Synopsis: In the haunted town of Derry, Maine, strange events begin to unfold as residents uncover a terrifying force lurking beneath the surface. As ancestral secrets and long-forgotten histories come to light, a shape-shifting entity emerges—feeding on fear and leaving a trail of horror in its wake.
Stars: Jovan Adepo, Taylour Paige, Chris Chalk, James Remar, Stephen Rider, Madeleine Stowe, Rudy Mancuso, Bill Skarsgård
Director: Andy Muschietti and others
Running Length: 8 episodes (beginning October 26)
Movie Review in Brief: IT: Welcome to Derry is a standout horror prequel that expands the IT mythos with emotional depth, disturbing visuals, and a haunting new cast of characters.
Review:
There’s a particular kind of courage required to revisit a horror phenomenon that already scared the hell out of a generation. Andy Muschietti‘s 2017 IT became the highest-grossing horror film ever made, turning Victorian circus clowns into the stuff of renewed nightmares and proving that Stephen King‘s 1986 masterwork still had fangs. Rather than simply rehash that success, HBO’s IT: Welcome to Derry does something far more interesting—it digs into the rot beneath the town’s wholesome facade, exploring the cycles of violence that King understood were always more terrifying than any shape-shifting entity. Having devoured the first five episodes ahead of their October 26 premiere, I’m here to report that this prequel isn’t just worthwhile—it’s essential viewing that improves with each installment.
Set in 1962, Welcome to Derry centers on Leroy Hanlon (Jovan Adepo, Overlord), a military man who relocates his wife Charlotte (Taylour Paige, Boogie) and young son Will to what he believes will be a slice of postwar American normalcy. Also stationed in Derry is Dick Hallorann (Chris Chalk, 12 Years a Slave), the psychic who’s caught in the eerie web Derry spins around anyone with a spark of intuition—or what King fans know as the “shine.” For those wondering how deeply showrunners Jason Fuchs and Brad Caleb Kane have mined King’s extended universe, rest assured: this is a treasure hunt for devotees, weaving together characters and locations that enrich both the source novel and Muschietti’s films without alienating newcomers.
What distinguishes Welcome to Derry from countless other prequels is its willingness to sit with discomfort. Derry isn’t just haunted by an ancient evil—it’s poisoned by the everyday cruelties we pretend not to see. Children face relentless bullying along with mental and physical abuse behind closed doors. The town’s picture-perfect veneer barely conceals the bigotry festering underneath. Cold War paranoia about Russia feels almost quaint compared to the monster literally feeding on fear in the sewers. Muschietti and his creative team understand what made King’s novel endure: Pennywise isn’t just the villain. He’s the manifestation of everything we’re too afraid to confront.
Paige and Adepo deliver nuanced performances as a couple experiencing Derry through different lenses—she senses something fundamentally wrong with this place, while he’s desperate to believe in the promise of stability. Their dynamic grounds the supernatural horror in genuine emotional stakes. But the real revelation here is the roster of young actors, particularly Clara Stack and Amanda Christine, who bring an earnest intensity that the adult characters seem to have lost. These kids aren’t just terror fodder; they’re fully realized people whose desperation to be seen makes their encounters with Pennywise all the more harrowing.
And let’s talk about those encounters. Welcome to Derry is legitimately terrifying in ways that go beyond the expected jump scares. Muschietti has devised some genuinely disturbing imagery—gnarly creatures with gnashing teeth, scenes where background action slowly transforms into a carnival of nightmares. One sequence in a seemingly innocent location builds dread so expertly that I found myself holding my breath, watching normalcy curdle into something unspeakable. The first It film was scary; this series is often downright unnerving.
Visually, Muschietti’s fingerprints are all over it. There’s an eerie precision to the design—the symmetry of the town, the off-kilter lighting, the lingering shots that hold a beat too long. Benjamin Wallfisch’s score returns with creeping dread and bone-rattling crescendos, anchoring the action while feeding into the psychological horror.
The show isn’t perfect. Some CGI backdrops have that distracting phoniness, and the opening credits—while visually creative—overstay their welcome with a song I found borderline obnoxious. (My screener copies tragically lack a skip button.) Occasionally, the pacing feels compressed, as if eight episodes demanded more economy than the story naturally allowed. A major revelation near the end of one episode lands clumsily, clearly rushed to fit within time constraints.
But here’s the thing: even when Welcome to Derry stumbles, it never stops moving. Every minute serves the story, and each episode surpasses the last. By the time I reached episode five, I was desperate for the remaining three in a way I haven’t felt since, well, watching Muschietti’s original IT for the first time. That’s the mark of a prequel that justifies its existence—not by explaining what we already know, but by making us hunger to understand how we got here.
At a time when studios endlessly mine nostalgia without adding meaningful dimension, Welcome to Derry takes a genuine creative risk. It’s a richer, more psychologically complex exploration of King’s mythology than IT: Chapter Two managed to achieve, and it honors the source material’s understanding that the real horror isn’t the clown—it’s what we allow to happen when we look away. As Pennywise himself might say, we all float down here. But Welcome to Derry forces us to ask: what exactly are we floating away from?
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