It's probably the worst of the three King stories so far adapted by three-time Oscar-nominated director Frank Darabont. But this is no diss, considering that the French-born American director's previous King flicks are the critically acclaimed The Green Mile and The Shawshank Redemption.
Darabont, who drops the gooey, Spielbergian sentimentality that mars the other King films, gives us plenty of creature thrills, but focuses the story on those other monsters, humans, and how we turn on each other in a crisis.
The flick stars Thomas Jane as David Drayton, an iteration of that ol' King standby, the stand-up guy from Main Street, USA, who never forgets his code of ethics and never gives up on humanity.
David, who's out shopping with his 8-year-old son Billy (Nathan Gamble) when the mist arrives, is stuck in a supermarket with a cross-section of society, including a contrarian lawyer, three Army buds, two sub-Mensa blue-collar types and Mrs. Carmody. Played with dreadful precision by Marcia Gay Harden, Carmody stirs up the crowd by preaching a savage, paganized version of Christianity.
She tells everyone they are being punished by God for being modern. Her solution? Not prayer, or helping the widow and the orphan.
She thirsts for blood: She wants to offer a human sacrifice to The Beast in the mist.
The commentary on religion is unusually sharp for a horror flick: King shows how scapegoating is one of our oldest impulses, around since we climbed out of the primal goop. It's an easy shortcut for people who don't want to do the hard work of religion, which demands self-examination and compassionate, rational conversation.
Add a potent mix of nicely orchestrated melees and gore to this Religionskritik, and you've got a winner. Almost.
At 127 minutes, The Mist is too long. It loses momentum and gets mired in trivialities too often. But if you like your suspense bleak (and don't mind a dose of silliness on the side), The Mist is a refreshing walk on the dread side.
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