But fear not (or otherwise) – there are a few good twists down the line, even if the ending is a bit obvious. 'It's a f**king evil room,' hisses smooth-talking hotel manager Gerald Olin (Samuel L Jackson) (well, you didn't expect him to get through an entire film without being made to say the f-word did you?) And, well, yes it is, especially at first, when a series of creepy little incidents and freaky, almost subliminal camera shots of blood and death set the ghostly scene nicely, establishing an unsettling atmosphere of that's really quite disturbing.īut as things get messy in the usual Stephen King stylee (sinks that ooze blood, walls that spontaneously crack apart, weird, masked, axe-wielding gimps that suddenly appear then disappear again – you know the sort of thing) the film itself gets decidedly less scary (for which read 'not actually scary at all' – unless you're a squeaky twelve-year-old girl pretending to be fifteen). Which is why, when he's sent a mysterious postcard warning him not to stay in room 1408 of the Dolphin Hotel in New York, he's determined to do just that, despite the fact that the room as been the scene of over 50 deaths since the hotel opened at the turn of the last century (which of course, by American standards, makes it 'incredibly old'). Blimey, you must be psychic.Įnslin, on the other hand, is definitely not psychic, but a confirmed debunker of all things spiritual. What was that? A Stephen King hero who's a writer? Next you'll be telling me he's not fulfilling his literary potential, has gone through a messy relationship breakdown and, despite having given up smoking, keeps a single cigarette with him as part of his writing ritual.
Mike Enslin (John Cusack) is a cynical ghostbuster who earns a living writing rubbishy 'most haunted' tourist guides. The premise of the film is simple, and really rather obvious. But what the hell, it's Friday night, and I thought I'd give haunted hotel shocker 1408 a whirl.
But when it comes to horror movies, I can be a bit of snob, tending to turn my (not insignificant) nose up at anything that reeks of the multiplex (so that's popcorn and rubber cheese nachos, I guess).īut you have to make an exception for Stephen King, even if the last time I was actually scared in one of his on-screen adaptations, I was still at school and Kathy Bates was turning James Caan into an oogy mess.
I'll take Ridley Scott over Lars von Trier any day.
Now, you know me (possibly): when it comes to movies, I'm shamelessly mainstream.
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