Danny: Is there something bad here.
Danny: What about room 237?
Stephen King is an asshole. I watched this movie in the mid-'80's on a small screen TV in an apartment on the 25th floor on Miami Beach with the sun streaming through the blindless windows and King (and Kubrick) still managed to so rattle me that I had to sleep with the lights on that night (You think I'd make that up? No.) King builds up tension, builds it up, relaxes it a bit, builds it up, builds it up--it's like a classical musical composition--and then JOLTS you with a crescendo that has you running for the aisles, or into the next room of your apartment, in a terrible orgasm.
