Firestarter is not necessarily one of Stephen King’s most beloved novels, although it is very good. It’s certainly well known, mostly on account of the 1984 film adaptation which, while not considered the best adaptation of his work, is respected for a variety of reasons (the main one for me being the inclusion of so many fully on fire stunt performers). The plot is complex, following Andy McGee and his daughter Charlie as they live their lives on the run from a mysterious CIA-adjacent entity called The Shop.
Back in college, Andy and his now-deceased wife innocently took part in a medical study which saw them injected with a mysterious chemical called Lot Six. The reactions among their group varied from nothing at all to violent self-destruction, but the McGees both survived, receiving a small “superpower” to boot. For Andy it’s the ability to mentally “push” people to obey his will. For his wife Vicky, it’s telekinesis. But when their now-altered genome gets passed to their child, it grants young Charlie the ability to create and control fire…if only she can learn to control herself first.
The Shop desperately wants to study young Charlie, but they’ll have to find her first. To this end they send a bounty hunter by the name of John Rainbird who, in exchange for capturing Charlie, has exclusive rights to her murder once all experimentation is done. You see, ever since losing an eye while killing enemies in Vietnam, Rainbird has desperately wanted to know and understand death. He has looked into the eyes of each of his victims at the moment of their passing, hoping for some quantifiable spark to manifest, giving him a glimpse of what lies beyond this mortal coil. None of his victims have given him the knowledge he seeks so far, but he is convinced that Charlie, with her incredible abilities, could be the outlier that grants him his wish.
And in perfect Stephen King fashion, the excessively violent plot is also a clever shell through which my all-time favorite author explores themes of parenthood, childhood, right vs. wrong, and man vs. government. It’s a fantastic read, and the 1984 film adaptation manages to capture a lot of what makes it work so well (even if it horribly miscasts George C. Scott as Rainbird — don’t worry, he gives an energetic, exciting performance nonetheless).
This latest adaptation, now available streaming on Peacock and in theaters (sandwiched between walls of Dr. Strange, removes all of this in favor of softer characters, sparser action, and about as much thematic depth as a shower curtain. Almost immediately after it begins, Firestarter makes its goals pretty clear: Don’t let anything happen that is permanent enough to jeopardize the potential for a weekly series.
While I cannot speak to the history of this version of Firestarter, I’d bet damn good money that it started its life as a TV show, but minds were changed and the pilot was padded to feature length in an effort to hedge the bets of producers. But who knows? I’m no expert on the business end of things. I do know story, however, and this one is woefully incomplete.
In this bland, ugly, turgid update, Andy (Zac Efron, whose physique still puzzles me) is not immediately on the run with his daughter (Ryan Kiera Armstrong). Our entrance to the story this time around has the McGee family still together, Mom (Sydney Lemmon) still alive, and all three living as low key a life as is possible since The Shop may turn up to claim their missing subjects at any moment. The origin of the McGee’s powers (the aforementioned medical study) is handled in a rushed, sloppy opening montage that will likely make very little sense if you haven’t read the book or watched the previous movie. If, as I suspect, this was meant to be a TV show, I guess this sequence could pass for opening credits, but that doesn’t make the info-dump any easier to swallow.
Soon, Andy and Charlie are on the run, and The Shop’s best henchman, John Rainbird, is dispatched to intercept them. Here he is played by Michael Greyeyes, both eyes intact, and instead of being a fucked up veteran who craves violent cosmic knowledge, he’s just another guy who survived an application of Lot Six. He too has the ability to “push” people toward his will. It never comes into play. We do know that he’s dangerous, however, because he wears black, but otherwise one of King’s wildest characters barely registers.
The same goes for pretty much everyone else as well. Colorful characters are either eliminated entirely, or introduced in passing, and then spared the fates assigned to them in the source material, likely in an effort to keep them on board for the show, which, based on the quality of this movie, is never going to happen anyway. The stakes feel impossibly low as a result, and lacking the many killer set-pieces provided in the source material/previous adaptation, the majesty of Charlie’s powers, and the evils of The Shop’s methods, are of little to no consequence.
To be fair, if this were indeed the pilot of a show, it might nab some less picky viewers. But as presented here, it will fail to drum up interest, and will remain a lifeless, unfinished product, devoid of scares, style, or a reason to exist. One or two moments threaten to shine, but they are lost in a pile of terrible choices.
The music, by the legendary John Carpenter, Cody Carpenter, and Daniel A. Davies is something I hoped would be worth lauding, but unfortunately it is rather basic. It’s fine, I guess. But without a movie upon which these melodies can work their magic, it all just sounds samey. No love lost to Carpenter, who remains one of the best to ever do it, but in the same way we can all pick out a Hans Zimmer score based on the repeated use of his particular bag of tricks, this one reeks of Carpenter’s old standbys. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, since bad John Carpenter is still in the realm of good, but it really doesn’t feel like he or his cohorts tried that hard. So in that way, it’s pretty on brand for the film.
Directed by Keith Thomas
Written by Scott Teems, based on the novel by Stephen King
Starring Zac Efron, Ryan Kiera Armstrong, Sydney Lemmon, Michael Greyeyes
Rated R, 94 minutes.
