Best-selling writer Mort Rainey has problems. Six months ago, he found his wife in bed with another man. Since then, he’s been shuffling around their small-town vacation cabin in a ratty bathrobe, living on peanut butter and Doritos, sleeping away half the day, and trying desperately to get over the writer’s block that has him stuck on the first paragraph of his new story (sounds like the way I pass my time!). As if all that isn’t enough, now he’s got the scariest Southerner seen on film since Deliverance standing on his porch, insisting that Rainey stole his story and must make it right. So begins the latest film based on the writings of Stephen King…

You never know what you’re going to get when you see King’s name in the credits, especially if it’s prominent. Movie adaptations of his work have ranged from sublime (The Shining) to mediocre-but-entertaining (Christine) to downright painful (Graveyard Shift). It is an interesting paradox that even though King is best known as a writer of gory horror fiction, the very best King-related films — Stand By Me and The Shawshank Redemption — came from his non-horror work. While Secret Window definitely occupies King’s usual territory of murder and madness, stylistically it has much more in common with something like Shawshank. It is a well-crafted, visually engaging film that strives to be something more than a run-of-the-mill thriller. (Oddly enough — or perhaps not so oddly given the seeming correlation between King’s name and a film’s quality — this movie’s connection to the author isn’t being widely advertised. I am a major King fan and I didn’t even realize this was one of his until only a few days before I saw the film.)

The film’s quality results from three factors that are rarely found together in the same picture. First, there’s a good screenplay by writer David Koepp. Koepp has a varied resume that includes the Jodie Foster vehicle Panic Room, a thoughtful little independent flick called The Trigger Effect, the first Mission: Impossible film, and the first two entries in the Jurassic Park franchise. Here he’s done a decent job of adapting King’s novella “Secret Window, Secret Garden” (published in the collection Four Past Midnight), retaining the dialogue and overall feel of King’s prose while making the changes necessary for this medium.

Second, the film boasts some unusually creative direction for this sort of genre flick, again courtesy of Koepp, who takes home a double paycheck on this one. The movie doesn’t look like a psychokiller film, which I think helps it immeasureably. Instead of the usual dark and forebording atmosphere, Secret Garden is bright and lush, filled with the soft, hazy light of summertime at the lakeside. There are also a lot of interesting camera angles and even a couple instances of deep-focus cinematography (no doubt much easier to do now than it was when Orson Welles and Gregg Toland pioneered the technique). One thing that’s particularly noteworthy about this film is that the violence is underplayed, a refreshing change from the dank, graphic thrillers of the late ’90s. (Full disclosure time: I loved Silence of the Lambs but was very unhappy with the crap that it spawned, especially Seven, a film that has its fans left me feeling like I needed a shower afterwards. Bleah.)

Finally, and perhaps most significantly, there is a raft of workmanlike performances in this film. Mort is played by the always-reliable Johnny Depp, who suddenly seems more interested in making mainstream films than he used to be, to the benefit of casual movie-goers everywhere. He brings some interesting physical quirks and genuine pathos to Mort, managing to reinvigorate a character we’ve seen before. As John Shooter, Mort’s mysterious tormentor, John Turturro is downright terrifying because of what he doesn’t do. While Depp’s Mort is all about nervous energy expressed in twitches and constant activity, Turturro’s Shooter almost always stands still. He frightens because of his implacability. He simply will not back down, and that is the worst sort of enemy I can imagine.

The movie belongs to these two, who fill most of the screentime singlehandedly, but the supporting cast does what they can with their limited roles. The lovely Maria Bello, last seen in The Cooler, plays Mort’s soon-to-be ex; it’s a thankless part, one of the five or so stock roles available for women in Hollywood today, but Bello has an interesting face and a spunky charisma that demands attention. Timothy Hutton is suitably obnoxious as Ted, the Other Man; his casting in this project is interesting since he played a character very much like Mort in another King-derived flick, The Dark Half. Finally, Charles S. Dutton puts in an appearance as Mort’s enforcer; it’s not a big part — he’s mostly in the movie just so he can get whacked — but I’ve always liked him and it’s good to see him on the big screen again.

My only real complaint with Secret Window is that I was able to figure out the whole story within the first twenty minutes. Normally, that kind of predictability would offend me, but in this case I honestly think it’s more my fault than the film’s. You see, I’ve read so much of King’s work — although, oddly enough, not “Secret Window, Secret Garden” — that I think I pretty much know how his mind works, or at least which ideas are likely to come up in his writing. Therefore, I’m going to recommend this film despite its predictability and just warn you in advance that your mileage may vary. It’s technically well-made, Depp is always worth a look, and the visual style is just different enough to stand out from the pack. Give it a try…