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The sinister schtick of hotel room 1408 is “No one lasts more than an hour”. It’s a potent warning/teasing tagline that’s also a bit of a gimme for reviewers of this slick, shlocky Stephen King adaptation, which shakes and shocks superbly for, naturally, 60 minutes before loosening its grip on the sphincter and making a bit of a mess. The climactic bullshit doesn’t disembowel the picture entirely, though, and this is still an expertly packaged pillaging of The Haunting (1963) and The Sixth Sense (1999). It also manages to tap two universal human truths: first, everyone wants to believe there’s something beyond the here-and-now – a place where wrongs can be righted, questions answered, any regrets dissolved, death destroyed, justice restored and love is triumphant. And second, everyone loves John Cusack.
The creased everyman hasn’t been stretched since 2002’s underrated Max. But though 1408 doesn’t add up to much (beyond 13), it does underline his eternal ability to provide a sure thing in an uncertain world. As the cynical scribe of books on haunted hotels, staying in a room that may actually be PURE EVIL, Cusack brings truth to the most absurd of spooky situations and character quirks (perhaps only he could get away with the cigarette-behind-the-ear wrinkle in a bloke who doesn’t smoke). And while Samuel L Jackson makes a brief, funny and surprisingly urbane appearance, this is really a one-hander: Cusack uncut – smart, sly and emotional with just four walls to bounce off.
A terrific performance from John Cusack as a cynic on a paranormal mission nudges this towards the higher end of King adaps. Eventually lets itself down, but not before shaking you up.
