Review: The Mist

The Mist began as a novella fronting Stephen King's Skeleton Crew, a collection of short stories that is a landmark in short horror fiction for the author. The film, written and directed by Frank Darabont, is true to its source material, with interesting and notable differences.

The story is that of David Drayton (Thomas Jane), an artist living in Maine who sits at the center of a wicked storm, driving him, his son, and his wife into hiding. When dawn breaks, Drayton, along with his neighbor, Brent Norton (Andre Braugher), takes his son into town for supplies. While at the local store, a mist rolls in, driving before it a screaming man who warns others that there is something in the mist, something lethal.

The occupants of the store soon learn that they have been beseiged by creatures of unexplained origin, some insectile, some prehistoric, but none native of any reality they know. Within the store, camps form, some rationalists who believe that the mist is harmless, some rational, coping with the extreme circumstances, and others who cling to religion in its darkest form, led by the frightening Mrs. Carmody (Marcia Gay Harden).
Darabont, as a director, understands how to construct a horror film. If you recall, he penned Nightmare on Elm Street 3 way back in the day, so his roots are firmly planted in this genre. What is most appealing in this film is the slow and steady manner in which the film moves from point to point. It takes its time, lets the audience follow the characters, explores their own fears, and weaves a sense of dread that slowly rises in a way I have never experienced before in a film.

Marcia Gay Harden certainly deserves the praise she is receiving in this performance, but it is an ensemble piece to be sure. Every actor lends a voice of realism to the texture of the film, and the occasional reminiscence about the nature of man in the face of the unknown is never didactic. Much of the tone hearkens back to Duel, where Dennis Weaver muses, 'There you are, right back in the jungle again.' That is the feel of this film. That the unknowable is often as horrible as you imagine, and sometimes far worse.
This is horror of the highest orderr, with its roots in the movies of the 1950s while bringing a decdedly modern tone to the material. Much has been made of Darabont's singular departure from King's novella in regards to the film's ending. Without hinting at what that ending might be, I will say it felt like an emotional sucker-punch, and one that has lingered since first seeing the film. It is brave, awful, disturbing and glorious all at once.