It ★★★

    As I walked into an early afternoon screening of Andy Muschietti's "It," my concerns were threefold: (1) Would the film remain faithful to the source material? (2) Could a cast led by a bunch of teenagers capture the emotional intensity needed for this type of movie? (3) And lastly, would it scare me senseless? I'm pleased to report that "It" scored a two out of three, which isn't so bad considering the recent run of horror pictures I've had to ingest. (It seems that Hollywood has finally produced a horror flick that believes in story and character rather than ambling plotlines and aimless jump scares.)

    The good news: I must give credit where credit is due, and the success of this production of "It" ultimately lies with the oddball mind responsible for the written work: Stephen King. (I'm more of a classics man myself, but what King has accomplished in the realm of fiction is simply stupefying.) Muschietti's adaptation—he not only directs but had a hand in the script revision—features a majority of the book's most indispensable moments, and despite the obvious reworking of several scenes, it never fails to encapsulate King's vision with this sneaky sense of grace and poise. (For all you diehard "It" fanatics, there won't be any mentions of the "Ritual of Chüd" or Maturin, a planet-sized sage in the form of a turtle, yet there are plenty of Easter eggs for your perusal.)

    And that's the beautiful thing about this rendering of King's "It"—Muschietti and cinematographer Chung-hoon Chung let the story tell itself. Sure, the canted angle makes an appearance, and there are some subtle uses of foreground framing (both contributing to the psychological tension of the piece), but Muschietti plainly opted for an unobtrusive directorial style, and the results could not be more flattering. I mean, who needs fancy camera work when you've got a surplus of King's trademark themes to feast on. ("It" is a tale of childhood trauma, sacrifice, and small-town fakery, and I'll relate more of the movie's message as this review concludes.)

    I assume you'll need a plot summary right about now, so here goes—Derry is a whistle-stop with a secret: It's harboring one of the nation's deadliest serial killers. Of course, the townsfolk are unaware of this fact (remember, this is a story about the salad days, not adulthood), and only a close-knit group of youths, nicknamed The Losers' Club, can really see what's troubling the community. (It's also worth noting that Pennywise, a death-dealing clown who serves as the main antagonist, tends to terrorize children, which explains the adults' absence.) As expected, there's a healthy dose of supernatural mischief, adolescent bonding, and below-the-belt humor, and it is the film's coming-of-age subtext that truly steals the show. Millennials: Think "Stranger Things" with moderately better characterizations and a bigger budget.

    I'd be doing a huge disservice if I did not talk up the young actors that breathe life into this picture. (Quite frankly, they deserve much of the praise; it's their naturalness in front of the camera that helps reinforce the film's believability.) Sophia Lillis is Beverly Marsh, the sole female member of the club and arguably the most charming. Lillis takes the role of the tomboy and displays such authenticity, and I know it's a tad premature for critical acclaim, but something about this young actress just screams talent. Which brings me to Bill Skarsgård as Pennywise, a demonic, dancing clown last portrayed by the amiable Tim Curry in the 1990's miniseries. Not only did Skarsgård have to separate this performance from the latter, but he had to find a middle ground in a sea of endless interpretations. In the most unlikely manner, the Swedish actor hits all the right notes, and his Yoda-inspired delivery (pay attention to the iconic first scene) adds a certain level of creepiness to the character. (I want to apologize for any names that have been forgotten; there's only so much room for commendation.)

    The bad news: I will decline the invitation to nitpick and get right to the point—"It," regardless of effort, rarely comes off as frightening, and reader, I did my best to keep a straight face the entire sitting. (At times, the scares appear more comical than paralyzing, and if not for the psychological portion of the program, this "It" would be a dud.) But let's put this into perspective: It's never an easy task spooking critics, and unless you're a filmmaker with a flair for the grotesque, then I'm afraid there's little that can be done. (I have seen my fair share of horror movies, and it's not exactly a genre known for reaching outside the box.) Come to think of it, barring a bathroom bloodbath (of the literal variety), the terror is relatively tame.

    This "It" brings back memories of yesteryear with its nostalgic and melancholic look at adolescence, and no matter how hard I try, I can't help but see the film as a metaphor for the destruction of innocence. (These interpretations are subjective by nature, yet one cannot deny the through line given to us.) Note: The adults are regularly depicted at arm's length (one could even argue that the parents are the real monsters), and who can ignore a line of dialogue spoken by our central villain that expresses this view: "Old age takes you back to the weeds." Now there's a scary thought. Before I forget, be sure to remember the names of the production design team—Claude Paré, Peter Grundy, and Rosalie Board. You'll know why once you see the set pieces.