As I watched It: Chapter Two, I had to ask myself, “Why did they make this a two-part movie?” The second installment is a staggering two hours and 50 minutes long, and as I recall, there were a few advertisements (or fan-made advertisements) that boasted its length: “You’re gonna get so much bang for your buck.” And bang is what you get, as the movie tells the story of the kids from the Losers’ Club returning to Derry, Maine, as adults after they are alerted to the reemergence of Pennywise the Dancing Clown, who is back to slake his thirst for humankind after a 27-year hiatus.
I can really feel the amount of story on writer Gary Dauberman’s shoulders, too, but all I can think is that the entire production should have been cut in half (a three-hour movie cut in half is still 90 minutes, after all), and the first film should have been done away with because it doesn’t reveal anything that the sequel avoids. That is, It: Chapter Two adeptly does what the first one could not, which is that it doesn’t show us trauma as it’s happening but how adults deal with trauma after its (har, har) happened, which I think is a far more interesting story. Thus, the most powerful moments come from the adults as they look back at their adolescence in a perennially tormented town infested by an alien shapeshifter who likes to pull pranks on the residents…oh, and he eats them, too.
In comparing this adaptation to the 1990 miniseries, there is sort of a flip as to what works and what doesn’t work between the two cinematic properties. For instance, the first installment of the miniseries has widely lauded performances from its young cast, while the second-half of the miniseries takes a nosedive due to the lack of charm from the adult counterparts.
The adults in It: Chapter Two, meanwhile, are outstanding, for the most part.
James McAvoy as Bill Denbrough is magnificent, and the viewer gets to watch him slowly slip back into his childhood stutter, which gets more intense as the film moves on, and James Ransone’s Eddie Kaspbrak is so well done (he’s neurotic, he’s weird, he’s hopelessly addicted to domineering women) that he is very nearly my favorite character of the group. Very nearly, I say, because Bill Hader as Richie Tozier was an excellent move on Casting Director Rich Delia’s part, and leaves Harry Anderson’s miniseries portrayal of Richie far behind.
However, I felt as though Ben Hanscom and Beverly Marsh were under characterized. Jessica Chastain gives a sort of haunted reading of Beverly—she seems somewhat conflicted, somewhat aloof, and always fearful—which doesn’t play as well as Sophia Lillis’s performance as the younger version of Beverly. Lillis is audacious, unafraid, and confident. She is a tomboy and embodies that spirit exactly, which makes the viewer really believe she will dive off a cliff and into a watering hole before the rest of the Losers’ Club even considers looking over the edge. I did not get the same vibe from Chastain.
Jay Ryan as Ben Hanscom, meanwhile, suffers the same lackluster fate in the film. While the other characters all have identifiable voices (the funny guy, the leader dude, the neurotic one), Ben is simply the guy that used to be the fat kid who was in love, and still is, with Beverly. (side note: Brandon Crane, who played 12-year-old Ben Hanscom in the It miniseries makes an appearance in It: Chapter Two, discussing one of the new architectural designs that Jay Ryan’s Ben Hanscom has dreamed up). Ben’s story arc resolves as expected, which is fine, but that little extra thing just isn’t there the way it is in James McAvoy’s Bill or Bill Hader’s Ritchie.
My final note on casting is that it took me two-and-a-half movies (which is something like six hours) to warm up to Bill Skarsgard as the titular IT. One of the first truly traumatic movie-watching experiences of my life was seeing Tim Curry execute the most terrifying performances of a child-eating clown ever to grace the silver screen (do you know how many goddamned drains I checked as a child?) As an adult, I realize that Curry’s performance was far more nuanced than I could have imagined as a boy—and it’s actually kind of a funny portrayal, too. Nevertheless, Skarsgard gives a winning performance because he doesn’t redo Tim Curry’s role—he makes it his own—which is somewhere between Bozo the Clown and what I imagine John Wayne Gacy was like right before he went in for the kill (morbid, I know, but you gotta imagine that some people really have seen the deadlights).
While this is mostly a positive review, the film is not without flaw.
The sound design of both It (2017) and It: Chapter Two is probably some of the worst I’ve ever heard as a moviegoer. Literally, the crescendo of music stings gave me a headache as noises hectically moved from polite whispers to full-blown cannon fire in my head. Some of this can be attributed to the film’s other committed sin, which is that it relies on jump scares as the main delivery of horror. We are in an era where “horror movie” translates to “jump scare,” which is depressing because that means such things as “subtlety” and “atmosphere” are oftentimes lost. There are plenty of jump scares in classic cinema, sure. I mean, who can forget Dallas’s final moments in Alien (1979) when the xenomorph emerges from the darkness and goes in for a less-than-polite hug; but, there is so much more to the horror elements in Director Ridley Scott’s science fiction masterpiece that both shock and surprise the audience without blowing out their eardrums with sonic explosions, or destroying their eyes with sickening quick cuts.
The final irksome moment in the film is during the finale in which Pennywise is confronted by the Losers’ Club in his own underground nest, which is actually a neat set piece—not as cool as the first film’s final set piece but cool enough. The moment I am referencing involves the use of CGI and nonsensical plotting (side note: if you have to use CGI to make fortune cookies, you should really re-analyze how effective the scene will be with or without it). I will stand by this following statement until the day I die: if the finale of your horror film is even slightly reminiscent of a boss fight in a first-person shooter (or any video game for that matter), you, as a director, must punch yourself in the face immediately and then rework your ending.
In the finale, Pennywise is a giant CGI spider thing (it doesn’t look great) and he is running in a circular motion with three glowing blue balls hovering overhead, which I think he is drawing his power from (not made explicitly clear), and he is chasing the protagonists around as they try to evade him. I mean, I have played this very scene in so many video games. The protagonists were just missing Cortana from the Halo video game series to tell them to shoot the glowing balls to weaken Pennywise enough to hurt him.
Overall, this is a well-done movie with plenty of little surprises and interesting scenes (the Beverly and Mrs. Kersh scene was nearly perfect its level of unsettling), and the cast is amazing (mostly). The sins the movie commits are excusable, too, but this brings me to my last point:
Movies shouldn’t have to have excusable scenes. The rampant use of CGI in film is really destroying movies that could be exceptional. (I’m looking at you and your gingerbread men Krampus ). It: Chapter Two is almost great, but it’s ruined by the sloppy use of digital graphics and some inconsistencies in imagery (baby-headed bugs? Okie-dokie). Cruddy Spider-Clowns and fortune cookies aside, movies are an art form that should rival the best offerings from music, books, and paintings. We don’t look at a Van Gogh painting and say, “This painting is really good, except I could do without that terrible-looking Gungan and droid battle that’s happening in the background.” And, yes, not every director is a genius painter, and practical effects are expensive and time consuming to pull off, but, you know what? Moviegoers will still be talking about good use of CGI and practical effects in films long after they have forgotten about Dwayne Johnson in the The Mummy Returns (2001) or that street fight with a million agents in Matrix Reloaded (2003). I mean, are we setting out to consume and create art that requires excusable moments? At the end of the day, movies should make us feel with a balanced use of visual storytelling and dialogue. They shouldn’t make us roll our eyes.