Firestarter

There is a strange poetic justice in the existence of the 2022 version of Firestarter. Back in the early eighties, John Carpenter was the original choice to direct the first adaptation of Stephen King’s novel. However, after The Thing (1982) underperformed at the box office, the studio got cold feet and replaced him with Mark L. Lester. Fast forward forty years, and while Carpenter still isn’t in the director's chair, his DNA is the only thing keeping this remake from evaporating into the streaming void. He, along with his son Cody Carpenter and Daniel Davies, provided the score, and honestly, I spent most of the runtime wishing I was listening to the vinyl instead of watching the screen.

I watched this while nursing a slightly burnt tongue from a too-hot slice of pepperoni pizza, which provided a more tactile connection to the plot than any of the digital flames on screen managed to evoke. It’s a film that exists in that peculiar modern limbo: a legacy remake produced by Blumhouse, released simultaneously in theaters and on Peacock, and seemingly designed to be "content" rather than a "cinema." It has all the ingredients of a modern thriller—a solid cast, a trendy director in Keith Thomas (The Vigil), and a high-concept hook—yet it feels curiously hollow.

The Streaming Era's Identity Crisis

In our current moment of franchise saturation, every recognizable title is being mined for "IP" potential. Firestarter feels like a victim of this mandate. The story of Charlie McGee (Ryan Kiera Armstrong) and her father Andy (Zac Efron) on the run from a shadowy government agency (The Shop) should be a gripping, paranoid chase movie. Instead, it feels like a high-budget pilot for a Syfy channel show that never got picked up.

The film struggles with the "how" of its own existence. Because it was released during the tail end of the pandemic-era day-and-date strategy, it lacks the visual scale of a theatrical blockbuster. Everything feels small, from the suburban house fire that opens the film to the sterile government hallways of the finale. Zac Efron, who has been doing fascinating work lately in films like The Iron Claw, does his best as the "Dad with a Secret," but the script by Scott Teems (Halloween Kills) doesn't give him much room to breathe between the psychic nosebleeds.

Reclaiming the Rainbird

If there is one area where the 2022 version objectively improves upon the 1984 original, it’s in the casting of John Rainbird. In the eighties, the role of the Indigenous assassin was played by George C. Scott in what we would now consider a very questionable casting choice. Here, the role is occupied by Michael Greyeyes (Wild Indian), and he is easily the most compelling person on screen.

Michael Greyeyes brings a quiet, soulful menace to a character that could have been a one-dimensional villain. He portrays Rainbird not just as a killer, but as someone who understands the burden of being "different" in a world that wants to weaponize that difference. It’s a performance that engages with contemporary conversations about representation in a meaningful way; he isn't just a placeholder, he’s the emotional anchor. Whenever the film shifts focus to the bureaucratic bickering between Gloria Reuben and Kurtwood Smith, I found myself checking my watch, waiting for Rainbird to return.

The Practicality of Pyrotechnics

For a movie called Firestarter, the fire itself is surprisingly dull. We are living in an era where de-aging and virtual production can create entire worlds, yet we still haven't quite mastered the art of digital fire that feels hot. The 1984 version used massive practical stunts that felt dangerous; you could almost feel the singe on the actors' eyebrows. In this version, the flames often look like they were layered on in post-production, lacking the flickering, orange glow that should permeate the atmosphere.

There is a scene involving a cat that is supposed to be a shocking emotional beat, but because the effects feel so detached, the impact is lost. The film relies on "the jump scare" far too often—a staple of the Blumhouse factory—rather than building the sustained dread that Keith Thomas proved he could handle in his previous work. It’s a movie that wants to be a psychological character study about a young girl coming into her power, yet it keeps falling back on the most generic horror tropes of the 2020s.

Ultimately, Firestarter is a victim of the very era it was born into. It’s a "filler" movie, designed to pad out a streaming library rather than stand as a definitive take on King’s prose. While Ryan Kiera Armstrong shows flashes of brilliance as Charlie, she is hampered by a narrative that feels rushed and a climax that fizzles out just when it should be exploding. If you’re a completist, watch it for Michael Greyeyes and the synth-heavy score, but don't be surprised if you forget the plot before the credits finish rolling.