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A Tale of Two Flaggs – Revisiting Both Adaptations of Stephen King’s ‘The Stand’

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Pictured: 'The Stand' (1994)

Back in the day, if someone had tried to convince me to read a pseudo-religious epic with a four-digit page-count and a Deus Ex Machina ending without mentioning that it was penned by Stephen King, I’m pretty sure that I would have done my best to avoid that person (and the book) like the superflu. Luckily for me, I was already an SK fanatic with a fascination for all things apocalyptic when I first laid hands on an uncut edition of The Stand, and it ended up becoming my absolute favorite novel by the King of horror.

Inspired by the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, King’s viral opus was originally meant to bring the mythic scale of fantasy stories to (then) modern-day America, with Christianity replacing Middle Earth’s magical elements and country folk standing in for hobbits and elves. Of course, with the book telling the story of post-apocalyptic survivors who find themselves divided between following an aging prophet or a demonic tyrant after the earth has been ravaged by a plague, you’d be forgiven for assuming that this was yet another one of King’s genre nightmares. After all, this contemporary fantasy story still includes plenty of horror elements, with its terrifying antagonist having been borrowed from King’s own Dark Tower series and the gruesome imagery distancing the book from its Tolkien-inspired origins.

And with the author becoming a household name throughout the 80s and 90s, it made sense that adaptations of his work began sprouting left and right – including a highly anticipated CBS event series adapting The Stand back in 1994, helmed by frequent King collaborator Mick Garris. Like many made-for-TV King adaptations, the mini-series was pretty divisive among his fanbase, but it was only in late 2020 that it would finally be challenged by a remake once again developed by CBS.

And while one of these shows has way more fans than the other, I think both versions of the epic tale are worth revisiting because of what they say about their respective time periods, and that’s why I’d like to look back and compare both adaptations of The Stand.


The Stand (1994)

With big budget streaming and HBO sensations continuing to blur the line between film and television, younger readers might not be aware of what popular TV used to be like in the 90s. Before the days of Stranger Things and Game of Thrones, even ratings juggernauts like The X-Files had to contend with miniscule production budgets in order to accommodate the increased runtime when compared to movies.

That’s why it’s easy to forgive 1994’s version of The Stand for many of its budgetary blunders, as the show didn’t really stand out as a particularly cheap program when compared to other similar genre productions of the time – I mean, this was a year before Xena was on the air! Sure, the soap-opera-esque visuals and laughable effects sometimes hindered the more dramatic moments, but you’ve got to hand it to Garris for making the most of what little money he had to work with.

In fact, some of these dated elements have aged well enough that they add a bit of vintage flavor to the production, with charming little details like sets that look like they were originally built for a high-school theater productions and makeup effects that turn our main antagonist into a Power Rangers villain. That being said, if you can put the low production value aside, the actual storytelling here isn’t bad. This is still essentially the same narrative as King’s novel (with the teleplay written by the author himself), it’s just hampered by a lack of inner monologues and subjective details.

Fortunately, the iconic casting mostly makes up for these literary losses, with Gary Sinise and Molly Ringwald remaining my favorite incarnations of Stu and Frannie (though that might have something to do with my teenage crush on Ringwald, so take my opinion with a grain of salt). I also adore Jamey Sheridan as Randall Flagg even if he’s not quite as menacing as he was in the book.

In all honesty, I have a huge bias towards this mini-series since I watched it immediately after reading the book (I even own a DVD copy signed by Garris) but revisiting it decades later will probably be a very mixed experience for those who aren’t already hardcore fans. The 1990s CBS budget simply can’t keep up with the huge scope of the story and even the six-hour runtime isn’t enough to properly explore this world and its complex characters.


The Stand (2020)

A remake of The Stand was a long time coming, with rumored films and even a multi-season TV show being discussed before fate decided that CBS should once again be the one to bring Captain Trips back for another round of Pandemic horror. This time, however, the production value would be out of this world, with blockbuster effects and more time to develop these iconic characters and follow the book more closely.

At least, that was the plan. In practice, the show’s purist premise would end up being sabotaged by the decision to tell the story in a non-linear fashion, with choppy editing and bizarre transitions neutering the story’s scale and emotional impact. Episodes jump around the book’s timeline and the show expects viewers to tag along for the ride, erroneously assuming that we can just “skip to the good stuff” since most people are already familiar with the story.

There’s also the matter of that bizarre epilogue episode which doesn’t really add anything to the plot. While I appreciate that King decided to update his epic nearly four decades after its original publication, it still feels like a poorly paced afterthought.

Fortunately, the show is boosted by a star-studded cast that rivals the original production, with Whoopie Goldberg making an excellent Mother Abigail and Owen Teague being a big improvement over Corin Nemec as Harold Lauder (with his Tom-Cruise-inspired incel demeanor making him a lot creepier despite his differences to the source material). I also adored the always-lovable Fiona Dourif as the gender-swapped Ratman, though I wish the script had given Jovan Adepo more to do as a less charming version of Larry Underwood.

My personal favorite recasting was Alexander Skarsgård as Randall Flagg. While I still think he should have incorporated more of Sheridan’s over-the-top persona into the character, both versions are equally memorable for different reasons, though the budget actually allows the more recent version of the villain to feel legitimately scary.

I have to address the elephant in the room, however, which is the fact that this high-profile TV show about a deadly virus was released in the middle of a real-world pandemic. Not only did this affect production, with filming being delayed due to Covid restrictions, but I also get the feeling that the non-linear editing might have been the result of CBS wanting to speed the story along and skip over the initial pandemic plot in order to distance the show from the real-world tragedies of 2020.

I can’t really confirm this theory, but I have the feeling that somewhere out there is a superior version of The Stand that tells the same story in chronological order and (hopefully) skips over the epilogue entirely.


So Which Is The Better Show?

It’s hard to objectively compare two pieces of artwork created in completely different eras. Many of the improvements of the 2020 version of The Stand are simply due to the evolving media landscape surrounding it and aren’t necessarily merits of that particular production. At the same time, several of the flaws of the 1994 mini-series were already egregious back in the day, we simply accepted them because that’s what was expected of genre TV or – as it was in my case – we grew up with it.

Looking back on it now, the 1994 production is a much more cohesive experience, benefiting from a linear plot and dialogue from Stephen King himself. Meanwhile, the 2020 reboot has singular moments of brilliance that outshine the original (like the reworked finale that miraculously makes the whole “Hand of God” scene less ridiculous) in between hours of messy and often boring storytelling. And on a minor note, both shows benefit from equally entertaining soundtracks, though it’s a shame that the more recent version relegates most of its music to the end credits.

At the end of the day, neither adaptation can quite convey the Tolkien-esque scope of the novel, even if the 2020 incarnation at least features some sweeping Peter-Jackson-inspired shots of the “modern fellowship” travelling to Las Vegas. That’s why I believe the definitive version of The Stand will always be the original novel, as the spiritual conflict of this particular epic lends itself better to literature than television – or even film for that matter, as the story’s structure would make it difficult to divide into a satisfying big budget trilogy.

That being said, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I still prefer the 1994 adaptation as my personal cheesy favorite.

Born Brazilian, raised Canadian, Luiz is a writer and Film student that spends most of his time watching movies and subsequently complaining about them.

Editorials

What’s Wrong with My Baby!? Larry Cohen’s ‘It’s Alive’ at 50

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Netflix It's Alive

Soon after the New Hollywood generation took over the entertainment industry, they started having children. And more than any filmmakers that came before—they were terrified. Rosemary’s Baby (1968), The Exorcist (1973), The Omen (1976), Eraserhead (1977), The Brood (1979), The Shining (1980), Possession (1981), and many others all deal, at least in part, with the fears of becoming or being a parent. What if my child turns out to be a monster? is corrupted by some evil force? or turns out to be the fucking Antichrist? What if I screw them up somehow, or can’t help them, or even go insane and try to kill them? Horror has always been at its best when exploring relatable fears through extreme circumstances. A prime example of this is Larry Cohen’s 1974 monster-baby movie It’s Alive, which explores the not only the rollercoaster of emotions that any parent experiences when confronted with the difficulties of raising a child, but long-standing questions of who or what is at fault when something goes horribly wrong.

Cohen begins making his underlying points early in the film as Frank Davis (John P. Ryan) discusses the state of the world with a group of expectant fathers in a hospital waiting room. They discuss the “overabundance of lead” in foods and the environment, smog, and pesticides that only serve to produce roaches that are “bigger, stronger, and harder to kill.” Frank comments that this is “quite a world to bring a kid into.” This has long been a discussion point among people when trying to decide whether to have kids or not. I’ve had many conversations with friends who have said they feel it’s irresponsible to bring children into such a violent, broken, and dangerous world, and I certainly don’t begrudge them this. My wife and I did decide to have children but that doesn’t mean that it’s been easy.

Immediately following this scene comes It’s Alive’s most famous sequence in which Frank’s wife Lenore (Sharon Farrell) is the only person left alive in her delivery room, the doctors clawed and bitten to death by her mutant baby, which has escaped. “What does my baby look like!? What’s wrong with my baby!?” she screams as nurses wheel her frantically into a recovery room. The evening that had begun with such joy and excitement at the birth of their second child turned into a nightmare. This is tough for me to write, but on some level, I can relate to this whiplash of emotion. When my second child was born, they came about five weeks early. I’ll use the pronouns “they/them” for privacy reasons when referring to my kids. Our oldest was still very young and went to stay with my parents and we sped off to the hospital where my wife was taken into an operating room for an emergency c-section. I was able to carry our newborn into the NICU (natal intensive care unit) where I was assured that this was routine for all premature births. The nurses assured me there was nothing to worry about and the baby looked big and healthy. I headed to where my wife was taken to recover to grab a few winks assuming that everything was fine. Well, when I awoke, I headed back over to the NICU to find that my child was not where I left them. The nurse found me and told me that the baby’s lungs were underdeveloped, and they had to put them in a special room connected to oxygen tubes and wires to monitor their vitals.

It’s difficult to express the fear that overwhelmed me in those moments. Everything turned out okay, but it took a while and I’m convinced to this day that their anxiety struggles spring from these first weeks of life. As our children grew, we learned that two of the three were on the spectrum and that anxiety, depression, ADHD, and OCD were also playing a part in their lives. Parents, at least speaking for myself, can’t help but blame themselves for the struggles their children face. The “if only” questions creep in and easily overcome the voices that assure us that it really has nothing to do with us. In the film, Lenore says, “maybe it’s all the pills I’ve been taking that brought this on.” Frank muses aloud about how he used to think that Frankenstein was the monster, but when he got older realized he was the one that made the monster. The aptly named Frank is wondering if his baby’s mutation is his fault, if he created the monster that is terrorizing Los Angeles. I have made plenty of “if only” statements about myself over the years. “If only I hadn’t had to work so much, if only I had been around more when they were little.” Mothers may ask themselves, “did I have a drink, too much coffee, or a cigarette before I knew I was pregnant? Was I too stressed out during the pregnancy?” In other words, most parents can’t help but wonder if it’s all their fault.

At one point in the film, Frank goes to the elementary school where his baby has been sighted and is escorted through the halls by police. He overhears someone comment about “screwed up genes,” which brings about age-old questions of nature vs. nurture. Despite the voices around him from doctors and detectives that say, “we know this isn’t your fault,” Frank can’t help but think it is, and that the people who try to tell him it isn’t really think it’s his fault too. There is no doubt that there is a hereditary element to the kinds of mental illness struggles that my children and I deal with. But, and it’s a bit but, good parenting goes a long way in helping children deal with these struggles. Kids need to know they’re not alone, a good parent can provide that, perhaps especially parents that can relate to the same kinds of struggles. The question of nature vs. nurture will likely never be entirely answered but I think there’s more than a good chance that “both/and” is the case. Around the midpoint of the film, Frank agrees to disown the child and sign it over for medical experimentation if caught or killed. Lenore and the older son Chris (Daniel Holzman) seek to nurture and teach the baby, feeling that it is not a monster, but a member of the family.

It’s Alive takes these ideas to an even greater degree in the fact that the Davis Baby really is a monster, a mutant with claws and fangs that murders and eats people. The late ’60s and early ’70s also saw the rise in mass murderers and serial killers which heightened the nature vs. nurture debate. Obviously, these people were not literal monsters but human beings that came from human parents, but something had gone horribly wrong. Often the upbringing of these killers clearly led in part to their antisocial behavior, but this isn’t always the case. It’s Alive asks “what if a ‘monster’ comes from a good home?” In this case is it society, environmental factors, or is it the lead, smog, and pesticides? It is almost impossible to know, but the ending of the film underscores an uncomfortable truth—even monsters have parents.

As the film enters its third act, Frank joins the hunt for his child through the Los Angeles sewers and into the L.A. River. He is armed with a rifle and ready to kill on sight, having divorced himself from any relationship to the child. Then Frank finds his baby crying in the sewers and his fatherly instincts take over. With tears in his eyes, he speaks words of comfort and wraps his son in his coat. He holds him close, pats and rocks him, and whispers that everything is going to be okay. People often wonder how the parents of those who perform heinous acts can sit in court, shed tears, and defend them. I think it’s a complex issue. I’m sure that these parents know that their child has done something evil, but that doesn’t change the fact that they are still their baby. Your child is a piece of yourself formed into a whole new human being. Disowning them would be like cutting off a limb, no matter what they may have done. It doesn’t erase an evil act, far from it, but I can understand the pain of a parent in that situation. I think It’s Alive does an exceptional job placing its audience in that situation.

Despite the serious issues and ideas being examined in the film, It’s Alive is far from a dour affair. At heart, it is still a monster movie and filled with a sense of fun and a great deal of pitch-black humor. In one of its more memorable moments, a milkman is sucked into the rear compartment of his truck as red blood mingles with the white milk from smashed bottles leaking out the back of the truck and streaming down the street. Just after Frank agrees to join the hunt for his baby, the film cuts to the back of an ice cream truck with the words “STOP CHILDREN” emblazoned on it. It’s a movie filled with great kills, a mutant baby—created by make-up effects master Rick Baker early in his career, and plenty of action—and all in a PG rated movie! I’m telling you, the ’70s were wild. It just also happens to have some thoughtful ideas behind it as well.

Which was Larry Cohen’s specialty. Cohen made all kinds of movies, but his most enduring have been his horror films and all of them tackle the social issues and fears of the time they were made. God Told Me To (1976), Q: The Winged Serpent (1982), and The Stuff (1985) are all great examples of his socially aware, low-budget, exploitation filmmaking with a brain and It’s Alive certainly fits right in with that group. Cohen would go on to write and direct two sequels, It Lives Again (aka It’s Alive 2) in 1978 and It’s Alive III: Island of the Alive in 1987 and is credited as a co-writer on the 2008 remake. All these films explore the ideas of parental responsibility in light of the various concerns of the times they were made including abortion rights and AIDS.

Fifty years after It’s Alive was initially released, it has only become more relevant in the ensuing years. Fears surrounding parenthood have been with us since the beginning of time but as the years pass the reasons for these fears only seem to become more and more profound. In today’s world the conversation of the fathers in the waiting room could be expanded to hormones and genetic modifications in food, terrorism, climate change, school and other mass shootings, and other threats that were unknown or at least less of a concern fifty years ago. Perhaps the fearmongering conspiracy theories about chemtrails and vaccines would be mentioned as well, though in a more satirical fashion, as fears some expectant parents encounter while endlessly doomscrolling Facebook or Twitter. Speaking for myself, despite the struggles, the fears, and the sadness that sometimes comes with having children, it’s been worth it. The joys ultimately outweigh all of that, but I understand the terror too. Becoming a parent is no easy choice, nor should it be. But as I look back, I can say that I’m glad we made the choice we did.

I wonder if Frank and Lenore can say the same thing.

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