Dive Into the Unsettling Magic of 'Something Wicked This Way Comes,' Now Streaming on Disney+
For families on the lookout for a spooky yet not-too-frightening film as Halloween approaches, there’s some good news: Disney+ has just made available a truly unique title that had never been streamed before. The 1983 movie adaptation of Ray Bradbury’s "Something Wicked This Way Comes" is a nostalgic Americana tale that many Gen Xers will instantly recognize as one of those movies that seemed to endlessly loop on cable TV during their childhood. Speaking as someone from that generation, revisiting this film today felt like waking up from a long-lost dream, filled with haunting memories once buried deep in the mind.
This dark fantasy centers on a mysterious carnival and features imagery so familiar to those old cable days, yet it also sparked questions like "Did it always feel this eerie?" The truth remains: the film is an odd, somewhat uneven experience that defies straightforward explanation but embodies a distinct mood — it’s visually stunning, emotionally charged, and genuinely creepy.
Released just before the PG-13 rating was introduced—and produced by Disney—the film received a PG rating that allowed it to air anytime on cable, much to the terror of many kids. Scenes like the terrifying tarantula swarm and Jonathan Pryce’s grotesque transformation into a skeletal villain left a trail of nightmares in their wake. No wonder parents sometimes found their children unexpectedly scared stiff after turning on the TV.
Set in a small Midwestern town that could be anytime from the 1920s onward, the plot follows two boys, Will and Jim, who discover that the arrival of a late-fall traveling carnival is ominous. Unlike most townsfolk, Will’s father Charles, played by Jason Robards—the sober, tie-wearing librarian with a fixation on death—believes his son’s warnings. The story reveals that the only force capable of overcoming this evil carnival is pure familial love and forgiveness, though that discovery comes after a journey packed with bizarre special effects and intense outbursts.
The film’s tone swings wildly—from dazzling light and sound spectacles to deep, somber reflections on aging and mortality. Robards was 60 during filming, portraying a father of a nine-year-old, and the film casts this late-life parenthood in a bittersweet, even tragic light. Charles is physically limited, unable to play sports with Will, and emotionally strained when he can’t save his son from drowning, adding layers of subtle trauma.
Intriguingly, the boy’s rescuer from danger years earlier was the town drunk—Jim’s father—who has since vanished, with Jim imagining he’s off on an African safari. Meanwhile, Jim’s mother’s mysterious behavior hints at underlying domestic instability. Both boys are at the threshold of adolescence, anxious about puberty and embodied fears, symbolized by a haunting figure called the Woman of the East, who can mesmerize men and strokes a pet tarantula with disturbing allure. This imagery, especially within a Disney film, is surprisingly psychologically charged.
When the story hits its stride, it’s an exhilarating chase through town beneath a sinister green mist while Mr. Dark (Jonathan Pryce), the carnival’s ominous proprietor, gleefully toys with dark magic, featuring some eye-popping animated tattoos. Yet these moments of frenetic energy are balanced by gloomy, contemplative scenes where Will and Charles share heavy discussions about death, such as Charles’ eerie remark, “3 o’clock, the soul’s midnight,” which refers to a spooky, late-night hour for dying.
The journey from short story to film was far from smooth. Originating in 1948 as "The Black Ferris," Bradbury’s tale evolved into a screenplay he offered to Gene Kelly—a project that never materialized. He then expanded it into the 1962 novel set in the fictional Green Town, Illinois, soaked in nostalgic Americana.
The 1970s saw multiple attempts to make the film, with notable figures like Kirk Douglas producing and Jack Clayton directing—Clayton being respected for British classics and later the famous "The Great Gatsby." Yet internal conflicts at Paramount shelved the movie, and directors like Sam Peckinpah and even Steven Spielberg reportedly showed interest but never sealed the deal.
In the 1980s, Disney took another chance during a period where the company released several experimental—often unsuccessful—films like the bland "The Black Hole," the eerie "Watcher in the Woods," and the pioneering but divisive "Tron." Against this backdrop, "Something Wicked This Way Comes" finally got the green light. However, Disney executives were unhappy with Clayton’s initial cut and demanded reshoots to soften the horror for families—in a twist of irony, the infamous tarantula attack scene was one of the added moments, widely considered the film’s highlight and a rare instance where studio interference actually improved the movie.
The final product is an eclectic, sometimes disjointed blend but remains deeply captivating. With October’s autumnal chill essential to the atmosphere—the carnival is even named The Autumn People—the current season is perfect for watching it. Visually, the film’s practical effects, animated sequences, and beautiful matte-painted Midwestern landscapes with their rich fall colors hold up remarkably well. The lush score by James Horner, fresh from "Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan" and a precursor to his iconic work on films like "Braveheart" and "Avatar," perfectly complements the suspense and wonder, even borrowing cues reminiscent of "Star Wars" at key moments.
While some dramatic parts may falter, they convey a rare sincerity rarely seen in family-oriented films today. Rather than witty banter or self-aware humor, the movie opts for genuine exchanges like young Will’s plea: “Dad, don’t talk death!” It’s tempting to say films like this no longer get made, but in truth, movies this uniquely strange and heartfelt were always the exception, not the rule.
And here’s the part most people miss: Is this film merely a nostalgic oddity, or does it challenge modern family movies by offering an earnest, unsettling depth that mainstream cinema avoids? And what does it say about our cultural tolerance for childhood fears in family entertainment?
Jordan Hoffman, a writer and critic based in New York, whose work appears in Vanity Fair, The Guardian, and the Times of Israel, also comments on pop culture via @JHoffman on Twitter. His perspective enriches this exploration of a once-forgotten cinematic gem.
What do you think? Does "Something Wicked This Way Comes" deserve a spot in today’s must-watch Halloween lineup, or is it simply a relic of a bygone era? Share your thoughts and let’s get the conversation started!
