By Robert Scucci
| Published 22 seconds ago

I’m a huge Stephen King fan, but I’m not necessarily a superfan of anything or anyone. As a result, my personal headcanon is scattered at best, and until we invent a machine that lets me enjoy more hours per day, I plan to operate on this level for the foreseeable future. That is all to say that while I thoroughly enjoyed the 2017 Netflix Original adaptation of his novella 1922, I can’t tell you how faithful the movie is to its source material.

What I can tell you, however, is that writer-director Zak Hilditch is a master at generating suspense for a story that has no mystery. 1922 isn’t about a murder its protagonist is about to commit. It’s about the murder he already carried out, and the guilt that consumes him from the inside out as he slowly loses his sanity while recounting the events that transpired.

Wilfred, Henry … And Arlette For A Few Minutes

1922 boasts a barebones plot because it’s more concerned with the guilt and shame that eat away at a man’s sanity after committing an unspeakable act. The act in question is the murder of Arlette Winters James (Molly Parker), committed by Wilfred “Wilf” James (Thomas Jane), with the help of his 14-year-old son, Henry (Dylan Schmid).

The short version is that Wilf owns 80 acres of Nebraska farmland that he wants to hold onto for his family for generations. Arlette owns an additional adjoining 100 acres that she inherited from her father, and she wants to sell the property so she can move to Omaha and live out her dream of becoming a dressmaker. The problem is that if she sells to the livestock company that’s interested, Wilf won’t be able to make a living or maintain the legacy he wants to pass down to Henry.

Refusing to entertain any sale, Wilf rejects the idea outright, prompting Arlette to begin divorce proceedings. She plans to bleed him dry with legal fees and move to the city with Henry anyway, so Wilf doesn’t feel like he has a lot of options. What he does have is influence over his son, who’s reluctant to leave because he’s in love with the neighbor girl, Shannon Cotterie (Kaitlyn Bernard).

Wilf convinces Henry that the only way to stop the land from being sold and the family from being torn apart is to kill Arlette. And they do. Henry reluctantly covers his mother’s face while she sleeps, and Wilf slits her throat. They spend the next day cleaning up the crime scene and dump her body in a dry well near the house. What Wilf doesn’t anticipate is how this act will come back to haunt him and destroy everything he thought he was protecting. Not a supernatural curse, but one born entirely from guilt.

You Can Take This One Literally

There’s no need for deep symbolism in 1922 because the premise is already doing the work. The movie opens with Wilf writing a confession letter to an unknown recipient. There’s no suspense leading up to the murder because it’s inevitable. He tells you what he did, and then the film shows you how it happened.

There are no traditional ghouls or specters, but Wilf is clearly haunted. He sees apparitions of his wife’s corpse, especially when he hits the bottle too hard. The well where he dumped her body has a direct path to the house, and the rats that feed on her remains eventually invade his home, serving as a constant, physical reminder of what he’s done.

Henry doesn’t fare any better. Though he was manipulated into helping murder his mother, he’s immediately shaken by his actions. He leaves the farm with Shannon to start a new life, but that life quickly spirals into reckless decisions and petty crime. Wilf killed his wife to keep the family together (in his warped logic), and still manages to lose everything.

That’s what 1922 is really about. Wilf technically gets away with murder, but he can’t live with it. He destroys everything he claims to stand for, and the guilt eats away at him piece by piece. The rats aren’t just a gross detail, they’re a constant reminder that there’s no escaping what he’s done.It’s a slow-burn descent into madness that’s meant to make you extremely uncomfortable, and Zak Hilditch delivers on that promise.

One of the better Stephen King adaptations in recent memory, 1922 gets under your skin and stays there. If this is your idea of unwinding after a long day, it’s waiting for you on Netflix whenever you’ve got the stomach for it.