Clown in a Cornfield

The first sequence in Clown in a Cornfield reminded me of the iconic opener from Jaws (1975). In both, a young woman beckons her drunk boyfriend away from a late-night party. As she peels off her shirt with a come-hither expression, he fights through his inebriation and pursues her. The woman in Jaws goes for a moonlight swim, only to become shark food, while her would-be lover passes out on the beach. In this movie, the teenage girl finds herself slaughtered by—you guessed it—a clown hiding in the cornfield. And her boyfriend gets it too. Later in the movie, despite knowing the clown resides in the field, other teens escape into the rows of corn stalks to hide. This made me wonder how it would play out if the heroes in Jaws had decided to escape the shark by going for a swim, and what a bad decision that would be. But then, Clown in a Cornfield is full of bad choices—bad dialogue, bad characters, bad acting, and bad storytelling. 

Based on the 2020 book by Adam Cesare, whose brand of YA horror follows in the tradition of R. L. Stine and Christopher Pike, the movie was adapted by screenwriter Carter Blanchard and director Eli Craig. Horror-comedy fans may recognize Craig’s name; he helmed the cult favorite Tucker & Dale vs. Evil (2010)—an inspired reversal of horror tropes, featuring a couple of pleasant hillbillies (Tyler Labine, Alan Tudyk) tormented by prejudiced college kids on a weekend in the woods. Unfortunately, Craig’s career never quite popped after that. He worked on the unrealized Zombieland series and made an underwhelming horror-comedy, Little Evil, for Netflix in 2017. I always wanted Craig to continue with the adventures of Tucker and Dale, turning them into a modern Abbott and Costello with a horror bent, but alas, that never happened. Craig returns to the director’s chair for the first entry in Cesare’s book trilogy, delivering a slow, uninvolving, 96-minute slasher with little to distinguish itself. 

The story takes place in Kettle Springs, a midwestern town dependent on Baypen Corn Syrup, whose clown mascot, Friendo, appears everywhere. Dr. Maybrook (Aaron Abrams) and his 17-year-old daughter, Quinn (Katie Douglas), move to the town from Philadelphia, hoping for a new start after some family drama. They find the locals still reeling from their corn syrup factory burning down, and a resident group of teens, known for making YouTube short films about a killer version of Friendo, is blamed for causing the fire. Quinn ignores the warnings not to hang out with the wrong crowd and befriends these so-called troublemakers, headed by Cole (Carson MacCormac), the son of the mayor (Kevin Durand). But much to her father’s parental skepticism, Quinn discovers the adults in their town, particularly the sheriff (Will Sasso), have targeted the teens. When a killer clown begins slaying them before Kettle Springs’ 100-year Founder’s Day celebration, it’s not difficult to guess what’s really happening. 

On purely formal terms, Clown in a Cornfield is competently assembled. Craig and cinematographer Brian Pearson capture nighttime chases and killings with clear visuals, while the generous, mostly practical bloodshed will delight gorehounds. The problem isn’t with the presentation. The problem lies in the writing, requiring the cast to speak in unfortunate dialogue that belongs in a CW-brand melodrama. These unlikeable teens complain that Kettle Springs adults are “stuck in the ’90s,” even while they occupy throwback tropes: the jock, the mean girls, the towering loner, etc. Our main characters also come equipped with banal trauma, which Craig flatly mines for emotional depth; however, it feels more like the writers checked an obligatory box for modern horror. There’s also a half-hearted streak of self-awareness, with the teens realizing that they’re stuck in an ’80s slasher scenario. But the movie doesn’t have fun with this or make its characters smarter than the killers à la Scream (1996). Instead, they inhabit every cliché in the horror playbook. 

Unlike Damien Leone’s stated intentions for the killer-clown Terrifier series, Clown in a Cornfield cannot claim to be apolitical. Rather, the movie’s politics are unmissable. The story is rooted in tedious generationalism, with Kettle Springs adults wagging their fingers at the disruptive teens, as though everyone in town remains ideologically divided based on their age. It’s all an obvious, overgeneralized analogy for what’s happening in America today, with the right fighting for tradition for tradition’s sake, while younger generations embrace the new, unconventional, and innovative. The older generations remain frightened of change and will do anything to return things to a whitewashed ideal of how they once were; the younger generations want to follow their own path, not that of their parents. The elders in charge become the pejorative clowns, literally and figuratively. And it’s not that I disagree with the movie’s perspective, but it’s so artlessly unsubtle that I winced while watching the teens make preachy “Us vs. Them” speeches. Then again, I suppose hoping for subtlety from a movie called Clown in a Cornfield is missing the point. 

An independent production distributed by RLJE Films and Shudder, Clown in a Cornfield piqued my interest. I went in hoping for another cult gem like Craig’s Tucker & Dale vs. Evil. Instead, I saw a generic slasher full of glaring plot holes and lingering questions too obvious to ignore. The characters range from unbelievable to obnoxious, except for Quinn’s dad, who seems to be the only person not demented or driven by teen hormones. When it’s over, and the movie has revealed its predictable twists and turns, it might earn comparisons to Thanksgiving (2023) and perhaps even Hot Fuzz (2007), while the farm locations and town conspiracy themes recall Dark Harvest (2023), another, albeit far superior, low-budget horror movie featuring corn fields and a timely political undercurrent. Each of those does what Clown in a Cornfield does, only better, making it difficult to recommend this clown-themed slasher even as a casual watch.