The late director’s sensitive and detailed adaptation of Stephen King’s novella has an authenticity that so many imitators could never replicate
Coming-of-age metaphors don’t get any blunter than a group of preteen boys following a set of railroad tracks to a classmate’s dead body, a sobering testament to the fragility of life and a sign that their own futures are not guaranteed. The Stephen King novella that would become Rob Reiner’s Stand By Me is simply called The Body, and there’s no doubt that commercial considerations factored into naming the film after the song that blankets the soundtrack. Yet the enduring magic of Reiner’s film lies in the tension between this bleak journey and the nostalgia and warmth that keeps complicating our feelings about it. Between those two poles is a bittersweet tone that perfectly suits the material, the rare example of an adaptation that benefits from softened edges.
Though Reiner kicked off his career on a legendary heater that opened with This is Spinal Tap and would go on to include The Princess Bride, When Harry Met Sally … and A Few Good Men, Stand By Me was just his third feature and an early showcase of his versatility. His deft comic touch is not only essential in maintaining tonal balance, but important in suggesting what these four wayward boys mean to each other. Between the loose talk about Annette Funicello’s expanding bust on The Mickey Mouse Club and a Wurlitzer soundtrack of novelty singles like Lollipop and Yakety Yak, it can be easy to forget the anger, pain and dread that’s always simmering close to the surface. They laugh to keep from crying and occasionally don’t succeed.
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