TODAY’S BREW: Hazelnut. No apple juice in it. Refer to yesterday’s tweet…actual occurrence.
I love horror movies. I love B-raters, and big screen, I love them all. (Cannot WAIT for Silent Hill 2, the first of which is possibly my favorite horror movie.) But this is not about that movie, which I would see over and over again, but about a movie that made me so uncomfortably afraid that I will never see it again. It joins the league of only one other movie I will never see again…Eraserhead. The creep factor there is too much, even for me. No thank you.
I am talking about The Mist, based on the novella by Stephen King. Now, everybody loves The Shining, and I am no different, though the book is worlds scarier than the movie. Big fan. But The Mist packed a punch that I suppose I was not expecting. It does what Mr. King does best…show the absolute worst of people at the absolute worst of times. This movie is flawlessly frightening to me.
Based in a small town in Maine, King’s calling card, a severe thunderstorm hits and rips the town to shreds. Residents flood to a local supermarket that is running on a generator alone, to stock up on supplies. Once there, they all become trapped by a supernatural mist, rumored to be the product of a government opening of a dimensional portal. All sorts of terrifying beasties, including giant nasty flying things that smash windows with their freak beaks, live in this mist, cornering people and tearing them limb from limb for all to see. All in good fun. But the real horror is what the survivors are driven to do to each other, rather than band together to survive. A nightmare group of religious fanatics take over the store, accusing and plotting like crazy. They become the ones to escape, rather than the creatures in the Mist, and it drives some to suicide, others to violence of all extremes.
But it is the end of this movie, which was actually made darker by director Frank Darabont, that literally left me nauseous and crying. Good show man! I mean, to darken up a Stephen King work, that is a tall order, and one Frank was not afraid to fill. That’s high praise.
So, wanna feel sick and cry yourself to sleep speculating “what the hell would I do?” Go see The Mist. You might not thank me.