1922. A Haunting and Disturbing Adaptation of Stephen King’s Novella

“Przechera” (a sly tempter or inner deceiver). This is the term Wilf, the protagonist of 1922 by Stephen King, uses to describe the inner traitor that exists in every person, constantly leading them into temptation. A murderer, on the other hand, is someone who succumbs to the horrifying suggestions of this “przechera,” shutting off rational judgment and being led astray. In Wilf’s case, astray leads to a cornfield.

Though the term przechera, distinctive in King’s novella, is absent from Zak Hilditch’s film adaptation, the movie still skillfully conveys the story’s central, profoundly disturbing themes linked to it.

1922 is a chilling and deeply unsettling account of a murder committed by Wilfred James, a farmer and family man, against his wife, who was also the mother of their child. More horrifyingly, Wilfred involves his teenage son in the act. The crime takes place in the titular year, in Nebraska, and the story is told as a confession from Wilf’s perspective, giving both the novella and the film a confessional format.

Why did Wilf kill his wife? Because she planned to sell the part of the land she inherited from her father. The substantial money she would receive was her ticket out of rural life—a life she had never accepted—in favor of a city existence. This clashed with Wilf’s vision and wounded his masculine pride. For Wilf, steeped in tradition and determined to pass this legacy on to his son, the future was inseparably tied to the farm. Therefore, the rebellious and ungrateful wife, enamored with city life, had to face retribution.

Initially, I thought the date 1922, which titles King’s novella and the film, was merely symbolic. However, reflecting on the circumstances of the wife’s death, it becomes clear that this detail is deliberate. The social context is crucial. While women’s emancipation had already made strides, in the southern United States of the 1920s, it seemed to exist largely in theory. Women were often regarded as their husbands’ property, to be treated as they pleased. In the case of a woman’s disappearance, societal reactions were different too. As King and Hilditch suggest, people rarely cared, choosing instead to believe the husband’s version of events.

This historical lens makes Wilf’s mental state after the murder even more comprehensible. At first, he feels relief, followed by doubt, and eventually becomes consumed by anxiety about his fate. Wilf begins to regret trusting his inner przechera, and we, in turn, sympathize with him in his penance. Wilf lacks the hallmarks of a typical murderer who often blames “voices” for their crimes. Instead, he seems—paradoxically—more like a victim of the patriarchal culture that shaped him.

Although the murder occurs early in the film, its echoes remain with Wilf until the end. The omnipresent rats that haunt him symbolically represent this haunting guilt. Importantly, the film’s atmosphere of unease is contagious, lingering with the viewer long after the credits roll. What makes 1922 truly terrifying is not ghosts or corpses leaping from closets but the unsettling possibility of identifying with the protagonist. Thomas Jane, who plays Wilf, delivers a hauntingly authentic portrayal of a man from the rugged South. His convincing performance creates a foundation for audience sympathy, which, combined with the brutal crime and its enduring consequences, evokes a unique sense of guilt—at least for this viewer.

Critics of the film, particularly following its Netflix release, often pointed to a plot they found overly predictable, even descending into implausibility at times. They noted a gradual drop in tension following the key event, leading to an unsurprising conclusion. These criticisms are not without merit.

However, I believe a different approach to the story—one aligned with the protagonist’s own perspective—can enhance its impact. This is a tale of murder, but it’s told in the first person, and first-person narratives are inherently filled with distortions, attempts at self-justification, and provocations by the victim (which are even more sharply defined in the novella). Moreover, the nature of confession itself is relevant here. Confessions are, by design, predictable, culminating in an admission of guilt. Wilfred, a devout Catholic, fell short in one crucial aspect: forgiveness—not only of his wife but also of himself.