The Shining: King v. Kubrick

Stephen King’s The Shining (1977), often called his best novel, is highly praised for influencing a shift in horror toward internal, emotional terror. In 1980, Stanley Kubrick directed an adaptation based on the phenomenal and critically acclaimed novel. Kubrick’s film, while popular among viewers, was detested by Stephen King; he claimed that Kubrick stripped away the story’s heart. Consuming both mediums allowed me to explore King’s perspective, the differences in the storyline and characters, and Kubrick’s cinematic strengths and shortcomings.

King’s writing style focuses on realistic family dynamics, which makes the horror feel grounded. This is why King hated Kubrick’s adaptation: the emotional, poignant spine of King’s story was completely torn out. What was originally a story about a man battling alcoholism and guilt becomes, in the film, the story of a man who appears insane from the very beginning. The family dynamic loses its warmth, making it impossible to feel invested in their downfall. Wendy becomes a bumbling, whimpering, frail carbon copy of the quietly strong woman that lived in King’s book. The adaptation is a poor representation of King’s original narrative. This becomes evident when comparing how the book and film diverge in story, tone, and character.

When watching the film, there are countless small details that are changed or omitted—details that were integral to the story’s development in the novel. King wrote a sense of responsibility into Jack Torrance’s character. In the book, Jack takes the caretaker job seriously and even becomes obsessed with doing a good job, not because he loves the hotel, but because he wants redemption and stability. At the same time, he becomes serious about his writing project on the hotel’s dark past. The hotel grasps onto these longings and twists them. In “Conversations at the Party” (King, p. 520), Delbert Grady tells Jack that he has shown great interest in learning about the Overlook and that materials, such as the scrapbook, could be made available to him. Grady also entices Jack by suggesting he could rise high in the Overlook’s organizational structure—so long as he “corrects” his wife and son. These motives were entirely removed from the film, stripping Jack of purpose beyond killing for killing’s sake. His responsibility for maintaining the boiler—an integral plot point—was removed entirely and even handed off to Wendy. This change steals the climactic explosion that destroys and releases everything; in contrast, the film ends with a freeze that preserves and stills everything.

In addition, the hotel’s supernatural forces actively target Danny for his abilities—his “shining”—giving the Overlook a clear malevolent motive. Kubrick omits this entirely, opting instead for ambiguity that removes the hotel’s intentional pursuit of the child. In the novel, Jack’s family history—especially the legacy of abuse from his father—shapes his struggles and makes him susceptible to the Overlook’s influence. Kubrick removes this entirely, portraying Jack with less background and far less emotional depth. His fall into insanity feels more abrupt because we are given little of the character foundation that would normally build his arc.

Jack’s attitude toward Ullman and the idea of leaving the hotel also differs starkly between book and film. In the novel, Ullman and Jack are clearly at odds. The very first sentence is: “Jack Torrance thought: Officious little prick.” Their tense conversation, in which Ullman makes it clear he wouldn’t have hired Jack if not for Al Shockley and references Jack’s troubled work history, sets the tone for their relationship. In contrast, Kubrick flips this dynamic by making Ullman extremely pleasant; he even says, “Torrance comes highly recommended — and for once, I agree.” Jack’s behavior regarding leaving the hotel also changes. In the book, Jack hides his growing attachment by secretly sabotaging the CB radio and the snowmobile so the family cannot leave. In the film, Jack Nicholson’s Jack becomes loudly hostile, snapping at Wendy when she suggests leaving: “It’s just like you to create a problem like this when I have a chance to accomplish something!”

Another major difference involves the Overlook’s grounds. King includes hedge animals—lions, rabbits, and a dog—that are far more terrifying than the static hedge maze in the movie. These hedges move when you’re not looking, like stop-motion predators; they stalk, surround, and even attack Jack and Dick. The likely reason these figures were cut was technological limitation in 1980, which made them difficult to portray convincingly. While the change is understandable, it still cheapens the detail of the novel.

By omitting the hotel’s predatory presence and underlying violence, Kubrick’s adaptation strips away the supernatural element and reduces the story to a purely psychological film. This creates considerable ambiguity about whether the events are real or hallucinations experienced by Jack. This ambiguity is complicated by scenes such as Grady physically unlocking the pantry or Wendy seeing visions around the hotel. Still, Kubrick avoids committing to a supernatural explanation. He embraces ambiguity, while King makes the supernatural unmistakable. This difference explains the thematic meaning behind the maze scene. As Jack chases Danny through the snow-covered maze, he is completely broken from reality. His speech devolves into grunts, slurs, and fragments— “Danny! … come out, you little…!”—mixed with manic laughter. Though it sounds like gibberish, it is deliberate. Kubrick wanted the maze to mirror Jack’s internal collapse, transforming him from articulate and sarcastic to animalistic and predatory. Since Kubrick internalizes the supernatural, Jack’s incoherent ranting represents not possession but madness consuming him entirely.

There are also many small changes, additions, or omissions that serve no purpose or remain unexplained. The infamous hotel room where Danny was attacked—room 217—becomes room 237 in the film. While this was likely changed for logistical or legal reasons, I still noticed it. I also found the scene with Jack and the dead woman in 237 strange. Jack inspects the room, kisses a beautiful woman, who then turns into a rotting corpse. The scene is visually effective but confusing. Why is kissing her Jack’s first impulse? It reads more like resentment toward Wendy than possession. Because the film lacks character depth, it is unclear whether Jack’s actions are his own or the hotel’s influence. In the novel, the woman in the tub (Mrs. Massey) is part of the Overlook’s extensive history of murders, suicides, scandals, and trauma. It is clear certain rooms contain strong supernatural presence; without this explanation, the film loses clarity about who she is and what she represents.

King also writes about Horace Derwent, a wealthy socialite and original owner of the hotel, and his lover Roger. Derwent humiliated Roger and forced him to dress as a dog for parties—a twisted power play that reflects the themes of corruption and moral decay. When Jack loses his mind, he sees visions of these parties, including Roger in the dog suit. In the film, Wendy sees visions of a skeleton ballroom, blood from the elevator, and the dogman scene (a man in a dog suit performing a sexual act on a man in a tuxedo). Without Derwent’s backstory, this moment is completely unexplained. Symbolically, it works to show chaos and sin lurking everywhere, but as a viewer, I was left confused and unsatisfied.

A major theory about the film—rarely developed but heavily implied—is reincarnation. The final shot, showing Jack in the 1921 July 4th photo, suggests he has always been at the Overlook. This implies that Jack is either absorbed into the hotel’s history or is a reincarnation of a previous caretaker. Dialogue supports this, such as Grady’s line: “You’ve always been the caretaker. I’ve always been here.” King uses a similar line in the novel, but with a different meaning. In King’s version, the ghosts use such statements to confuse and manipulate Jack, weakening his sense of self and making him subservient to the hotel. The novel contains no suggestion of cycles, time loops, or reincarnation, whereas Kubrick implies it without elaboration. This leaves the audience with imagery but no clear meaning.

I also want to explore character development more deeply. Up to this point, I’ve mostly discussed Jack. King views Jack as complex—flawed, addicted, but still human. His internal dialogue reflects his desire to do right by his family, though he is slowly consumed by the hotel. Even in his final moments, when he tells Danny, “I love you — run away,” his humanity briefly surfaces. He is possessed, not inherently evil. Kubrick’s Jack, however, appears demented from the start—instantly irritable, quick to rage, and emotionally absent. There is no slow corruption, only abrupt outbursts, turning a tragic story into a domestic-violence narrative.

Wendy Torrance, in the novel, is quietly strong, protective of Danny, and maintains a watchful relationship with Jack. Kubrick turns her into a weak, fragile, whimpering woman. She seems disconnected from reality; when she talks about Jack dislocating Danny’s shoulder, she describes it casually, even smiling and calling it “an accident,” adding that “something good came out of it—he’s been sober for five months.” In the book, Jack breaking Danny’s arm (“…turning him around to spank him,” p. 213) is accompanied by immense remorse, not a smile. Kubrick’s Wendy, with her confused emotional tone, diminishes audience empathy.

In the book, Tony is a true psychic manifestation—an older version of Danny guiding him through his shining. His episodes feel spiritual rather than medical. The movie portrays Tony more like a symptom of schizophrenia. Danny’s finger voice and seizures make it seem like he has a disorder, not a gift. The film introduces the seizures only once and never returns to them. Tony’s nature—vision, possession, or dissociation—remains unclear. The film would have been stronger if Tony had a visible presence only Danny could see, instead of the awkward finger trick.

Dick Halloran is a respected mentor in the novel, willing to sacrifice himself for Danny. Their relationship is deep and includes psychic conversations. In the film, he is diminished into a plot device, traveling from Florida only to be killed moments after arriving. This portrayal strips away his depth, identity, and experience. Another change occurs when Halloran contacts the Rocky Mountain National Park Authority for help. In the book, the park authorities are rude and unhelpful, saying:

“Every other ranger in the park, plus game wardens, plus volunteers are up in Hasty Notch, risking their lives because three stupid assholes with six months’ experience decided to try the north face of King’s Ram … So… I don’t have anybody to send to the Overlook… by daybreak neither one of those choppers will be able to fly…” (King, p. 500–501).

In the film, they are extremely helpful and offer to call him back. Overall, the film reduces Dick’s character to a convenient device and removes the nuance of his experience and the systemic obstacles he faced, weakening his role and the story’s tension.

The reasons I disliked the adaptation mirror King’s own. The emotional realism, central motives, and themes were stripped away. Danny’s portrayal makes his gift appear more like mental illness. Wendy got off easy as hell. I was expecting to see guts and gore, but instead Wendy becomes a whimpering scream queen. Jack has no character arc; his first appearance is almost indistinguishable from his last. There is no tenderness or familial warmth, making the atmosphere cold. Even the hotel’s danger feels impersonal—it becomes an abstract psychological thriller rather than a character-driven haunting. I disliked the abrupt ending of the film because it eliminates any real possibility of a sequel. And even if a sequel were made, it would have to deviate almost entirely from the narrative continuation King originally intended. The film feels as if someone read the summary of King’s novel and made a script off of that without delving into the meat and spine of the story.

Judging the movie on its own, without comparing it to the book, there are elements I appreciate. Jack Nicholson’s charisma and sarcasm are compelling; his dialogue is unforgettable. Lines like “Wendy… darling… light of my life…” and “HERE’S JOHNNY!” remain iconic. The sound design is memorable and effectively unsettling. And while I disliked Wendy’s characterization, I love Shelley Duvall’s performance. She plays the scream queen brilliantly. Her panic during the “HERE’S JOHNNY!” scene is incredibly satisfying; she was perfect for delivering the film’s frights.

The book is a tragic, emotional story about a man losing himself in a slow, painful burn. The movie is a haunting descent into madness—cold, detached, and painfully ambiguous. Both are masterpieces in different ways: one a tragic melodrama, the other a chilling psychological thriller.