Dir. Frank Darabont
There be evil in that there mist!
Stephen King adaptations can be tricky. And often quite schlocky. For every Carrie or The Shining, we get a The Mangler. Not that this is a bad thing, mind. I mean, look whose blog you're reading! I positively delight in this stuff.
Having helmed The Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile, Frank Darabont is no stranger to King’s work. The Mist provides us with his first adaptation of one’s of King’s horror stories, though it’s easy to see why the director chose this novella to film. All the ingredients are ripe to make a gripping ‘small-band-of-people-seek-refuge-in-one-location-from-mysterious-force’ movie, akin to Night of the Living Dead or any number of John Carpenter films.
The Mist however, manages to exploit the formula for all its worth and Darabont turns in a finely honed piece of taut and suspenseful cinema that still manages to feel fresh and, most importantly, surprising.
The characters are well drawn and sometimes even complex: an artist father and his young son, a teacher who recently moved into town but is still viewed as an ‘outsider’, a hard-nosed lawyer from out of town, a couple of beer swilling good ole’ boys, a local religious zealot, a gutsy older woman, a philosophical bag-boy and a doomed young couple. Each of the cast (this film has a great cast) provides sturdy performances which enhance the carefully constructed mood of desperation and suspense.
Of course, it comes as no surprise that there is something-lurking-outside-in-the-mist – this is Stephen King after all – but the way in which Darabont slowly, surely makes us realise this, is a real treat. He wisely only offers us tantalising glimpses: a tentacle here, a strange noise there, or with stripped bare, spine-tingling utterances such as ‘there’s something in the mist.’ As the story unfolds, the constant dread-saturated mood shifts up a gear and events become increasingly tense, with bizarre critters and splashy effects. The location becomes suitably claustrophobic after a while and the inevitable stragglers, who every now and again decide they need to go outside to ‘get help’, provide us with momentary relief from the harsh florescent lighting and the hum of the refrigerators in the store.
When watching horror films it can be easy for the audience to sit back and point out the mistakes the characters make, smugly assured that they would never be foolish enough to make the same unwise decisions. Go outside into the mist to look for help? Erm, no. Obviously the sensible thing to do would be to stay put and wait for the military to come to the rescue. Right? With The Mist though, Darabont manages to subvert a few clichés and really make the audience think twice about assumptions they have made and characters they have aligned themselves with. The people in the supermarket eventually break into two clear groups: the realists, who try to keep a clear head and deal rationally with the irrational situation at hand; and those who have sided with the religious zealot Mrs Carmody, who views events as a sign that God is angry and displeased with mankind and repentance is the only hope. To her credit, Marcia Gay Harden manages to elicit some sympathy as Carmody, and delivers a really powerful performance. In the hands of someone else, the character could have been reduced to gnashing teeth and frenzied caricature. It is perhaps because of her extremity and unreasonable preachings that the other characters appear so normal.
Morality, philosophy, religion and human nature all come under scrutiny from the characters as they debate about what to do. Of course talk eventually turns to what might have caused the mist and the creatures inside it. Ideas regarding space/time continuums and parallel worlds are dragged out and dusted off, but before we have time to roll our eyes, a long shimmering plot strand explodes and hell breaks loose, momentarily brushing sci-fi jargon under the blood-splattered rug.
When we do finally venture out of the chaos of the supermarket into the foreboding quiet of the mist, and see the full extent of the destruction outside, Darabont cranks up the Dead Can Dance soundtrack to full effect and events take a positively Lovecraftian turn. Without wishing to give too much away, the shock ending will have you reeling as you stumble to reassess previous events and choices characters have made (and the choices/assumptions you made with them as a viewer) and how they led to such nihilism. Powerful stuff.
The Mist however, manages to exploit the formula for all its worth and Darabont turns in a finely honed piece of taut and suspenseful cinema that still manages to feel fresh and, most importantly, surprising.
The characters are well drawn and sometimes even complex: an artist father and his young son, a teacher who recently moved into town but is still viewed as an ‘outsider’, a hard-nosed lawyer from out of town, a couple of beer swilling good ole’ boys, a local religious zealot, a gutsy older woman, a philosophical bag-boy and a doomed young couple. Each of the cast (this film has a great cast) provides sturdy performances which enhance the carefully constructed mood of desperation and suspense.
Of course, it comes as no surprise that there is something-lurking-outside-in-the-mist – this is Stephen King after all – but the way in which Darabont slowly, surely makes us realise this, is a real treat. He wisely only offers us tantalising glimpses: a tentacle here, a strange noise there, or with stripped bare, spine-tingling utterances such as ‘there’s something in the mist.’ As the story unfolds, the constant dread-saturated mood shifts up a gear and events become increasingly tense, with bizarre critters and splashy effects. The location becomes suitably claustrophobic after a while and the inevitable stragglers, who every now and again decide they need to go outside to ‘get help’, provide us with momentary relief from the harsh florescent lighting and the hum of the refrigerators in the store.
Morality, philosophy, religion and human nature all come under scrutiny from the characters as they debate about what to do. Of course talk eventually turns to what might have caused the mist and the creatures inside it. Ideas regarding space/time continuums and parallel worlds are dragged out and dusted off, but before we have time to roll our eyes, a long shimmering plot strand explodes and hell breaks loose, momentarily brushing sci-fi jargon under the blood-splattered rug.
When we do finally venture out of the chaos of the supermarket into the foreboding quiet of the mist, and see the full extent of the destruction outside, Darabont cranks up the Dead Can Dance soundtrack to full effect and events take a positively Lovecraftian turn. Without wishing to give too much away, the shock ending will have you reeling as you stumble to reassess previous events and choices characters have made (and the choices/assumptions you made with them as a viewer) and how they led to such nihilism. Powerful stuff.