H.P. Lovecraft wrote many stories for pulp magazines that are considered classics today, including “The Call of Cthulhu” and “Herbert West—Reanimator.” He’s still known as one of the most influential authors in the genre. He’s also known for his virulently racist beliefs, which he expressed in some of his writings, as Matt Ruff notes in his 2016 horror novel, Lovecraft Country, which combines pulp-horror tropes with the real-life horrors of a racist America. Its new HBO limited-series adaptation expands the story in new directions—with mixed results.

The novel, set in the 1950s, centers on a small group of Black Chicagoans: science fiction and horror-story fan Atticus Turner, a veteran of the Korean War; his difficult father, Montrose; Atticus’ uncle, George, the editor of The Safe Negro Travel Guide; George’s brilliant wife, Hippolyta, and their young comic-book artist son, Horace; Atticus’ childhood friend Letitia Dandridge, and her sister, Ruby.

The highly episodic story first follows Atticus, George, and Letitia as they go on a dangerous road trip to Massachusetts to locate the missing Montrose, who, it turns out, has been kidnapped by a strange cult of magic-users. Later, Letitia buys a haunted house in a neighborhood that’s hostile to Black residents, and Atticus and others attempt to locate and steal a mysterious and powerful book. Other sections tell of Hippolyta discovering a portal to another world, and Ruby, after a night out with a stranger, waking up to find that the color of her skin has suddenly changed. Montrose encounters ghosts of people murdered by racists in an Illinois town, a cursed doll attacks Horace, and, in the final chapter, several characters formulate a plan to defeat an evil wizard.

Ruff handles the horror and occasional SF elements of the story with aplomb, and the various plotlines pay loving tribute to the tropes of old-time genre fiction. However, the characters are also threatened by vile creatures who aren’t supernatural, but all too common in America: White racists, including cops who harass Atticus and many others; men who break into Letitia’s house; and mobs who, in flashbacks, murder an interracial couple and Montrose’s father. Ruff, who is white, manages to get across the existential terror of living in a bigoted society, and he handles this theme with boldness and sensitivity, although it’s hard not to wonder how a Black writer would have approached the same material.

Misha Green developed and co–executive produced the new HBO limited-series adaptation, which premieres on Aug. 16, and she also wrote or co-wrote every episode. (The first five of 10 episodes were made available for review.) Green, who’s Black, is best known for co-creating the WGN America TV series Underground, a harrowing historical drama about enslaved people in Georgia before the Civil War. She brings a similar intensity to this new series, which pulls no punches in its depiction of the Black experience; in particular, it explores its characters’ feelings of frustration and anger in ways that the original text only touches upon. This, in turn, commands inspired performances from the cast. Jonathan Majors of last year’s highly underrated SF-thriller film Captive State is truly compelling as Atticus (renamed Freeman here), as is Jurnee Smollett, who co-starred in Underground, as Letitia; Emmy winner Courtney B. Vance brings his sure hand to the calm, idealistic George; and The Wire’s Michael K. Williams offers a passionate performance as Montrose, a character who’s given intriguing new complexity in this adaptation. Even newly invented characters, such as Abbey Lee’s off-putting, magic-wielding villain, Christina Braithwaite, and Jada Harris’ Diana (subbing for Horace), are welcome additions.

However, the show’s genre elements feel oddly lacking—which is surprising, considering that one of the series’ co–executive producers is brilliant horror director Jordan Peele of Get Out and Us fame. The book presents its sorcery, phantasms, and otherworldly creatures in a fun but relatively low-key manner—very much like the pulps that provided its inspiration. The TV series, however, approaches the story like today’s more extreme horror—with all the voluminous, squelchy gore that entails.

One new character, for example, appears to have been created only to provide an excuse for a gratuitous nude scene and a gruesome death. A simple but intriguing museum heist in the book is blown up to Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom proportions in the series—for no clear reason, other than that there was HBO money to throw around. (There are lots of new, clearly expensive CGI monsters, as well.) The worst addition, however, comes at the series’ midpoint: a brutal and graphic rape with a foreign object—a scene that doesn’t appear in the book, but will certainly cause many viewers to abandon the show. This is a shame, because there are many captivating scenes yet to come in the story—if they make it to the screen intact.

David Rapp is the senior Indie editor.