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TIME: Almanac 1995
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TIME Almanac 1995.iso
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1995-02-24
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<text id=94TT0607>
<title>
May 09, 1994: Television:Slouching Toward Vegas
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1994
May 09, 1994 Nelson Mandela
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
ARTS & MEDIA/TELEVISION, Page 83
Slouching Towards Vegas
</hdr>
<body>
<p> The Stand, Stephen King's apocalyptic novel, becomes an often
gripping, occasionally overblown mini-series
</p>
<p>By Richard Zoglin
</p>
<p> Like the vampires, ghouls, rabid dogs and other monsters that
populate his fiction, Stephen King seems practically unstoppable.
New novels appear with almost supernatural speed, take a choke
hold on the best-seller lists, and are transformed into movies
that typically make a quick blitz at the box office before settling
into a long, lucrative life on the video shelves. For an impressive
array of filmmakers, from Brian De Palma to Rob Reiner, King
has made an ideal collaborator: he provides the sprawling, imaginative
raw material; they bring the cinematic compression and sometimes
(as in Stanley Kubrick's The Shining) the resonance of art.
</p>
<p> Television, however, handles King clumsily. ABC's four-hour
version of It (childhood friends battle nameless evil, personified
by Tim Curry as a malevolent clown) was bloated and out of control,
while The Tommyknockers (more nameless evil, this time chasing
Jimmy Smits) seemed derivative and halfhearted. Still, both
were big hits in the ratings. At a time when TV is awash in
docudramas and uplifting moral tales, King's dark, fanciful
(though still moralistic) stories seem liberating.
</p>
<p> The Stand, airing on ABC next week, is the biggest TV serving
of King yet. Based on his 800-page 1978 novel (to which the
author restored 400 previously cut pages in 1990), it spans
four nights and eight hours and portrays nothing less than the
end of the world as we know it. King's horrors, as usual, are
firmly rooted in the everyday. The opening scene sets the tone.
At a government lab nestled in a quiet California desert community,
a security guard gets a panicked alarm: the containment of a
deadly experimental virus has been breached. Instead of triggering
the security system, the guard races across the manicured lawns,
grabs his wife and baby and bolts off in a car before the area
can be quarantined.
</p>
<p> He is the unwitting carrier of a germ that causes flulike symptoms
and sudden, grisly death in almost everyone who comes in contact
with it. A simple cough and sniffle are the homely signs of
doom. In a series of short, effective scenes that hopscotch
around the country--a small town in East Texas, a disease-control
lab in Vermont, the streets of New York City--the plague spreads,
causing death, panic, chaos. Practically all that remains of
civilization is talk-radio etiquette. A radio host (Kathy Bates),
enraged about the "superflu" cover-up, takes calls from panicked
listeners who tell of dying babies and mass body burnings. Says
one caller: "First of all ((cough)), I just want to tell you
that I love your show..."
</p>
<p> The first two hours of The Stand, which Mick Garris directed
from a screenplay by King, are as gripping as anything in recent
TV memory. But after the cities have been cleaned out, the mini-series
mutates into a more tepid apocalyptic soap opera. The narrative
coalesces around a few disparate survivors (who have an unexplained
immunity to the flu), among them an easygoing Texan (Gary Sinise),
a pregnant young woman from Maine (Molly Ringwald), a rock singer
(Adam Storke) and an angelic deaf-mute (Rob Lowe). The few people
left are mystically drawn into two camps: one led by a messiah-like
black woman (Ruby Dee), the other by a satanic "dark man" (a
leonine Jamey Sheridan).
</p>
<p> This allegory of good and evil has a '60s counterculture mind-set.
The military hides the truth about the deadly plague and strong-arms
the populace like Nazi storm troopers. The whole disaster is
portrayed as an environmental corrective to the evils unleashed
by the military-scientific complex. (It can be no accident that
the villain's name is Flagg.) The good people make their stand
in bucolic Boulder, Colorado; the bad guys set up headquarters
in Las Vegas. Characters periodically remind each other about
the perils of remaking society--"trying to re-create the world
that damn near choked the human race to death," as one puts
it.
</p>
<p> When it comes to gore, The Stand is more restrained than most
King horror shows, but its metaphysical flights are prodigal.
Dreams and visions abound, and the demonic villain has supernatural
powers of indeterminate nature. King can't resist throwing everything
into the pot. A TV movie about the apocalypse can get away with
quoting Eliot ("This is the way the world ends, not with a bang
but a whimper") or Yeats ("What rough beast...slouches towards
Bethlehem?"), but probably not both. Still, even when The Stand
skirts tedium and pretentiousness, King is a rough beast that
TV is lucky to have.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>