Everything is chiseled from the black and white ore of stark contrasts.Īnd yet, to stress the point again, somehow it works surprisingly well. Stated simply, it is intentionally grandiose and blunt. But then again, if you view it more as a theater play-one designed to be over-the-top-almost in a Job-esk dialogue kind of way (though not nearly so poetic)-I trust it can be forgiven, even appreciated. On the one hand, the acting and interactions are so questionable and poorly executed at times one should feel a strong urge to move on to better and brighter flicks. This is precisely where the movie shines and very nearly flops. In the same way that Signs wasn’t ultimately concerned about the visitation of aliens, this isn’t ultimately about flappy, bat creatures-deadly as they and their fellow minions prove to be. The movie is fundamentally concerned with the interaction of (mostly) strangers from diverse backgrounds and worldviews trying to navigate a harrowing situation. There are hints as to why all this is happening, but all that is tangential. Naturally, a little fog never hurt anyone, but various horrors are lurking about in the mist, just waiting to eviscerate the next hapless victim attempting to escape. Once there, a strange mist envelops the building leaving those trapped inside to decide their next play. In the aftermath of a nasty storm, a father and son go to a grocery store to restock various food items. All I had was the vague recollection of flappy, bat creatures terrorizing people in a grocery store from the trailer I had seen years earlier.

I was sick with a lingering cold and knew next to nothing about the movie. In many ways, it was the best of situations. But there I was the other night, remote control in hand, the red ribbon of Netflix booting up on my TV, ready to be lost in a horror pick. Were it not for the personal recommendation from Pastor Brito, the movie likely would have remained forever lost in the endless tunnels of Netflix. It flirts with brilliancy-plays footsie with it-like a pair of middle-schoolers who cannot truly reach the heights of love but mimic its form, perhaps even feeling like they’re swimming in love’s deeper currents.Īnd yet! The ending is so shockingly poignant-so shockingly unexpected (at least for me)-that the last five minutes of the film very nearly absolved all the overwrought and bewilderingly unrealistic moments. Rarely has a film confounded my movie sensibilities so powerfully as Frank Darabont’s “The Mist.” Somehow and in some way it is simultaneously terrible yet entertaining, ridiculous yet strangely compelling, pedestrian yet brilliant.

The Mist by Stephen King