 THE conventions of the horror genre have shifted immeasurably in the past five years, moving increasingly into the godforsaken realms of sadism and torture. So it’s heartening that an intelligent psychological chiller like 1408 is still being made. Director Mikhael Hafstrom’s hellish journey into the paranormal is adapted from a short story by Stephen King, from his 2002 horror anthology Everything’s Eventual. Mike Enslin (Cusack) is the reluctant hero – a celebrated horror novelist who has made his name by debunking paranormal myths and legends in a series of books. The writer has discredited countless haunted houses and graveyards, documenting the lack of otherworldly activity in his sardonic prose. Nothing shocks or surprises Mike any more. When an anonymous note leads him to the notorious room 1408 in the Dolphin Hotel in New York, Mike is prepared for yet another dull, uneventful night. “All told there have been 56 deaths in 1408,” explains the Dolphin’s manager, Gerald Olin (Jackson). “Under my watch, there have been four deaths,” he adds, “and I forbade any guests from checking into 1408 ever again.” Mike eventually gets his way and as the seconds tick by, he realises that the evil manifested in the room is very, very real. Verdict: 1408 is a genuinely creepy and unsettling story about a man who has lost his way, and his battle with his inner demons. Cusack portrays his world-weary protagonist with just the right amount of droll humour, which is replaced by fear and trepidation as the hallucinations in the room become increasingly “real”. He is on screen for almost every single frame, at the mercy of the elaborate and spectacular special effects that propel the story outside the four walls of the room. Jackson stamps his authority on the film for the 10 or so minutes he is on screen, with Mary McCormack in robust form as Mike’s estranged wife, scarred irrevocably by the death of their daughter. Unfortunately, King’s original short story didn’t have a satisfying ending and Hafstrom’s film suffers the same fate, opting for a frenetic resolution that threatens to send us in search of painkillers rather than a padded cell. | 
