Children of the Corn Is a Rotten Husk of a Stephen King Adaptation

Kurt Wimmer’s newfangled Children of the Corn is a rotten husk of a Stephen King adaptation. It’s hardly a remake of Fritz Kiersch’s 1984 supernatural slasher, as Wimmer’s screenplay drops the former’s theological flavors for an ecological commentary that evaporates by Act III. The core idea of pipsqueak children eradicating adult populations in a rural Nebraska town holds true, but the execution barely meets the standards of the ninth or tenth Children of the Corn sequels. Wimmer struggles to blossom storylines or characters with entrenched, explored roots, lost in abysmal visual storytelling that crumbles like stale, dried-out cornbread under even the most gentle inspection.
Rylstone used to be home to Nebraska’s “happiest” corn until supposed miracle chemicals ruin the town’s prime export. Robert Williams (Callan Mulvey) wants Rylstone to embrace government subsidies to once again become economically prosperous—the children, whose futures are impacted by reckless and greedy adults, disagree. Orphaned Eden Edwards (Kate Moyer) preaches the words of a deity living in the corn, turning against the town’s dismissive adults with violent mob justice. It’s up to future microbiology undergrad Boleyn Williams (Elena Kampouris) to stop the murderous spree before her parents are executed, saving Rylstone from Eden and whatever lurks behind the corn rows.
Wimmer’s problems start with fundamental on-screen transitions, as characters magically transport locations without context clues. Children of the Corn plays too fast and loose with continuity, focusing too extensively on the idea that wee kiddies can easily overpower burly farmers or furious parents. It becomes clear that whatever’s not shown is because the script doesn’t have answers, and what is demonstrated tries to distract with gory details. Wimmer strives to hit horror-forward highs without putting in the work to ensure the narrative structures make sense both during and around crucial set pieces. The result is sloppier than a novice butcher’s apron.