Only Shakespeare surpasses Stephen King: The king of horror is the most-adapted living writer

In the last four weeks, three films based on Stephen King novels or short stories have been released in theaters. In the same period, two series also inspired by the American writer’s work have landed on digital platforms. And in early 2026, yet another will appear: a television series based on Carrie, directed by Mike Flanagan. A glance at the IMDb film database is staggering: since 1976, when Brian De Palma’s original Carrie was released, more than 400 audiovisual productions bearing Stephen King’s name have been launched. No other living writer has been so frequently adapted on screen (and he is second in history only to William Shakespeare, with 1,876 productions based on the Bard’s works). What is it about King — the author of more than 60 novels and 200 short stories — that makes him so appealing? What do filmmakers and experts think of this wave of adaptations?

A month ago, the outstanding The Life of Chuck arrived in theaters, with which Flanagan has once again demonstrated his talent for suspense, both in its shift toward horror and in its fantasy aspects. It’s not the first time the filmmaker — an undisputed heavyweight in these genres in both film and television — has tackled an adaptation of a King story: he already did so with Gerald’s Game (2017) and Doctor Sleep (2019), the sequel to The Shining.

The Life of Chuck belongs to the King who blends fantasy and nostalgia, as seen in Hearts in Atlantis, The Green Mile, and The Shawshank Redemption. Flanagan, who is currently in production on the small-screen adaptation of Carrie, explained this past summer in the U.S.: “It’s often assumed that Stephen King is a horror writer. I don’t think that’s true. Deep down, he’s an optimist, a humanist, deeply empathetic, and, frankly, very true to his principles. That his stories can be terrifying is secondary to those goals. For me, this is true whether we’re talking about The Life of Chuck, which I consider one of his most sincere and optimistic stories, or The Shawshank Redemption, which is simply amazing, or Pet Sematary, one of the most terrifying stories I’ve ever read.”

Pet Sematary unites two Spanish filmmakers, Juan Carlos Fresnadillo and Rodrigo Cortés, both with extensive experience in suspense and horror. Fresnadillo recalls: “I was fascinated by Pet Sematary when I was very young, my favorite by far [referring to the 1989 movie version], and in fact I revived the project for Paramount in 2015, which ultimately, due to the hellish development process in Hollywood, I couldn’t complete because of scheduling conflicts.” Cortés’s legs still tremble when he remembers reading the original novel: “I’ve been reading King since adolescence. I lost my reading virginity with Pet Sematary, and I still haven’t completely forgotten the death of little Gage. I have the urge to watch some of the films based on his pages, perhaps as a way to revisit his landscapes, or to see what others have imagined. Most of them are disposable, cheap, extremely distorted, or made-for-TV material that forgets that King is, above all, a writer of everyday life and characters.”

This reflection is shared by several experts. In the preface to his book Stephen King: Guía ilustrada del maestro del terror (or, Stephen King: Illustrated Guide to the Master of Horror), which compares novels and their film adaptations, Matthieu Rostac observes: “In the opinion of many, he’s a poorly adapted novelist, a man whose work is scrupulously destroyed by the film industry, which in fact transforms his writings into safe havens. They are not entirely wrong [...] although ‘King owes much to cinema, just as horror cinema owes much to him.’”

Filmmaker Carlota Pereda, whose film Piggy (2022) was described by EL PAÍS critic Elsa Fernández-Santos as “Carrie in Extremadura,” agrees: “I’m interested in that kind of cinema, especially when the films deviate from their source material. King creates relatable characters with relatable conflicts in a universe that feels real… where strange things happen. That’s why films that rely less on horror and are more grounded in everyday life are also better.”

Fresnadillo emphasizes, like Pereda, that King’s work is adapted so often because of “his characters.” He elaborates: “The external torment, the terror of the houses, or the situations he presents stem from an inner fracture in his protagonists. From something they can’t quite accept, or from a traumatic wound that, despite being buried in time, will eventually resurface.”

Cortés offers an analysis of his adaptations: “There are A-list films, like The Shining, Carrie, Misery, or The Shawshank Redemption, and films made with great skill and a strong sense of genre, like Pet Sematary (the original), Cujo, Thinner... I am, for example, a big fan of Dreamcatcher. I like The Mist, Stand by Me, parts of Creepshow... Of the recent ones, I enjoyed The Life of Chuck, and I confess that I’ve always fantasized about adapting The Long Walk, which Francis Lawrence has just filmed with substance and some impressive moments, although without leaving a lasting impression... It’s a shame about the flashbacks, and the ending.” Pereda emphasizes: “It adds nothing to the text, it’s superficial. However, I’ll always watch a King film, because he himself is an IP; he fulfills the commandment of taking you to a world you already know and have enjoyed at some point.”

The Long Walk premiered in September, stars Cooper Hoffman (Philip Seymour’s son), and is too closely linked thematically — even in its shared director — to The Hunger Games universe. Cortés continues: “I read that novel around the same time as The Running Man, both written by King under the pseudonym Richard Bachman.” The Running Man remake is directed by Edgar Wright, who fails to inject any energy into the plot, nor does his lead actor, Glen Powell, lead us to forget Arnold Schwarzenegger, who starred in the 1987 original.

Since King was struck by a minivan on a rural road near his home in Maine in 1999, the author has not fully recovered physically. He has reduced his working hours; by contrast, he has multiplied his digital activity, becoming one of the leading influencers of the genre. Via that platform, with a strongly laudatory message, he launched the Spanish film La mesita del comedor (or, The Dining Room Table), directed by Caye Casas, to fame in May 2024. “For me, there was a before and after,” Casas admits with a laugh. “King is the king of horror in every sense of the word. From paranormal events to everyday occurrences, because he talks about families, about things that could happen to any of us, and without censorship, shattering taboos,” he points out. “And with that, he has gained legions of fans: that’s why streaming platforms and production companies know that just by putting his name on something, millions of people will be interested in their product. Look what happened to me.”

That’s why King is also the seed of numerous television shows: this summer, The Institute arrived on Prime Video. “The most difficult thing about adapting any Stephen King story is that he’s a wonderful writer of the inner lives of his characters. You can access their darkest, deepest, and most secret feelings, emotions, and desires. You can do that very well in a book, but how to externalize it for a screen is a challenge,” screenwriter Benjamin Cavell told EL PAÍS. The director of The Institute, Jack Bender, who also directed Mr. Mercedes (2017-2019), which Netflix has just revived, is a friend of King’s, so he can explain what allows his work to be adapted so easily: “He understands the process of making a series or a film from a book.”

The other major streaming phenomenon is the Derry universe, where Pennywise the Clown, the villain from the novel It, wreaks havoc every 27 years. Argentine siblings Andy and Bárbara Muschietti adapted the book into two films released in 2017 and 2019, and they themselves approached HBO to propose It: Welcome to Derry — the first season of three planned instalments is now premiering on the platform. “King captivates because everything in his work resonates with social reality. His critiques are coated with a veneer of fiction and horror. But we all recognize ourselves in them,” Bárbara Muschietti explained to EL PAÍS last month. For the producer and screenwriter, “Derry resembles any town, city, or country in this moment in which we unfortunately live in such a globalized world. Because waves of fear and fascism are present all over the world.” Or, as her brother pointed out: “Fear is the order of the day. It’s subtextual, but also quite literal.” King may be the great narrator of a somewhat idealized rural America, but at the same time he has led the intellectual opposition against Trump. As Casas notes, “he criticizes him even on X, a territory allied with the president.”

Journalist María Gómez is such a King fan that last Halloween she dressed up as Carrie, and the year before that as the girls from The Shining. “Interestingly, he doesn’t like that movie,” she notes. “Actually, he hates almost all of his adaptations. I don’t understand why he doesn’t have more control over those films and series. It can’t be for lack of money. And above all, he gets very angry when they change the endings. Why doesn’t he object?” Gómez also highlights the author’s characters. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a child, a broken mother, a writer in crisis like him, or a clown... They all have a perfect mix of darkness and tenderness, which makes them both brutal and memorable.” And she insists: “More than a horror writer, he’s a writer of lives, because he handles a concept very well: what can actually happen to you is scarier than a monster. The most unsettling things are the everyday.”

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