For someone who is creeped out by clowns, It started out as a morbid fascination. Now It is just a guilty pleasure. The made-for-TV horror miniseries is about nine-tenths great fun. The last tenth is utter crap.
A guilty pleasure, for those unfamiliar with the concept, is something that you really like… but would never admit to liking. It is too embarrassing.
The thing is, It should have been so much better—or It could have been a lot worse. The book, on which It is based, for instance, is both. Steven King is a gifted writer. He is a true horror scribe. He may resort to life threatening terror or gross-out mental images at times, but the reason a King book sticks with the reader is the horror. He knows how to explore the deeper implications of his “scary stories.”
In It he spends over 1500 pages exposing the darker side of the masses, the way hatred and fear can control society. He also takes It a whole lot further than anyone would want to go down that path. In the end true love in community overcomes the evil, but the way he interprets love is possibly creepier than the evil he created. No need to go there, trust me.
So the movie could have gone a little deeper into the story, but It is made for TV after all. If you just watch the film version of the story, you are led to believe that the evil is a tangible, cheesy… well no need to ruin it even though this is not a recommendation.
In the original story, It is extra-dimensional—a spiritual being—a god with a little g. If the clown of the film could have ended up being the demonic force It was supposed to be, maybe It wouldn’t be a guilty pleasure.