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I admire Stephen King's custom of allowing young filmmakers to adapt his stories for the fee of just one dollar. Unfortunately, this results in missteps like the one in Strawberry Spring. In the short story in question, the period breathed with cold, warmth, fog, a promise of mystery, tension, and hope. I acknowledge that such a combination is difficult to transfer to the screen, but the author has forgone such complications and instead drowned everything in an opaque thick fog, from which nothing speaks to me visually or otherwise. And the dreaded Springheel Jack is not so much at all.
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