The air hangs thick and heavy with the smell of diesel and dread. Imagine it: a desolate truck stop diner, miles from anywhere, bathed in the sickly fluorescent glow that buzzes like trapped flies. Outside, the chrome giants sit silent, their grilles like rows of bared teeth, headlights staring with glassy, unblinking menace. This isn't just machinery; it's malice made metal. This is the unsettling world of Trucks, the 1997 TV movie adaptation of a chilling Stephen King short story that had already, infamously, barreled onto screens once before.
No Country for Old Trucks
Forget the AC/DC-fueled chaos of King’s own directorial effort, Maximum Overdrive (1986). Director Chris Thomson and writer Brian Taggert (Of Unknown Origin, 1983) steer this version down a different road, one aiming for slow-burn tension over gonzo spectacle. Filmed amidst the flat, isolating landscapes of rural Manitoba, Canada, the production uses its location to try and cultivate a genuine sense of hopelessness. The Lunar Recreation Truck Stop becomes a fragile bubble of humanity surrounded by an ocean of prairie and inexplicable hostility. The premise remains simple, primal: the machines have turned. Trucks, big rigs, even a seemingly harmless toy truck, are suddenly imbued with a coordinated, lethal intelligence.
The effectiveness hinges entirely on whether you buy into the threat. Unlike its hyper-caffeinated predecessor, Trucks tries to play it straighter, leaning into the inherent creepiness of unmanned vehicles moving with purpose. There are moments where this works. An early scene involving a seemingly stalled HAZMAT truck delivers a jolt of genuine peril. The constant, low rumble of idling engines just beyond the diner windows creates a baseline of anxiety. But the limitations of its made-for-TV origins are often glaringly apparent. The vehicular "attacks" sometimes lack the kinetic impact needed to truly terrify, occasionally feeling more like carefully choreographed parking maneuvers than a mechanical uprising. The ambition is there, but the budget cage rattles loudly.
Trapped Like Rats
Inside the diner, a collection of archetypes huddle together, led by Ray (Timothy Busfield, familiar to many from TV's Thirtysomething) and Hope (Brenda Bakke, who memorably spoofed action tropes in Hot Shots! Part Deux, 1993). Busfield brings a weary everyman quality to Ray, the owner trying to keep panic at bay, while Bakke portrays Hope, a hiker caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. They, along with a handful of others including a father and son (Aidan Devine), grapple with the impossible situation. The performances are generally serviceable, grounded enough to make the absurdity unfolding outside feel momentarily plausible. They react with the kind of disbelief and dawning horror you might expect, though the script rarely gives them moments that transcend their functional roles within the siege narrative. There’s a distinct lack of the colourful character quirks that often populate King’s ensemble pieces.
One interesting tidbit often lost in the shadow of Maximum Overdrive is how much closer Trucks tries to stick to the bleak, ambiguous ending of King's original short story from the Night Shift collection. While Maximum Overdrive opted for a (somewhat nonsensical) explosive climax involving aliens, Trucks retains a sliver of the story's chilling uncertainty about the future and the scale of the event. It doesn’t fully commit, tacking on a slightly more conclusive coda, but the attempt to capture that original downbeat tone is noticeable.
Echoes in the Exhaust Fumes
Ultimately, Trucks (1997) exists as a curious footnote in the sprawling library of Stephen King adaptations. It’s neither the glorious train wreck of Maximum Overdrive nor a hidden gem demanding rediscovery. It’s a competent, if unremarkable, TV horror film that leverages its central concept with intermittent success. The atmosphere it strives for – that quiet, creeping dread of the familiar turned deadly – is palpable in moments, particularly in the stillness between attacks. The practical truck effects, while perhaps less bombastic than some might hope, have that tangible quality we remember from the era, a far cry from today’s weightless CGI. You believe those are real tons of steel menacing our heroes, even if their actions sometimes feel constrained.
Did it manage to recapture the specific fear King tapped into? The fear of our own creations turning against us, the cold indifference of technology? Partially. The isolation works, the core idea remains unnerving. But the execution often feels hampered, lacking the resources or perhaps the directorial flair to truly elevate it beyond its modest television roots. It’s the kind of movie you’d catch late at night, sandwiched between commercials, and find yourself surprisingly invested in despite its flaws.
***
VHS Heaven Rating: 4/10
Justification: Trucks gets points for attempting a more atmospheric, less cartoonish take on the King story than Maximum Overdrive, and for moments where the isolated setting and the presence of the massive vehicles genuinely create unease. Timothy Busfield provides a stable anchor. However, the TV movie budget constraints are evident in the often-underwhelming action sequences, the generally flat characterizations, and the pacing issues inherent to the format. It ultimately fails to fully deliver on the chilling potential of its premise, feeling more like a protracted episode of a horror anthology series than a fully realized feature.
Final Thought: While it never achieved the cult infamy of its predecessor, Trucks remains an interesting artifact – a testament to the sheer volume of King adaptations in the 90s and a quieter, if ultimately less memorable, vision of technological terror idling just outside the door.