Some nightmares slink into your subconscious, subtle and chilling. Others barge in, claws out, yowling and demanding attention with a weirdness that’s hard to shake. Stephen King’s Sleepwalkers (1992) definitely belongs to the latter category. Forget shadowy figures in the corner of your eye; this film throws shape-shifting, energy-sucking, incestuous monsters right in your face, and then, bizarrely, makes their Achilles' heel… cats. It’s a premise so audaciously strange, penned directly for the screen by the master of horror himself, that it still feels like a fever dream pulled straight from the back shelves of a dimly lit video store.
Welcome to the Unsettlingly Normal
The film wastes little time establishing its core creepiness. We meet Charles Brady (Brian Krause) and his mother Mary (Alice Krige), seemingly the picture of charming, albeit intensely close, newcomers to a sleepy Indiana town. They are the last of a dying race, nomadic creatures who drain the life force ("feed on the juice," as the film puts it) from virginal young women to survive. Krause, fresh-faced and leaning into the predatory charm, sets his sights on the lovely Tanya Robertson (Mädchen Amick, bringing that captivating Twin Peaks energy). The initial setup plays like a dark twist on a teen romance, but the undertones are anything but sweet. The bond between Charles and Mary isn't just maternal; it's deeply, disturbingly intimate, adding a layer of taboo transgression that feels distinctly King.
Creature Feature Chaos
Directed by Mick Garris, a frequent King collaborator known for helming TV adaptations like The Stand (1994) and The Shining (1997 miniseries), Sleepwalkers feels less like a slow-burn atmospheric piece and more like a full-throttle monster mash. Once the Sleepwalkers reveal their true nature – vaguely feline humanoids with powers of invisibility and illusion – the film dives headfirst into practical effects mayhem. The morphing sequences, while perhaps looking a touch rubbery by today's standards, had a visceral impact on VHS. Remember the sheer ouch factor of that pencil-in-the-ear kill? Or the unnerving visual of Mary blending into her front lawn? It’s schlocky, yes, but delivered with a certain Cronenberg-lite commitment to bodily disruption. Alice Krige is simply phenomenal, stealing every scene with a performance that balances seductive menace and desperate vulnerability. She makes Mary Brady terrifyingly real, even when the script veers into absurdity.
King Unleashed (and Unfiltered?)
This was Stephen King's first screenplay written directly for the screen, not based on a prior novel or short story. You can almost feel him gleefully throwing ideas at the wall – the energy vampires, the mother/son dynamic, the shape-shifting, the invisibility, and of course, the cat kryptonite. It’s a potent, pulpy mix, but perhaps lacks the narrative cohesion found in his best literary adaptations. The plot logic occasionally wobbles (why cats?), but the sheer imaginative force is undeniable. It feels like King letting loose, indulging B-movie sensibilities with an A-list author's pedigree. Reportedly budgeted around $15 million, it pulled in just over $30 million – a respectable return for such a bizarre slice of early 90s horror.
Spot the Horror Royalty
Part of the fun, especially for seasoned genre fans, is the veritable parade of cameos Mick Garris managed to pack in. Keep your eyes peeled, and you'll spot King himself as the grumpy cemetery caretaker, Mark Hamill as a detective early on, plus blink-and-you'll-miss-them appearances from horror luminaries like Joe Dante (Gremlins), John Landis (An American Werewolf in London), Tobe Hooper (The Texas Chain Saw Massacre), and Clive Barker (Hellraiser). It feels like a party thrown by horror geeks, for horror geeks, adding another layer of charm for those in the know. Did you catch them all on your first rental?
The Feline Factor
And then there are the cats. So many cats. Led by the heroic tabby Clovis, the town's feline population becomes the unlikely cavalry against the monstrous Brady duo. There’s a certain delightful absurdity to seeing dozens of cats swarm and overwhelm these powerful supernatural beings. Legend has it that working with so many animal actors was predictably challenging, but the result is one of horror cinema's most unique (and furry) climaxes. Doesn't that final feline assault still feel strangely satisfying, in a pulpy sort of way?
***
VHS Heaven Rating: 6/10
Sleepwalkers is undeniably messy. The plot has holes you could drive a Trans Am through, the tone careens between genuine creepiness and outright camp, and the central cat conceit is gloriously silly. Yet, it’s precisely this strangeness, combined with Alice Krige's powerhouse performance, some memorably gnarly practical effects, and that unmistakable Stephen King weirdness, that makes it such a fascinating artifact of 90s horror. It doesn't always work, but it’s never boring. The film earned its rating by being a uniquely bold, if flawed, creature feature with unforgettable villains and a premise unlike anything else clogging the video store shelves back then.
It might not be top-tier King, but Sleepwalkers remains a cult favorite for a reason – a bizarre, energetic, and strangely endearing nightmare that perfectly captures the "anything goes" spirit of early 90s genre filmmaking. Pull this tape out late at night, and you're guaranteed a viewing experience that’s anything but sleepy.