The movie was better. A small part of me wanted to just drop the mike and walk away. But I like to expound upon my perceptions, even if Iím doing it for my own pleasure and edification. First, Iíd like to thank Trudi (aka The Busty Book Bimbo) for throwing down the gauntlet and calling yours truly to the red carpet. Yes, she may have called me out a while ago, but Iím from West Virginia, and we tend to talk and move a little slow. And, yeah, I had the movie version in the back of my mind with Jack Nicholson at his finest level of insanity. Rather than break the spell, I wanted to hold onto my crazy ways.
THE SHINING was a slow bleed for me. Sure, it was freaky and crazy and had a certain level of insanity and madness, but itíd take me about three days to bleed out. The movie version, however, bled me out in less than twenty minutes. That shit was crazy. And grotesque. And strange. And weird. And the way Jack Nicholson pounded away at the keysÖwell, that reminded me of the great man himself slaving over his typewriter in the 1970s with a gleam in his eye and a razorblade in his hip pocket.
But Stephen King never quite captures that level of horror for me, where Iím sleeping with my Honey Boo Boo nightlight and sucking my thumb for a week at a time. He freaks me out a little, like an itch I canít quite scratch, and I may look over my shoulder once or twice, before I move on with my life. And, sure, I get the feeling that he might be a little bit nuts, because genius and hovering outside the norm walk hand-in-hand across I-95. But thatís where I meet the brick wall going at 70 mph in the slow lane.
The story dragged along a bit longer than necessary. Sure, the man can spin a yarn better than Calvin Klein, but a little brevity never hurt anybody, and unfortunately, you wonít find it here. That being said, though, Iím glad I was taken to task for my novel skipping ways, and I shall make a more valiant attempt in the future at staying on top of things. When I do, I shall most definitely alert the proper authorities.
Oh, and I may never stay in a hotel in rural Colorado. But Iíll kindly thank Stanley Kubrick for that one.