Last night I watched Frank Darabont tear Stephen King’s novella, “The Mist,” into papier-mache, eat it, regurgitate it, and then crap it back out. Darabont, in a last ditch effort to make the past 123 minutes of my time worthwhile, then proceeded to wipe his ass all over my television screen for the remaining 3 minutes of on-screen action. Windex cannot remove the imprint Darabont’s ass left on my pupils. My eyes still hurt.

Let’s get one thing straight. Frank Darabont is the same man responsible for adapting Stephen King’s “Shawshank Redemption” and “The Green Mile” to the screen. I am confident most audiences would agree that both of these films are excellent. Sure, they aren’t perfect, but they are two of the most respectable adaptations of Stephen King’s work to date. I am also confident we can all agree there aren’t many of these gems. Aside from “The Shining” can you think of one? Ok, ok… I’ll admit to owning a VHS copy of The Langoliers. But, The Langoliers is not what I would call “respectable.” Its sort of like admitting that you own a Spice Girls CD. I enjoy Stephen King’s writing. Its only natural that I’d want to see his stories come to life! By the way, if you have had the pleasure of seeing The Langoliers, I’d like you to imagine Frank Darabont’s papier-mache version of “The Mist” as Craig Toomey sitting on the tarmac of the airport runway shredding pieces of newspaper between his fingers. What a nut case!

Knowing that Darabont was so successful at recreating “The Shawshank Redemption” and “The Green Mile” one has to wonder what happened to “The Mist.” Its as though Darabont decided to let the film crew shoot camera footage a la Lord of the Flies. The acting, by every standard imaginable, is about as believable as Bill Clinton’s “I did not have sexual relations with that woman” statement. [Begin sarcasm] Yeah, surrrre you’re trapped in a grocery store and you’re sooooo scarred. Wait. Wait. What’s that? Is that the mist? Better shut the door. [End sarcasm] Another problem with this film is that you don’t know who to rally behind - not because you’re uncertain as to who is nuts and who isn’t, no, that would have made for a much better film. The main character, David Drayton (Thomas Jane) never fully asserts himself as the tribal leader. Since I’ve decided to drag this review through the bowels of the Lord of the Flies let’s step into the world of ABC’s LOST for a moment. You know Jack? Heroic, problem-solving, I can heal every one’s wounds because I have magic doctor hands, Jack. That Jack. Yeah. His character type appears no where in this film. ITS A HORROR FILM. How can you have a horror film devoid of a leader?

As if this wasn’t bad enough, the characters in the film make your stereotypical bad decisions.

***Warning: If you insist upon viewing this movie despite my criticisms I suggest you leave this review as quickly as possible. I am about to reiterate the last 10 minutes of the film.***

When it seems they have no other alternative, 5 of the characters (including David Drayton and his young son) hatch a plan to escape the grocery store, get in a vehicle and drive for hundreds of miles to discover if the MIST is simply a cloud shrouding their entire town or if they can settle down in California (I presume) and start anew. David suggests that they drive as far as the gas tank will allow because the characters associate contact with the MIST as certain death. This makes absolutely no sense, since they have to run through the MIST to get into the car and drive away from the store. PLOT HOLE. PLOT HOLE. Sorry about that, I hope you didn’t fall in. So, they drive and drive and drive. And just when you think they can’t drive any more the car sputters and spurts and comes grinding to a halt.

So, let me get this straight. You risked your lives to run through the MIST and enter this vehicle (which could, by the way, be easily squashed by the very large creatures that inhabit the MIST) and you’re not willing to stop and refuel the damn car? Ouch. You have officially earned an Idiot Crown. Not wanting to suffer their impending death at the hands of the MIST, David agrees to shoot his passengers. He dons a pistol and kills them (he only has four bullets) as a gesture of his… what’s the right word… idiocy. Moments later the MIST clears and he is left with the guilt of shooting his own son in the head.

Bravo.

This film hurts more than slamming your hand in the trunk of a car. Snap, Crackle, Plop.

Tags: Bill Clinton, character, Craig Toomey, David Drayton, film, Frank Darabont, Girls, Horror, Mist, novella, PLOT, review, Shawshank, Spice, Stephen King, Thomas Jane, Windex