Imagine stumbling upon a childhood nightmare resurrected on your favorite streaming service, stirring up memories that make you question if some films are better left buried—especially when they're from Disney. That's the eerie thrill of 'Something Wicked This Way Comes,' now available on Disney+ for the first time ever, just in time for Halloween. But here's where it gets controversial: Is this PG-rated gem a harmless family flick, or a psychological minefield that scarred a generation? Let's dive in and unpack why this 1983 adaptation of Ray Bradbury's classic novel is both a nostalgic trip and a puzzling anomaly that might leave you scratching your head.
For families seeking a spooky yet not-overly-intense watch as the autumn leaves fall, Disney+ has delivered a real treat—or should I say, trick? This film, based on Ray Bradbury's beloved story, has been hiding in the vaults, never before streaming anywhere. As a member of Gen X who grew up glued to cable TV, I can tell you it felt like one of those endless reruns that looped in the background of our youth. Revisiting it now is like waking from a hazy dream, with familiar scenes tugging at dormant memories while others make you pause and wonder, 'Did it always feel this off-kilter?'
At its core, 'Something Wicked This Way Comes' is a dark fantasy tale set in a quaint Midwestern town—think the 1920s, though it's never explicitly stated—where two young boys, Will and Jim, uncover a sinister secret behind a traveling carnival that rolls in during the unseasonably late fall. This isn't your typical circus with cotton candy and clowns; it's a harbinger of darkness, and the boys are the first to sense it. Only Will's father, Charles, the town's melancholic librarian who rarely loosens his tie and harbors a deep fascination with mortality, believes them. The story builds to a powerful message: that pure familial love and forgiveness are the ultimate weapons against evil. But before we get there, buckle up for a wild ride of bizarre special effects, over-the-top freak-outs, and emotional depth that swings wildly between fun and foreboding.
The film's tone is undeniably peculiar, shifting from a dazzling light-and-sound spectacle to a somber reflection on growing older. Jason Robards, who played Charles at age 60, portrays a father whose late-in-life parenthood feels tragic—his weak heart keeps him from tossing a ball with his young son (a minor disappointment) but also prevents him from saving the boy from a near-drowning (a far more harrowing ordeal). And this is the part most people miss: the movie subtly explores the boys' looming adolescence, with puberty depicted as a terrifying rite of passage. Jim's father, the town drunk who once heroically rescued Will, has vanished—Jim convinces himself he's on an African safari—while Jim's mother languishes in bed or entertains visitors. The boys' fears culminate in visions of a seductive 'Woman of the East,' who can reduce men to helpless puddles and caresses a pet tarantula like a lover. No psychology degree needed to decode this as a metaphor for the anxieties of growing up—remember, this came from Disney!
When the action ramps up, it's a exhilarating chase: the kids dash through town, outrunning an animated, poisonous green fog. Mr. Dark, the carnival's eerie leader played by Jonathan Pryce in a sinister top hat, dazzles with tricks, including literal sleeve-pulling and mesmerizing animated tattoos. Yet, for every burst of energy, there's a heavy dose of gloom. Will and Charles brood in the dead of night, engaging in profound, unsettling talks—like Dad's eerie explanation that 3 a.m. is 'the soul's midnight,' the hour when deaths peak. Talk about a mood killer!
This film's journey to the screen is as twisted as its plot. It started as a short story in 1948 called 'The Black Ferris,' later adapted into an episode of NBC's 'Ray Bradbury Theater' in 1990. Bradbury expanded it into a novel in 1962, set in the nostalgic, folksy world of Green Town, Illinois—a backdrop for several of his works. In the early 1970s, Kirk Douglas produced it with director Jack Clayton (known for classics like 'Room at the Top' and 'The Innocents,' and later 'The Great Gatsby') at the helm, but Paramount shelved it amid internal conflicts. Rumors swirled of other directors like Sam Peckinpah or even Steven Spielberg eyeing it.
Fast-forward to the 1980s, when Disney was experimenting wildly—think flops like the sci-fi dud 'The Black Hole,' the mirror-shattering horror 'The Watcher in the Woods,' and the video game-inspired 'Tron' that at least turned a profit. The 'Disney Renaissance' was brewing with hits like 'The Little Mermaid,' but this era was a gamble. Bradbury's script got the go-ahead, yet Disney demanded reshoots from Clayton to tone it down for families. Ironically, they added the infamous tarantula swarm scene, which remains the film's highlight. So, was Disney's meddling misguided, or did it enhance the chaos? The result is a patchwork quilt of brilliance and oddity that's endlessly captivating.
With October's crisp air mirroring the story's autumnal chill—the carnival folk are dubbed 'The Autumn People'—now's the perfect time to stream it. The visual effects and animations hold up beautifully, from matte-painted Midwestern landscapes ablaze with fall colors to James Horner's lush score, fresh from 'Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan' and destined for 'Braveheart,' 'Apollo 13,' and 'Avatar.' It borrows Star Wars-esque grandeur at just the right moments.
While the dramatic bits sometimes fumble, their earnestness shines through—no snarky one-liners here, just heartfelt pleas like 'Dad, don't talk death!' It's a rarity: a family film that's sincere, strange, and singular. They don't make them like this anymore, and honestly, they probably never did regularly.
But let's stir the pot: In an era of strict ratings, would 'Something Wicked This Way Comes' even get a PG today, or would it be bumped to PG-13 for its psychological scares and themes of decay? And is its portrayal of puberty and aging too heavy-handed for kids, or a bold exploration of life's darker sides? Do you agree that Disney's reshoots improved it, or do you think they diluted Bradbury's vision? Share your opinions in the comments—I'm curious to hear if this film haunts you too!
Jordan Hoffman is a seasoned writer and critic based in New York City. His insightful pieces appear in Vanity Fair, The Guardian, and the Times of Israel. As a member of the New York Film Critics Circle, he tweets at @JHoffman about everything from Phish concerts to Star Trek adventures.
