynistic take on Jack’s wife, Wendy, played by Shelley Duvall. King affords his version of the character, portrayed by Rebecca De Mornay (Risky Business), more agency rather than relegating her to, as he once eloquently referred to it, a “screaming dishrag.”

Arguably, the only misstep in The Shining TV miniseries’ casting is that of Courtland Mead (The Little Rascals) as the Torrance’s son, Danny, who possesses a form of precognition referred to as the shine. The young actor, who turned 9 during production, is more animated but also more grating than Danny Lloyd’s earlier portrayal.

Casting Melvin Van Peebles (best known as the filmmaker/star behind the landmark blaxploitation film Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Song) as hotel cook Dick Hallorann, on the other hand, was inspired. Like Scatman Crothers before him — albeit with a different fate — he’s the story’s secret weapon, bonding with Danny over their shared gift.

Other notable cast members include Elliott Gould (M*A*S*H) as the Overlook’s general manager, Pat Hingle (Batman) as his right-hand man, Mick’s wife Cynthia Garris as the ghastly woman in room 217 (which earned her a coveted Fangoria cover), Shawnee Smith (Saw) as a waitress, and an uncredited Miguel Ferrer (who starred in The Stand as well as The Night Flier) as the voice of Jack’s abusive father.

In addition to cameos from King (playing an orchestra conductor credited as Gage Creed, sharing his name with the ill-fated boy from Pet Sematary) and Garris, genre luminaries Sam Raimi, Frank Darabont, The Crow scribe David J. Schow, and writer Richard Christian Matheson (who later adapted King in Nightmares & Dreamscapes and Big Driver) make brief appearances.

Another significant discrepancy between the novel and Kubrick’s film that King aimed to correct was the ending. “The book is hot, and the movie is cold; the book ends in fire, and the movie in ice,” the author astutely observed. Indeed, the momentous finale in which Jack Nicholson is left to freeze in the hedge maze was written for the movie. The book and miniseries conclude with Jack dying when the Overlook’s boiler explodes, destroying the hotel with him.

Moreover, the hedge maze itself was Kubrick’s creation. The book instead features topiary animals that come to life, but Kubrick smartly recognized that the technology did not yet exist to pull them off satisfactorily. They are restored for Garris’ production; their movements accomplished via a mix of puppetry and early CGI (which, although adequate by 1997 standards, has not aged well). Garris cites the topiaries as the most challenging part of the shoot.

Several more of the most memorable elements from Kubrick’s movie — including the Grady twins, the bleeding elevator, “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” Jack’s axe, “Here’s Johnny,” and the distinctive carpet pattern — were of his own making. The ease with which he created iconography speaks to the auteur’s genius, but it also allows Garris’ adaptation to forge a more unique identity.

The pacing lags at times, especially when viewed through the modern lens in which long-form content is tailor-made for binging. But the miniseries format allows for the characters and their motives to be considerably more fleshed out than in Kubrick’s version, which left much to the imagination. Editor Patrick McMahon (A Nightmare on Elm Street, The Stand) reins in the 273 minutes of material.

The influential aesthetics of Kubrick’s film left big shoes to fill; it was a pioneer of both the Steadicam and electronic scores. Shelly Johnson (Captain America: The First Avenger, Jurassic Park III), who Garris calls the best director of photography he’s ever worked with, serves as the miniseries’ cinematographer. While the camerawork isn’t particularly ostentatious, the visuals are appropriately atmospheric. Nicholas Pike‘s (Sleepwalkers, Blood and Bone) score, performed by a 60-piece orchestra, adds a Gothic flavor with a haunting choral motif.

The TV version of The Shining won two Emmy Awards: Outstanding Makeup and Outstanding Sound Editing. The former was accomplished by a team that includes prosthetics by Steve Johnson (Ghostbusters, Species), makeup supervision by future Academy Award winner Bill Corso (Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, Deadpool), and additional work by Ve Neill (Beetlejuice, Ed Wood) and Joel Harlow (Star Trek, Inception).

The Shining aired on TV between April 27 and May 1, 1997. The initial reaction was largely positive, earning strong ratings (albeit not as high as The Stand), predominantly favorable reviews (including a rare perfect rating from TV Guide), and numerous awards and recognitions. Time has not been entirely kind to the miniseries; in addition to the CGI aging poorly, the critical opinion has shifted over the years, particularly when compared to Kubrick’s opus.

25 years later, The Shining remains one of the most faithful adaptations of King’s work and a fascinating TV companion to Kubrick’s feature film version. Not unlike Gus Van Sant’s shot-for-shot remake of Psycho, the miniseries illustrates both the advantages and disadvantages of an obsequious dedication to source material. With The Stand recently receiving a high-definition restoration, I hope The Shining is granted a similar opportunity to shine; the only way to see it currently is on DVD.