November 2nd, 2008

The Mist

The other day when I was at Virgin Records looking for a copy of Rob Zombie's Halloween, I noticed a giant display for a new DVD they had in stock called Stephen King's The Mist.

I picked up the box and noticed it was directed by Frank Daramont who also put the Stephen King things Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile on celluloid and did so fairly well.

So tonight - knowing nothing about the film except that we like King and loved Shawshank and the Mile - we sat down to watch The Mist.

"Holy shit that was fucked up," Rome Girl said when it was done. "Fucked up like Kids, Requiem For A Dream and Crash."

She said that she'd never, ever watch this film again - but she meant that as a compliment.

And I get what she means by that.

She and I loved this film.

Yes, it's beyond fucked up, but that's not a bad thing. It's hard to actually create something that freaks people out these days. Rome Girl and I watch the various Saw movies and just have a laugh.

But, The Mist left us both creeped out.

Afterwards we went to IMDB to check out the external reviews and were shocked that it essentially got trashed. But, then we went and watched the trailers and we understood why.

We went into this film pure. If we'd seen the trailers we would probably would have seen the movie differently as well. They give away most of the big surprises ("most" being a key word here.)

This is a film that works best if you are like the characters and don't know what's going to happen next.

It's a shame the trailers gave so much away.

But, if you haven't seen the trailers and like a good scary movie (and can deal with some seriously fucked up themes) then I highly recommend renting The Mist.

I wont' tell you anything about it, except that there is a mist and you better hold on to your hat.

Writer's Block: Novel Ideas

NaNoWriMo starts today. Give us a one-sentence description of the novel you plan to write.
The Book Of Doom. A girl on her first night in France for her junior year abroad is murdered after hanging out with a bunch of fellow expats; all of whom wake up with an alcoholic blackout and blood on their hands and no one knows who iced her.

(Note, I'm not doing this for NaNoWriMo, it's the ongoing book I'm working/living on.)


Over the past week I've managed to step myself down to two Xanax a day instead of three a day.

I feel good about this.