Among the American Library Association's '100 Most Frequently Challenged (ie challenging) Books Of 1990 - 2001', Thomas Rockwell's classic children's novel 'How To Eat Fried Worms' sits at number 96.
Quite why it was deemed fitting for the ALA's sinbin, alongside such horrors as 'Mommy Laid An Egg', 'My Brother Sam Is Dead' and the ever-popular 'The Boy Who Lost His Face', is mystifying. As a classmate observes in Bob (The Banger Sisters) Dolman's very loose screen adaptation, "normal people don't eat worms." Well, not normally, but if there's a matter of personal honour at stake, boys of all ages will do all kinds of impossible things.
In Rockwell's original novel, our young protagonist Billy is dared by his pals to scoff 15 fried worms in as many consecutive days. Should he succeed, he'll win a mini bike. If he loses, he has to cough up 50 greenbacks, along with those masticated worm segments.
Upping the ante, the screen version of How To Eat Fried Worms sees 11-year-old Billy (Benward) obliged by fifth-grade despot Joe (Hicks) to eat 10 of the squirming critters in one day - else take a shuffle of shame down the school corridor with his pants stuffed with live nightcrawlers. For Billy, a dweeb-magnet in a new school, the task is further complicated by the fact he's already got a weak stomach. What follows may cause those of a squeamish disposition to mislay the contents of their own.
If you've seen one worm devourment, you've seen them all, so to hold the interest, Billy's slithery snacks are given the Nigella makeover, with dishes called things like 'The Barfmallow', 'The Radioactive' (steamed in a microwave) and 'The Fireball' (drowned in chilli sauce); a flair for home economics previously unheard of in rough-and-tumble fifth-grade boys.
Will Billy win the bet? Well, there's so little suspense involved - after the first wriggler's taken the train to tummytown, Billy has little trouble polishing off the rest - that it's pretty hard to care. Plus, it's difficult to believe that by forcing down the unsavoury fare, poor Billy will win a new-found respect and cease to be called 'Wormboy'. If anything, the reverse would be the case. One imagines him starting his first day at the stock exchange, and a fellow trader saying, "Hey... aren't you the guy who ate the worms?"
Naturally, this is all secondary to the real message, driven home with the subtlety of a chainsaw; that bullies are made, not born, and if we only took time out to understand their problems we could unite both sides of the Gaza Strip. We're in Stand By Me territory, with that movie's blend of gross-out humour and heartfelt adolescent bonding, and those elements don't always prove such a digestible mix here.
That said, Dolman's a good director of kids, able, as Herr Lipp of 'The League Of Gentlemen' would undoubtedly say, to "put himself inside an 11-year-old boy". Hicks, as the bullying and bullied Joe, is standout. The frankly horrifying rumour that one punch from Joe's 'death ring' will lead to a belated death by perforated ulcer in the eighth grade is a fine example of adolescent psychosis. While exchanges like "His mind told his vomit to stay inside his stomach." "Impossible!" "Yeah, puke has a mind of its own," would fit quite comfortably in a 'grown-up' comedy.
The best line, though, is the one about an old woods-dwelling woman who the kids are afraid of: "Some people call her the two-headed witch. Know why? Coz she had two heads once. But one fell off."
Quite why it was deemed fitting for the ALA's sinbin, alongside such horrors as 'Mommy Laid An Egg', 'My Brother Sam Is Dead' and the ever-popular 'The Boy Who Lost His Face', is mystifying. As a classmate observes in Bob (The Banger Sisters) Dolman's very loose screen adaptation, "normal people don't eat worms." Well, not normally, but if there's a matter of personal honour at stake, boys of all ages will do all kinds of impossible things.
In Rockwell's original novel, our young protagonist Billy is dared by his pals to scoff 15 fried worms in as many consecutive days. Should he succeed, he'll win a mini bike. If he loses, he has to cough up 50 greenbacks, along with those masticated worm segments.
Upping the ante, the screen version of How To Eat Fried Worms sees 11-year-old Billy (Benward) obliged by fifth-grade despot Joe (Hicks) to eat 10 of the squirming critters in one day - else take a shuffle of shame down the school corridor with his pants stuffed with live nightcrawlers. For Billy, a dweeb-magnet in a new school, the task is further complicated by the fact he's already got a weak stomach. What follows may cause those of a squeamish disposition to mislay the contents of their own.
If you've seen one worm devourment, you've seen them all, so to hold the interest, Billy's slithery snacks are given the Nigella makeover, with dishes called things like 'The Barfmallow', 'The Radioactive' (steamed in a microwave) and 'The Fireball' (drowned in chilli sauce); a flair for home economics previously unheard of in rough-and-tumble fifth-grade boys.
Will Billy win the bet? Well, there's so little suspense involved - after the first wriggler's taken the train to tummytown, Billy has little trouble polishing off the rest - that it's pretty hard to care. Plus, it's difficult to believe that by forcing down the unsavoury fare, poor Billy will win a new-found respect and cease to be called 'Wormboy'. If anything, the reverse would be the case. One imagines him starting his first day at the stock exchange, and a fellow trader saying, "Hey... aren't you the guy who ate the worms?"
Naturally, this is all secondary to the real message, driven home with the subtlety of a chainsaw; that bullies are made, not born, and if we only took time out to understand their problems we could unite both sides of the Gaza Strip. We're in Stand By Me territory, with that movie's blend of gross-out humour and heartfelt adolescent bonding, and those elements don't always prove such a digestible mix here.
That said, Dolman's a good director of kids, able, as Herr Lipp of 'The League Of Gentlemen' would undoubtedly say, to "put himself inside an 11-year-old boy". Hicks, as the bullying and bullied Joe, is standout. The frankly horrifying rumour that one punch from Joe's 'death ring' will lead to a belated death by perforated ulcer in the eighth grade is a fine example of adolescent psychosis. While exchanges like "His mind told his vomit to stay inside his stomach." "Impossible!" "Yeah, puke has a mind of its own," would fit quite comfortably in a 'grown-up' comedy.
The best line, though, is the one about an old woods-dwelling woman who the kids are afraid of: "Some people call her the two-headed witch. Know why? Coz she had two heads once. But one fell off."