Frank Darabont loves Rod Serling. I mean really loves him. Darabont's freshly minted screen adaptation of Stephen King's novella The Mist is an open admission of his affection. Here's the set-up: after a dark, stormy night in Bridgton, Maine, a dense fog — or mist, if you will — suddenly blankets the town. Our hero, family man David Drayton (Thomas Jane), is out grocery shopping with his prepubescent son. When someone comes running through the parking lot with a bloody nose, screaming about "things" in the mist, Drayton is sealed in the store with close to a hundred locals. The mist is indeed chock full of monsters, and what ensues is a story of a small-town folk under siege and savagery born of confinement, paranoia and fear. If the summary didn't make it clear, The Mist is a large-scale Twilight Zone episode. And despite some glaring missteps, it's a decent one.
The Mist's greatest success is its balance between human moments and frantic activity. Small dramas between the principal characters precede each encounter with the creatures, and in each subsequent dialogue the players become more hopeless and fearful. It effectively keeps the entire premise relatable, despite the hokey, b-movie dialogue. This dynamic is helped by a noticeable lack of background noise. It's refreshing to not be overwhelmed by an omnipresent score in a horror movie, and other directors would do well to learn from the example.
But, as is common with Darabont's movies, The Mist is overly long, and it struggles to maintain tension as the movie drags on. Darabont also fails to use his time effectively. Deeper themes of racial tension (the conflict between Thomas Jane and neighbor Andre Braugher), religion-versus-rationalism during crisis (Marcia Gay Harden's excellent Jesus-lady proclaiming the Rapture), and human viciousness under stress are introduced, but remain superficial, the emphasis instead placed on melodrama and special effects. Speaking of the effects, the monsters in The Mist are silly looking and, as with most movie monsters, are far scarier when you can't see them at all. What's sad is that the movie's Rod Serling-est moment — the oh-if-only-I'd-known! ending — is also its worst. Let's hope Darabont will improve his Twilight Zone technique and capacity for social commentary by the time he finishes his upcoming adaptation of Fahrenheit 451. — John Constantine
