The film's opening (with Enya's "Boadicea" playing over the credits) promised an atmospheric horror film drenched in loneliness, akin to Paul Shrader's remake of "The Cat People". The film, alas, opts to delve in the realm of cheese. It is one big joke of a movie, a complete and utter mess.
The atmosphere promised to us so cruelly by Enya's only good (and damn good it is) track is only matched by small sequences (Brady's poem, the cats gathering outside the house, "Boadicea" once again playing over the end credits) as the rest of the film is too preoccupies with its jokes, make-up and cameos. Mick Garris is, once again, directing at the peak of his abilities, making the whole thing look and feel like a made-for-tv production.
On the subject of cameos it must be said that during Stephen King's long and illustrious carreer his teeth have not gotten any smaller, and he has not learned how to deliver a line that was not cringe inducing in its awfulness. The lone exception might be his role in Creepshow, his performance in which took on a sort of epic badness that kept it watcheable.
Alice Kriege is great in her role (as always, and gorgeous, as always) but no one else is up to the task. With this script, I can't blame them. The film is watchrable because it is harmless. It is not offensive, has a good soundtrack ("Sleepwalk" by Santos and Johnny also makes an appearance) and won't kill you. Make no mistake about it, however. It is no damn good.