There are several things we have come to expect from small-screen adaptations of Stephen King’s many, many novels and short stories and they are, generally speaking, these: there will be a small town beset by an Ageless Evil. There will be children, some of whom will be dead, others merely telekinetic and/or screaming in pyjamas. There will be blood. And flannel shirts. And dialogue so awful you will want to bludgeon it with a spade and inter it in an ancient burial ground, despite the suspicion that it will rise from the dead and continue to torment you.
Like the generally superior film versions of the author’s works, some of these TV adaptations will, in fact, be very enjoyable. Others will not. And then there is The Institute (MGM+), a new adaptation of a middling 2019 thriller that manages to capture the endearingly wonky essence of King’s genius by being both extremely well crafted and, at times, astonishingly silly. But how does it measure up to its predecessors?
