Well much to my surprise I really liked this a lot. I thought Flanagan’s
Hill House was unjustly overrated, and JamesF describing this as a great emulation of a King novel is well-stated in all its goofy imperfections, involving cinematic qualities, and difficulties executing strong, cumulative endings for his stories; but as Persona indicates, the fusion of the original novel, Kubrick's movie, and the sequel novel on which this is based, somehow works seamlessly.
I never read
Doctor Sleep but King’s
The Shining remains the most gutwrenching artistic work linking the consumer into the psyche of an alcoholic that I've ever absorbed. Jack is physically sober through a solid chunk of that book, and a completely different character than in Kubrick’s film, but so horribly tormented with resentment and shame. Written by King at the height of his own active addiction, it’s a therapeutic confession, and it feels like a suicide note.
I know many people people in recovery who have recommended
Doctor Sleep to me over the years but I never read it. Some of these friends continue to cite it as integral in helping them in early sobriety (I read
The Shining sometime in my first few months, and it captured my acute experience better than any movie or book ever has for a period of my life during the moment of consumption). It’s obvious from Flanagan’s film version that he’s interested in using the dynamic, suffocating forces of addiction (and general mental illness and trauma without supports) to channel the existential disillusionment and pain of hopeless isolation, as much as it provides solutions in both the enigmatic trust of invisible energies and corporeal groups of likeminded people. From the way it’s been described to me, and the procedure the film takes not only in its depictions of the actual sober living groups but thematically regarding personal development,
Doctor Sleep is nothing less than a love letter to AA, but it's certainly more than that too.
Here are the first two pages of the novel, sent to me by a friend earlier tonight as I was talking to him about this film (and he deserves the credit for declaring the book "a love letter to AA")

I appreciate how trauma and self-destructiveness are woven into this film about strengths, control, and power; offsetting one another with complementary yin/yang responses to form a complex and relatable life. The idea of a higher power as existing both beyond the self and within as a bridge of connection is integral to how AA functions to help its members digest such nebulous concepts, by providing a path for relief in our powerlessness over the intangible and consequential sobriety to the power in tangible opportunities around us, that we fail to see by focusing on the former (and this extends to all people, really, regardless of membership to said club- for the potent fear of the limits of control does not discriminate). When Cliff Curtis approaches Danny knowing his “look” we initially wonder if he means that he shines too, but he's really picking up on something else- yet what we come to realize is that this is King’s fascination with the story: the layers of intimacy that exist between us in foggy energy and defined outlets; the risks we take to live a fuller life, engage in self-betterment and aid others, or the ones we don’t and the suffering that comes from those choices too. We can all 'shine' a little bit, they say. Can getting sober- not only physically but emotionally and spiritually- allow us to shine a bit more, connect to others and access a part of life that those drunk, or simply blind in self-delusion or unwillingness to develop, fail to recognize?
The fear of that which we don’t understand is also complemented with the acceptance of that mystery. The AA meeting eight years later reinforces this idea of spiritual connectivity and the power of belief in individualized meaning-making and healing, just as the broken fragmented person existed before. Yet the same person had the superpower to quite literally connect to others throughout all these changes- such a gift was simply meaningless and futile when he was spiritually bankrupt. And of course the solution is in the 12th step of turning one's attention to selflessly helping another person in need, while the villains of this film addictively feed off of others, taking lives and causing harm as a career to maintain their selfish gains, much like Danny’s former stage of being. In fact, they're a strong reminder of what could have happened if Danny had descended beyond the immoral behavior with a prodding conscience, to completely detaching himself from his moral compass into fixed oblivion. I don't think these people are beyond saving, but they have been conditioned for long enough where it becomes harder (not to mention the blatant unwillingness- the key factor), and this process of moral resignation is documented with Snakebite- who when we meet her is broken from trauma but has a clear code of ethics even if it's problematically skewed by anger.
The film is profoundly engaging on a purely sensory and narrative level as well. Flanagan and his team have edited this masterfully (I watched the three hours director's cut, which felt like no more than a breezy two hours), and the players are all up to their tasks, especially Rebecca Ferguson who embodies the functional addict leader with equal parts charming seduction, relentless sociopathy, and impulsive lust for 'more' that clouds her strategic self-preservation with defective traits of substance-dependency self-preservation. Oh and Ewan McGregor is a great casting choice as Danny, partly because he brings an authenticity to the role as an alcoholic in long-term recovery in real life. Maybe like Cliff Curtis' own brand of shine, we can smell our own, and I'm not convinced of a better casting choice for that grating first hour of realistic rock bottoms.
This is a film about the power of reform, and how the courage to do what's moral, or to act in conscious contact with one's higher power, is where the real super 'power' lies. The sacrifices made in the final act actually fall in step with the motifs of the story and the program, just taken to a wild fantastical extreme- but one that emphasizes that the refusal to operate on fear (Fuck Everything And Run) is a win, no matter how that's actualized. The earlier lock box analogy is great too- how he’s not had a visitor (analogy for a craving or overwhelming shame attack, etc.) in years once he’s become spiritually fit, but this also reaffirms the realization that the demons still exist somewhere and that no one is 'cured' or recover
ed from addiction, trauma, mental health issues, life. I'm not sure that this is an objectively great movie, but it's definitely a good one and most importantly it's a very affecting portrait of the ideas of recovery, and King's interest and personal experience with psychological deterioration, crises, and the path of growth, as universal themes of living a spiritual life. Danny's dogmatic compassion and full-measures of selflessness prevail as he passes on the 12th step, and now Abra will have a chance to bestow that step onto others because she's learned by example, just as Danny did from Dick Hallorann- and then again was granted a second chance at life from Curtis, just as anyone- alcoholic or not- has the power to do. None of the characters who are good people and die in this film have their death framed as tragedy- their positivity is what's remembered and their lives are cemented as miracles. It's beautiful.