Like the small towns that dot the lonely roads here in Oklahoma, Nebraska is not far off from us. Dusty and decrepit, all the towns really need are many stalks of wilted corn (or wheat) and spiritually inbred children.
Very loosely based on the tight short story by Stephen King, Children of the Corn was made into a movie by now-Oklahoma-based director Fritz Kiersch (interviewed in Flick Attack Movie Arsenal: Book One) in 1984, with many critics then (and today) calling it one the worst King adaptations of all-time.
But I consider Kiersch’s bastardized adaptation to be King’s best movie for the horror screen.
A long time ago, in the rural town of Gatlin, Nebraska, the entire kid community massacred all the adults under the leadership of the diminutive messiah Isaac (John Franklin). Now, a few years later, a young couple — Burt (Peter Horton) and Vicky (Linda Hamilton) – run over a child on the lonely road, with foreboding cornstalks on both sides.
As Burt and Vicky go to town to find answers, they find the children are part of a corn-worshipping blood cult that pays homage to “He Who Walks Behind the Rows,” a demonic force that turns innocent children into bloodthirsty anti-saviors of mankind. As Burt looks for a way out, Vicky is eventually strung on a cornstalk cross at the esoteric deity comes for her. With the children running from the ’84 special effects, the demonically possessed man-child Isaac gives a final stand!
While the personas of Burt and Vicky are fine in their cardboard stock-characters, the teen followers of this dirty deity are simply frightening, especially the ginger-haired fireplug Malachai (Courtney Gains) and, worse, the infernal hayseed Isaac.
I believe this movie is all about Kiersch’s willingness to showcase most of the sacrilegious slaughter on the big screen, even if most of the gore scenes are grossly implied; still, the idea of a community of murderous children will always keep me awake, haunting my dreams since my small-town VHS rental. From a native Texas filmmaker (with, I’m guessing, an Oklahoma background), it seems what rural Oklahoma is actually like: endless miles of ghostly towns with one or two people outside a filling station on a sweaty afternoon, a cult of devil-worshippers behind every curtain.
From the troubled-teen drama Tuff Turf (with James Spader) to the sadomasochist fantasy Gor (with Jack Palance), Kiersch’s low-budget films have been given the Oklahoma Outlander Seal of Approval from the psychotronic fan in all of us, even if we don’t want them. I don’t blame you. —Louis Fowler