Why Christine (1983) Is the Horror Classic Your Zodiac Signs Have Been Warning You About—Spoiler: It’s Spookier Than Mercury in Retrograde!
Added on May 5, 2025 inEntertainment News Cards, Movie News Cards
Popular
Numerology Meets Netflix: Get Your Daily Dose of Cosmic Cinema Suggestions Powered By Our AI Astrologer. Find The Show Or Movie You Were Meant To See!
Then Join Our FREE Newsletter To Watch Your Choice Of Movies And Shows For FREE Plus Get The Latest Entertainment News And Updates!
You ever stop and wonder if your retro ’58 Plymouth Fury could secretly be moonlighting as a murderous monster? Yeah, me neither… until today. With the stars aligned for some serious Scorpio intensity—hello, all about obsession and hidden depths—it feels only right to sink our teeth into Christine, John Carpenter’s chilling 1983 supernatural horror that’s way more than just a killer car flick. Sure, on the surface, it’s a shiny, blood-red muscle car with a vendetta, but there’s a whole lot of teenage angst, toxic masculinity, and psychological meltdown tucked under that gleaming hood. It’s like your high school crush, except it kills you back.
This episode of Revisited peels back the chrome and reveals how Carpenter, probably just trying to bounce back from The Thing, turned Stephen King’s novel into a creeping allegory about repression and identity. And spoiler alert: the car doesn’t just kill people—it reflects the predator lurking inside Arnie Cunningham, a bullied kid whose transformation into a “cool” guy comes at a soul-crushing price. It’s an eerie mirror to what happens when nostalgia and unchecked desire collide… and maybe a sign that if your own wheels start glowing red, it’s time to step away from the driver’s seat.
Want to see why Christine isn’t your average haunted-vehicle story? Buckle up for this wild ride. LEARN MORE
The Christine episode of Revisited was Written by Vannah Taylor, Narrated by Niki Minter, Edited by Juan Jimenez, Produced by Tyler Nichols and John Fallon, and Executive Produced by Berge Garabedian.
The horror genre is littered with haunted objects. Anything under the sun could be the subject of a good popcorn thriller, whether it is cursed video tapes in chilling films like The Ring, possessed furniture in low budget comedies like Killer Sofa, or wind up toys that decide the fates of the characters in The Monkey. One of these killer objects is so enigmatic, she has her own name: Christine.
John Carpenter’s Christine (1983), adapted from Stephen King’s novel of the same name, has endured as an unusual yet effective blend of supernatural horror and adolescent drama. In a rare move, the film adaptation went into production before the book was even released—a testament to King’s immense popularity in the early 1980s following the success of works like Carrie and The Shining. Columbia Pictures quickly acquired the film rights, recognizing the market appeal of King’s brand. John Carpenter, fresh off the commercial failure of his now-beloved classic The Thing (1982), was brought on to direct in hopes of making a more accessible and financially successful film. Though Carpenter admitted he wasn’t particularly passionate about the story, saying, “it wasn’t very frightening,” he saw the opportunity to work with King’s material as a way to maintain momentum in his directing career. The screenplay, written by Bill Phillips, condensed King’s sprawling novel, focusing more tightly on Arnie’s transformation and the relationship between the boy and his car.
The film centers on a sentient 1958 Plymouth Fury that possesses a disturbing will of its own. But Christine is far more than a killer car story—it is a potent reflection on human desire, loss of self, and the destructive consequences of unchecked obsession. Through the transformation of its protagonist, Arnie Cunningham (portrayed by Keith Gordon), the film becomes a chilling allegory about repression, identity, toxic masculinity, and the danger of romanticizing the past.
Although Christine is a 1958 Plymouth Fury, many of the vehicles used in production were actually 1957 Plymouth Belvederes and Savoys, modified to resemble Furies. Over 20 cars were purchased and modified for various stages of damage and function. The practical effects used to bring the killer car to life, especially in the captivating scenes when we get to witness her ability to self-repair, were handled by Roy Arbogast. These effects included using inflatable body panels and even rigging one of the cars with internally-mounted hydraulics, which pull the framework inward to crumple the car and then the shot would be played backwards for the final film in an expert use of reverse photography. These well thought out techniques, combined with the directorial style of a Master of Horror like John Carpenter, create a film that is always rewarding on a rewatch. Unable to rely on excessive gore or cheap scares, Carpenter crafts a slow-building atmosphere of tension and psychological unease. His use of lighting, framing, and sound design creates a mood that is both nostalgic and sinister. Christine is frequently shot from low angles, emphasizing her power and giving her a predatory presence. Her bright red color, gleaming chrome, and glowing headlights contribute to her allure, while also serving as visual indicators of danger. Carpenter uses silence effectively, punctuating moments of calm with sudden bursts of violence. But through all of this, you might be asking yourself: why am I watching a movie about a killer car?
This adaptation leaves the question of “why” unanswered. Despite the novel’s explanation that the car is possessed by the spirit of the previous owner, whose death triggers the supernatural elements of the novel after Arnie’s purchase–the evil that lays beneath Christine’s hood awakens on the day of her production in the opening sequence of the film. This decision allows the film version of the bright red fury to act on her own intentions, which are also projections of Arnie’s innermost desires, rather than being the result of some other outside force. In Freudian terms, Christine functions as an embodiment of the id—the primal, instinctual part of the psyche that seeks pleasure, dominance, and vengeance without regard for morality. Arnie Cunningham, the film’s central figure, begins as a socially awkward, bullied teenager whose life is marked by passivity and humiliation. She becomes his outlet for repressed desires, enabling him to assert control over his life in increasingly violent ways. The evil car’s autonomy and acts of violence are not random. They correspond to Arnie’s emotional trajectory, reflecting his inner turmoil and growing disconnection from the real world. The car’s jealousy, possessiveness, and protectiveness mirror Arnie’s own psychological regression. As he loses his moral compass, Christine becomes a literal and metaphorical extension of his will, blurring the line between the boy and the machine. Carpenter uses this dynamic to suggest that repression, if left unresolved, will manifest destructively.
Arnie’s character arc is central to the film’s emotional and thematic core. When Arnie first lays eyes on Christine, it is a transformative moment, marked by romantic and even spiritual overtones. Though in disrepair, she captivates him. His decision to buy and restore her sets off a metamorphosis that is both physical and psychological. As Arnie invests time in rebuilding the car, his demeanor changes. He becomes confident and assertive, and adopts a new wardrobe and a rebellious attitude, shedding his submissive identity in favor of one shaped by arrogance and control. However, his dependency on Christine becomes an addiction, and he begins to prioritize the car over his relationships and moral obligations. Keith Gordon’s performance captures this descent masterfully, portraying a boy who slowly erodes under the weight of his own need for respect and control. What makes Arnie’s arc especially tragic is that his empowerment comes at the cost of his soul. Unlike other possession narratives where the protagonist resists the evil influence, Arnie embraces it. The deeper he falls under the Fury’s spell, the more he loses his individuality, becoming a hollow vessel for her malevolent intent. His desire to shed the humiliation of his former self blinds him to the fact that he is not becoming strong—he is becoming possessed.
One of the keys to understanding this tragic transformation is the fact that Christine is deeply embedded in American car culture, particularly the mythos of the 1950s and 1960s when muscle cars symbolized freedom, power, and masculine identity. For many teenage boys in suburban America, owning a car was a rite of passage—a way to assert independence and attract social status. In this story, the 1958 Plymouth Fury is not just a car—it is a symbol of an era. Christine represents the dark side of nostalgia, the dangers of idealizing the past at the expense of the present. Arnie’s love for Christine is not merely about aesthetics; it reflects a deeper yearning for a time when roles were rigid, identities were clearly defined, and personal power could be asserted through possession. In this sense, Christine is a vehicle for regression—a path backward rather than forward. The soundtrack also incorporated 1950s rock and roll, which played diagetically from Christine’s radio, creating a jarring contrast between the nostalgic tunes and the car’s violent actions.
The film’s bullies, especially Buddy Repperton, epitomize a hyper-masculine code based on aggression, dominance, and destruction. When Buddy and his gang vandalize Christine, it is not just an act of bullying—it is an emasculating assault on Arnie’s newfound sense of self.
Christine’s reanimation after being destroyed further drives home the idea that the past, once idealized, has a way of haunting the present. Her revenge on them is thus framed as the reassertion of male power through violence. However, this revenge is not liberating but corrosive. Arnie’s transformation into a vengeful, controlling figure is symptomatic of a larger societal issue: the conflation of masculinity with dominance and retribution. Even the dynamic between Arnie and Dennis evolves into subtle competition. As Arnie becomes more aggressive, Dennis finds himself increasingly marginalized–he’s now the side piece as Chrstine becomes Arnie’s main squeeze.
Given the romantic undertones to Arnie’s obsession with his new car Arnie’s romantic interest in Leigh represents a counterforce to Christine’s influence. She is intelligent, perceptive, and increasingly aware of the car’s sinister nature. Her role, while secondary in screen time, is vital in challenging the film’s masculine-centered narrative. Leigh is the one who voices concern over Arnie’s attachment to his car and becomes the target of the car’s supernatural aggression. A pinnacle moment in the film involves Leigh choking while sitting in Christine, only to be “saved” when the car’s radio suddenly turns off. The implication is that the car attempted to murder Leigh out of jealousy and she continues to actively sabotage his emotional connection to others–which is the film’s way of highlighting that this return to this nostalgic era ruled by patriarchal control cannot coexist with genuine emotional intimacy. Leigh and Dennis, who both have been tossed aside by Arnie, have to join forces to dismantle Christine’s destructive seduction. While Leigh may not be as deeply developed as Arnie, her role in the moral structure of the film is critical.
Perhaps the most chilling element of Christine is not the violence or the supernatural, but Arnie’s complete psychological collapse. By the film’s end, he is no longer recognizable as the boy viewers first met. His eyes are vacant, his voice cold, his relationships severed. Christine and Arnie become indistinguishable. This erosion of identity speaks to broader fears about adolescence, insecurity, and the desire to escape one’s limitations. The film uses horror to externalize the emotional violence that many teenagers experience: the pressure to conform, the yearning to be noticed, and the temptation to trade authenticity for acceptance. Arnie’s death, therefore, is not just a physical end—it is the culmination of a slow surrender of self.
Released on December 9, 1983, the film went on to earn a total of over $21 million at the U.S. box office against a $10 million budget. Initial critical reception was mixed, but over the years, the film has grown in stature. Even though the iconic horror author himself has stated that he finds this adaptation of his work, along with Kubrick’s The Shining to be rather boring, and is now recognized as one of the more compelling King adaptations.
Christine is a deceptively complex film. What could have been a simple tale of a haunted car is actually a rich exploration of the psychological trappings of adolescence. Christine herself is more than a monster—she is a mirror reflecting the darkest corners of the human psyche. The film’s enduring appeal lies in its ability to terrify not only through its killer car sequences. It is not just a cautionary tale about a boy and his car—it is a haunting reflection on the cost of becoming what we fear in order to feel powerful.
Two previous episodes of Revisited can be seen below. To see more of our shows, head over to the JoBlo Horror Originals channel – and subscribe while you’re at it!
 Is the Horror Classic Your Zodiac Signs Have Been Warning You About—Spoiler: It’s Spookier Than Mercury in Retrograde!', 'https%3A%2F%2Ficonoclasmic.com%2Fwhy-christine-1983-is-the-horror-classic-your-zodiac-signs-have-been-warning-you-about-spoiler-its-spookier-than-mercury-in-retrograde%2F')){kind=link}