2024
Watching A Stir of Echoes for the first time now, nearly twenty-five years after its release, feels like stepping into someone else’s memory of the ’90s. It’s a strange experience because I lived through that time–I was in my early 20s in 1999 when this film came out and usually went to the movies with a friend every Friday night–but I never saw A Stir of Echoes then. This slice of Chicago life feels very foreign to me, someone who had just pretty much lived in the FL suburbs for most until I moved to a cappy beachside apartment, right around the time this film was released.
Anyway, Kevin Bacon’s there in this tight-knit Chicago neighborhood, looking like every guy I knew who worked construction or drove a delivery truck. He’s chugging beers, jamming to dad rock, living in one of those neighborhoods where you can smell someone’s dinner cooking three houses down, all the neighbors know each other, and there’s a random block party every other weekend. We soon learn, though, that it’s a place where everyone knows your name, but no one knows your secrets.
Bacon plays Tom Witzky, a blue-collar everyman possessing an abundance of clichéd tough-guy skepticism. His world turns upside down when his sister-in-law Lisa (Illeana Douglas) awakens his latent psychic abilities through casual party trick hypnosis. Lisa, armed with the dubious authority of a few psychology classes, unwittingly opens a door Tom can’t close. Suddenly, he sees ghosts and digs up his backyard like a man possessed, all while trying to solve the mystery of a missing girl. The film balances supernatural chills with the gritty, mundane horrors of financial struggle and marital strain, as Tom’s obsession tests his relationship with his wife, Maggie, and adds an unsettling dimension to their young son’s own psychic gifts.
I’m struck by the late ’90s fashion details – Lisa’s baby tees, chokers, and barrettes are like artifacts from a time capsule. Speaking of Lisa, her character got under my skin in an unexpected way. I usually love these snarky, Daria/Janeane Garofalo-esque characters, but something about her felt grating. In every scene, it seemed like she was teetering on the edge of taking her sarcastic schtick too far. It’s made me wonder if maybe I’m reacting to something I recognize in myself – that tendency to lean too hard into snark as a defense mechanism. This self-reflection added an extra layer to my viewing experience, making me pay closer attention to the nuances in each performance. It’s funny how watching older films can do that – make you scrutinize not just the characters, but your reactions to them. This heightened awareness led me to another unexpected pleasure: spotting actors before they became familiar faces. I may have quietly squeed at both a future House and future Gilmore Girls cast members’ appearance!
The film left me with a strange ache, not quite nostalgia, more like a glimpse into a parallel ’90s I never experienced. It’s made me curious about the Richard Matheson book it’s based on, wondering how much of this gritty, supernatural slice of life came from the page and how much from the screen. Watching A Stir of Echoes now feels like catching up on a conversation I missed years ago, piecing together the context from collective echoes, little more than whispers, the remnant scraps of tee shirts that will never fit you again but that you remember ever so fondly.
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