Poteraas, ce e asta? Ce poate sa construiasca proprietarul acolo? De ce nu face nimeni miting si aici? A inceput cu imprejmuirea imediat dupa alegerile din 15 iunie.

Heck, you're gonna go home unhappy whatever you expect.

Yet, we start in an idyllic spot. Maine, bog standard King territory, where a typical King Everyman, the boringly-monikered David Drayton (Thomas Jane), sits in a lovely slatboard home, with his gorgeous kid and beautiful wife. He's yer average Joe, with a bit of a conscience, a splodge of creativity, no little intelligence and a stand-straight attitude. Not unlike Andy Dufresne, you might say, not unlike Paul Edgecomb. Easy going, normal guys, about to be pitch-forked into a situation that will test them beyond the limits of normal endurance.

Only, Andy and Paul never had to deal with this.

The movie opens with a massive, destructive storm, where David's house is wrecked, and that of his neighbour similarly damaged. Two massive trees have crashed down, destroying parts of their respective properties and, although previously at loggerheads over an old dispute, they decide to head off into town (David with his little boy, Billy) to get equipment to repair the mess. As the shoppers mooch around the only store, a very sudden and strange mist descends on the little town. Just as it appears, a bloodied and terrified man runs across to the supermarket, screaming that his friend has been attacked and taken by 'something' lurking in the fog.

Scared, the townsfolk slam the doors shut on the rapidly encroaching miasma.

From here, things start to take a dramatic and gruesome turn. Small parties bond together and head out, never to be seen again, screams ripping through the gloom. Then, incredibly, out of the mist, come wave after wave of spine-tingling monsters; great locusty bugs, flying lizard things, massive scuttling spiders and a horrifyingly large 'something' too far away in the murk to be properly glimpsed. These creatures are fiercely bloodthirsty, and the carnage in the shop is startlingly unpleasant.

Between the waves of the attacks, the dynamics of the group begin to alter dramatically. Unstable Mrs Carmody begins to spout huge tracts of Old Testament fire and brimstone which, as the situation gets worse and worse, bring more and more people to her cause. They begin to demand blood, expiation, to keep the monsters at bay. David and his decreasing band of cohorts, try to see the situation as calmly as they may, despite the horrors, but steadily theirs is the minority view. Ollie (Toby Jones, as always note perfect), the resourceful store clerk, cuts to the chase:

And at some point in all this chaos, social division and unknown, inexplicable horror, the penny should drop. This, and thank goodness, what joy, is the finest allegorical horror film since Don Siegel's Invasion of the Body Snatchers subtly integrated a dark political subtext and ambiguity into its simple tale of alien abduction. That terrific sense of post-war, anti-communist paranoia, the metaphor for the tyranny of the McCarthy era, here it finds a perfect sister. The huge destructive opening, the twin trees crashing, the bonding together of previously antagonised groups (David is white, his neighbour black), this insularity, the ignorance of what's "out there", the rise of the religious zealots...not for nothing is the movie's tagline Fear Changes Everything. This is stirring and emotional stuff, and it's very very well done.

And it never lets up. I will not give away the ending, for it is earth-shattering. But it is simply unbelievable that a mainstream Hollywood studio (Dimension) didn't try and force Darabont's hand to change some of this to something more upbeat and palatable; there are so many stop-offs along the way that will make you wide-eyed with disbelief that an American film-maker is making the points he is. Brave and bold, that's what it is. The Happening would have loved to be a tenth as good as this.

I am still, 24 hours later, in shock at the way it all ends, one of the darkest conclusions I can remember, all washed across you with an icy blast of the great Dead Can Dance's mind-shredding The Host Of Seraphim. At this final moment, both imagery and soundtrack combine to create a cold, ruthless, harrowing and uncompromising slice of razor sharp pessimism. This is that wonderful thing; a horror movie that makes you think; a horror movie that bursts out of its genre limitations; a horror movie that isn't awful, but genuinely, bitingly horrible.

]]> http://negrualb.wordpress.com/?p=162 Sun, 15 Jun 2008 11:43:15 +0000 albnegru http://negrualb.wordpress.com/?p=162 Am neglijat blogul vreo două zile, dar nu şi azi în duminica alegerilor şi, dacă am auzit bine, a Rusaliilor. Nu am nicio treabă cu religia, aşa că voi scrie despre meciurile de la Euro disputate vineri şi sâmbătă. Voi începe însă  cu politica pentru că prima treabă făcută de dimineaţă, în afară de aia mică, a fost să votez. În biroul electoral al secţiei de care aparţin Ovidiu se ocupă de blocul în care stau, aşa că pot spune că pentru mine votarea a fost o afacere în familie. Evident, la primar general l-am ales pe Oprescu. În schimb la sector am fost indecis, motiv pentru care le-a dat lui Poteraş şi lui Darabont câte şase stampile la fiecare, gândindu-mă că poate au nevoie. Doar candidează pentru primăria sectorului 6. După ce împăturesc frumos buletinele şi le bag în urmă, îi dau ştampila lui Ovidiu, care se ataşase de buletinul meu. Nu mai vroia să mi-l dea. Cică evidenţa populaţiei îmi greşise CNP! Nici nu şi-a dat seama ce descoperire epocală făcuse. Verific pe listă şi datele erau corecte. Fratele meu mai mare zice că nu se poate, că ultimele 6 cifre sunt identice cu ale lui! După 32 de ani şi-a dat seama de asta! Evrika! Cam cu asta mi-am îndeplinit datoriile cetăţeneşti pînă la toamă. Probabil, din curiozitate, voi urmări diseară, cu coada ochiului, rezultatele.

Gata, trec la lucruri serioase! La fotbal şi pariuri. Meciurile de vineri s-au încheiat cu rezultatele pe care mi le-am dorit. România egal cu Italia şi Olanda a jumulit bine de tot cocoşeii. Meciul nostru cu campioana mondială a fost de departe cel mai frumos de până acum de la EURO, având de toate. Puteam să câştigăm, dar să şi pierdem. Dacă în zona centrală ne-am miscat bine, cu excepţia fazei din care italienii au egalat, pe benzi, mai ales pe dreapta, am fost varză, Grosso distrându-se de unul singur cu Florentin Petre şi Contra, iar apoi şi cu Bănel. Centrările italianului parcă erau desprinse dintr-un asediu medieval, semănând cu tirul de artilerie cu ghiulele, care încearca să dărâme zidurile unui bastion. Oricum, rezultat bun, rezultat echitabil. Din păcate, azi am citit că prietenul nostru, arbitrul norvegian, a fost trimis acasă.

Olanda m-a supărat un pic. S-a grăbit să dea gol în prima repriză, iar eu luasem la pariuri x-pauză, 1-final. Trebuie să spun că mi s-a părut fault în atac, Kuyt dându-şi adversarul la o parte cu ambele mâini. Şi aşa am mai ratat 140 de lei.

Dacă vineri am văzut cel mai frumos meci, sâmbătă l-am văzut pe cel mai plictisitor: Grecia - Rusia. Bine că nu am jucat la pariuri, golul ruşilor neintrând în calculele mele.

Primul meci de sâmbătă mi-a dat noi speranţe. Bine că a bătut Spania. În cazul în care trecem de grupe avem mai multe şanse cu ibericii decât cu Suedia, o adevărată bestia nerra pentru noi. Culmea ar fi să ne întâlnim cu nordicii în semifinale, într-o reeditare a sfertului de la Mondialul din '94. Ar fi ceva... Dar până acolo e distanţă mult prea mare. Mai avem de trecut un hop cât o finală. Şi mă simt nevoit să fac o mică analiză. Ne este necesară o victorie cu Olanda ca să nu ne doară capul, Dacă olandezii ar fi români aş sta liniştit. O înfrângere cu 1-0, când ai primul loc în grupă asigurat nu e un capăt de ţară. Dar batavii nu sunt ca noi. Dar nu înseamnă că vor juca la fel cum au făcut-o cu Italia şi Franţa. Aşadar ce ne avantajează şi ce nu...

Argumente pro-România:

1.  Van Basten îşi va menaja cu siguranţă mai mulţi dintre titulari

2. Olandezii vor juca atenţi să nu se accidenteze sau să primească vreun cartonaş

3. Tentaţia de a trimite acasă campioana şi vice-campioana mondială.

4. Ascendentul asupra Olandei prin prisma ultimelor două meciuri din grupa preliminară, în care nu am primit gol.

5. Tot din perspectiva acestor meciuri, dar şi a celor două disputate de Olanda la EURO, Piţurcă ştie, sau ar trebui să cunoască jocul olandezilor.

6. Intrarea lui Sorin Ghionea în centrul apărării. E mai tehnic şi vede mai bine jocul decât Goian. Rămâne în discuţie doar forma în care se află, dar cred că nu va da cu piciorul la acestă şansă.

7. Olandezii nu vor evolua la potenţialul maxim, dozarea efortului pe parcursul turneului final fiind un element determinat în stabilirea campioanei. Chiar dacă vor dori să dea totul pe teren în meciul cu noi, subconştient tot se va instala o oarecare relaxare.

8. Milogeala francezilor şi italienilor, dar şi acuzele voalate de posibil blat din presa lor.

9. Suporterii români vor fi exaltaţi la acest meci, pe când ai olandezilor sunt deja mulţumiţi şi vor fi mai mult preocupaţi de bere. :)

Argumente pro-Italia sau Franţa:

1. Onoarea olandezilor. Dacă vor putea să ne bată fără să se forţeze prea tare, o vor face.

2. Rezervele lui van Basten sunt mai periculoase decât titularii. Vor încerca să demonstreze că merită un loc în primul "11"

3. Accidentarea lui Rădoi. Cum spuneam, nu îmi place individul, dar cât a jucat a făcut-o excelent. Va fi greu de înlocuit la închidere.

4. Presiunea creată în jurul meciului, ar putea să îi mobilizeze pe oamenii lui van Basten

5. Valoarea individuală e fără discuţii de partea olandezilor.

6. Forţa ofensivă a României e una dintre cele mai slabe de la EURO. Nu avem nici jucători de atac, nici de contraatac. Ce bun ar fi fost Gigel Bucur acum!

7. Dorinţa de revansă pentru meciurile din grupa preliminară.

Cam atât. La pariuri marţi voi merge cu două bilete. Pe ambele, Italia - Franţa x-pauză, x-final, iar la  Olanda - România voi avea două variante: x-pauză, x-final şi x-pauză, 2-final.

PS. De dimineaţa aveam 93,8 kilograme. O săptămână pe plafon.

Cast & Credits

Directed by Frank Darabont. Screenplay by Frank Darabont; based on the novel by Stephen King. MPAA: Rated R for violence, language and some sex-related material. Runtime: 188 min.

Citiţi cu interes căci la commenturi se vor publica cotele pentru candidaţii care este, la capitală, la sectoare şi de ce nu, şi peste hotare! Ţineţi aproape! Pregătiţi bănuţu'! Fiţi pregătiţi pentru succesuri maxime şi eşece pe măsură!

ATTENZIONE:
DI SEGUITO VENGONO SVELATI I PARTICOLARI DELLA TRAMA

Allora, questa è la mia opinione su INDIANA JONES E IL REGNO DEL TESCHIO DI CRISTALLO: a distanza di tutti questi anni essere riusciti a fare un film conservando ritmi e atmosfere dei film originali è un MIRACOLO. Spielberg è riuscito dove molti hanno fallito (vedi Lucas con Star Wars). Dobbiamo poi aggiungere che si tratta di un QUARTO episodio! Molte trilogie degli anni Ottanta a cui eravamo abituati, solitamente erano riuscite fino al secondo episodio, mentre già il terzo faceva cagare, nonostante era girato non più di due-tre anni dopo il precedente. Qui invece sono passati vent’anni dall’ultimo Indy! E nonostante ciò abbiamo un film che ha tutte le carte in regola per essere magari non all’altezza de I predatori dell’arca perduta, ma sicuramente per essere un OTTIMO quarto episodio, non so se mi spiego. I personaggi funzionano, il ritmo c’è, non ti annoi mai, godi a vedere un 90% di scene girate senza effetti digitali (dimostrando che si possono fare ancora film così; le uniche scene in CGI sono quelle finale con gli alieni e l’ufo), le battute sono simpatiche etc. etc.
Ovviamente il film ha i suoi difetti. I personaggi non tutti sono all’altezza dei precedenti: di MARCUS, SALLAH, e soprattutto di HENRY JONES SR. si sente decisamente la mancanza. Ma ripeto, è un quarto episodio, e quindi va più che bene. Indy è attorniato comunque da personaggi che riescono ad interagire con lui alla grande, se la cavano, sono simpatici, degni di condividere le sue avventure… insomma vorresti essere lì con loro, e sicuramente questo è un tipo di sensazione che Spielberg ci tiene a comunicare, uno dei motivi per cui un film d’avventura riesce o meno. A differenza di molti, mi è piaciuto il personaggio di MUTT WILLIAMS, secondo me è riuscito. Molti hanno detestato la scena alla Tarzan, ma secondo me è che i tempi sono diversi e quindi siamo tutti più critici. Il film è infatti costellato di trovate che oggi giudichiamo ingenue ma che quindici-vent’anni fa non avremmo avuto problemi ad accettare. Ad esempio la scena della bomba atomica… Ma la verosimiglianza qui DEVE essere sacrificata a favore dell’avventura e del divertimento… E’ un film di Indiana Jones, e Indy se la cava sempre. Spielberg è stato bravo a capire questo e a fare un film in linea coi precedenti. Non convince del tutto il McGuffin della storia; l’arca dell’alleanza e il Graal erano più affascinanti, c’era un che di mistico, vedi le prove che Indy deve affrontare nell’Ultima crociata per salvare il padre… Ma d’altronde ci siamo spostati dagli anni Trenta ai Cinquanta, e Spielberg e Lucas con questo soggetto hanno comunque fatto un furbata (parentesi: Indiana Jones e l’ultima crociata per me è il migliore della serie, con quell’incipit eccezionale in cui il compianto River Phoenix interpretava il giovane Indy). GIUDIZIO: Un ottimo film, Spielberg è sempre Spielberg e sa come fare il suo lavoro. Ma poi, mettetevi nei suoi panni: fai conto di essere uno scrittore, e ti dicono: devi fare un libro in base al tuo stile di vent’anni fa! Ma nel frattempo tu sei cambiato, scrivi in maniera diversa. Spielberg va ammirato solo per questo. E lo stesso vale per Harrison Ford che ha saputo cavarsela alla grande. Insomma, esperimento riuscito.

NOTE: Spielberg, Lucas e Ford al festival di Cannes hanno annunciato che se il film andrà bene non avranno problemi ad andare ancora oltre con la saga… C’è in giro il rumor secondo cui il sequel sarebbe incentrato più su Mutt Williams che su Indy, un po’ come avveniva nell’Ultima crociata dove c’era Sean Connery che faceva il padre. Effettivamente a me questo nome così immediato e incisivo - Mutt Williams - mi ha fatto subito pensare a possibili titoli di futuri film i cui “Indiana Jones e…” potrebbe essere sostituito da “Mutt Williams e…”. Staremo a vedere.

Viele Regisseure haben sich schon mit Kings Werken beschäftigt und der "Meister des Horrors" freut sich meistens, wenn seine Bücher den Weg auf die Leinwand finden. Wenn man Fehltritte wie die unzähligen Teile von "Kinder des Zorns", "Der Rasenmähermann" (der NICHTS mit der Kurzgeschichte gemeinsam hat), und "Rhea M" (bei dem King Regie führte) ausklammert, bleiben durchschnittliche Filme übrig. Über ihnen ragen einige klar heraus. Dazu zählen  "The Green Mile" und "Die Verurteilten" von Darabont. Um so erfreuter war ich, als ich hörte, dass nun endlich meine absolute Lieblingskurzgeschichte, "Der Nebel", von diesem Regisseur verfilmt werden sollte.

Maine. Die ruhige Kleinstadt Castle Rock (siehe "Castle-Rock-Zyklus") liegt an einem See, an dem der Maler David Drayton mit seiner Familie lebt. Nach einem ungewöhnlichen Sturm, der die Stromleitungen lahmgelegt und Teile des Hauses zerstört hat (...und, eine erneute Anspielung auf Kings Werke, das neue Bild Davids, welches den "Gunslinger" aus dem "Dunklen Turm" zeigt) fährt David mit seinem Sohn und seinem Nachbarn in die Stadt um Hamsterkäufe zu erledigen. Als sie im örtlichen Supermarkt angekommen sind, legt sich ein geheimnisvoller, dichter Nebel über die Stadt. Keiner, der in diesen Nebel geht kommt zurück und langsam wird Allen klar, dass dies keine gewöhnliche Wettererscheinung ist. In dem undurchsichtigen Weiß hausen Kreaturen, die es auf menschlisches Blut abgesehen haben.

Nun bilden sich verschiedene Gruppen aus den Eingeschlossenen. Die religiöse Fanatikerin Mrs. Carmody wittert das Ende der Welt und fordert Blutopfer. Davids Nachbar schart alle um sich, die an eine natürliche Ursache glauben und die hier für die Macht der Verdrängung stehen, während David selbst sich dem Kampf gegen die Kreaturen des Nebels und der Abgründe der Menschen allgemein stellen muss. Und genau das erzählt Darabont eindringlich und meisterhaft. Wo viele einen Monster-Horrorfilm erwarten, geht es ihm eher um den eigentlichen Grundgedanken der Kurzgeschichte. Wozu sind Menschen fähig, wenn sie sich in Todesangst befinden. Von enormen Vorteil für Darabont war vermutlich auch, dass Kings Vorlage mit ungefähr 200 Seiten der Dicke eines Drehbuches entspricht. Er übernimmt somit einen Großteil der Dialoge und der Handlung und ändert nur an einigen Stellen Kings Grundidee. Die größte Änderung dürfte wohl der Schluß sein, um den ihn der Horrormeister vermutlich beneidet.

Für mich ist dies die beste und konsequenteste Verfilmung einer Idee nach Stephen King. Wer sich darauf einlässt und keinen tumben Horrorfilm erwartet, sollte sich dieses Meisterwerk nicht entgehen lassen.

It’s an often used phrase: “where there’s life there’s hope.” The concept basically expresses the human desire to hope and believe that there’s a chance for improvement of some kind as long as you’re still alive. Throughout the years, many writers have tried to illustrate this in their writing. Two contemporary writers, Frank Darabont and Cormac McCarthy, have played with this idea to differing degrees of success.

Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road” is a post-apocalyptic novel about a man and his very young son. They are two of very few people left after some kind of end of civilization event that McCarthy never specifically names. The man and his son take to “The Road” in the hopes of finding a place where they can be safe. “The Road” and the countryside itself are patrolled by zombie-like cannibals and rapists. There aren’t many of them, but every person that they meet (excepting one) on “The Road” is of this ilk.

McCarthy goes to the trouble of writing elements into the story that describe just how utterly horrible conditions are. There’s a sequence in which a group of people roast a baby on a spit for something to eat. Where did they get the baby? One of the women in the group just gave birth to it. The sole reason that they don’t eat the baby is that the man and his son scare them off. The baby is still dead; it just doesn’t get eaten.

There’s another sequence in which they discover a man locked up in a house. The man is missing several limbs. Cannibals are hacking his limbs off piecemeal while keeping him alive presumably so that the meat stays fresh longer. Clearly, he’s going to die anyway, and he’d be better off if death came quickly.

There is another sequence where the man and the boy finally reach the sea. They reach their goal and discover nothing positive for them there. As they walk along a street near the water, people in the surrounding buildings shoot arrows at them and steal their stuff. Their proverbial last hope sputters and dies.

There are a great many other incidents and sequences in the book that also show just how bleak and terrible life is in the world of “The Road”. There are cannibalism, rape, theft, and fear as far as the eye can see to read. There is truly no hope in this world. As the father lay dying at the end of the book, you’re forced to realize, or at least consider, that the boy has no hope. There is no chance that there is any kind of positive outcome waiting just around the corner for him. The summary of the plot to this point is admittedly sparse, but I think it’s plain to see that the kid is in some serious trouble.

How does McCarthy handle this? What does he do? The man knows that he must kill the boy. He knows that it’s his duty. He’s shown the boy how to use their gun in the event that the father is killed. He’s instructed the boy not to be captured. So … he follows through, right? No. He can’t bring himself to do it. He abdicates the single most important responsibility to his child that he has at that moment because he’s weak. The boy is inexplicably saved by sane, rational people soon after his father’s death.

“The Mist” is a movie based on a story by Stephen King. The screenplay was adapted by Frank Darabont. The movie spans the course of a few days after a disaster of immense proportion has taken place. The majority of the movie takes place in a supermarket that a group of people are trapped in after the military accidentally opens a portal to another dimension. Everyone who tries to escape the supermarket is killed.

After a few days, the man and his son, who attract most of Darabont’s focus throughout the movie, decide to leave the supermarket and try to drive to safety. They’re going to die anyway. They decide to at least die trying.

The movie ends with the man killing his son and the other three people that escaped with them. The man plans to kill himself too, but he’s out of bullets. He gets out of the SUV and screams for the giant bugs (from the other dimension of course ;)) to come and kill him. The army caravan begins coming through with trucks full of survivors as he stands there waiting to be killed by the bugs that will never come.

“The Mist” is a bad situation. It’s not however, McCarthy’s situation. In “The Mist”, the people that die do so horribly. They die quickly though. Darabont’s use of “where there’s life there’s hope” works because the people that the man killed had a chance. Even if they had died, they would’ve done so quickly while running. Darabont showed us that they were able to periodically run short distances safely. They could’ve gotten another car from those on the road after their SUV ran out of gas. They gave up, and the man’s choice was proved wrong. They had life. They had hope.

In contrast, it’s not reasonable to believe that the boy from “The Road” had any hope. His death might have come slowly and horribly – that is if he were lucky enough to die. He may have become a slave of cannibals. He might have been slowly eaten over the course of weeks while they kept him alive. I understand why McCarthy ended it that way. I understand why he chose to employ the “where there’s life there’s hope” theme. He chose it so that he could end his story on an up note; the boy is saved and McCarthy has theoretically proved his point. He hasn’t actually proved it though. He’s managed to destroy the impact of his point (assuming it was his real point and not just a crass cop-out to avoid ending the novel with the man killing his son) with the horror of the world that he’s created. He’s convinced us that there’s no hope. How can it end with life?

Perhaps I should have known better. Darabont has directed two previous King adaptations, The Green Mile and The Shawshank Redemption. There are several criticisms I could level at both of these movies, the worst of which is that both are rather smarmy in places, but I would never claim that either was poorly made.

For those of you who haven’t seen The Mist, the premise is fairly simple. A mysterious mist surrounds a small town grocery store, trapping a number of people inside. Worse yet, there are strange creatures in the mist intent on eating anyone who sets foot outdoors. It quickly becomes clear that the monsters are not the only problem, or even the most serious one. Over a period of forty-eight hours, the prisoners of the mist descend into irrationality and madness, lead by the local religious crazy, played with an awful gusto by Marcia Gay Harden. This is done so skillfully and in such elegant increments that when the prisoners turn to human sacrifice, it feels both unexpected and inevitable. Even when a small number of people who have retained their minds escape from the store, they are not immune to the powerful effects of fear. I don’t want to give anything away here, but the ending Darabont conceived for his film is even more shocking than King’s original.

When I stumbled home from the theater that day, it was not the thought of carnivorous critters that haunted me. Could my neighbors, my coworkers, my friends really be this way? Could I myself, if pushed to the edge of hysteria, really do such things? I knew the truth, though I would have denied it if I could. As stock clerk Ollie Weeks (Toby Jones) says in the movie, “As a species, we are fundamentally insane.”

I can hear, or at least imagine, a few of your muttering out there. “Come on, Dave. Two days from orderly checkout lines to human sacrifice? That would never happen. People aren’t like that.” For those of you who doubt, allow me to present a real life illustration from my childhood.

In a hospital, which I shall not name, there was an elevator. Unlike the other elevators in this frequently renovated building, this one dated to the original construction. And unlike the newer elevators, it was conveniently located to the office I usually visited. This elevator was painfully slow but serviceable. My mother and I never had reason to distrust it.

In the course of a visit to the hospital, my mother and I got onto the elevator as usual. Riding the elevator with us was a nurse. Working at this particular hospital, this nurse must have seen, on a daily basis, sick and even dying children, young victims of accidents and abuse, infants born too young to survive. Presumably, she must have dealt with these horrors with some measure of composure. The doors closed, and the elevator began to grind its way slowly upward. Somewhere between floors, the elevator began to shake. The floor, in fact the whole car, vibrated violently up and down to the accompaniment of a loud banging noise. The nurse, this detached caretaker of wounded children, fell to her knees and began to pray.

I’m not talking about a silent prayer for strength, either. Nor was this a swift prayer before leaping into action. The nurse wept. She moaned. She called upon Jesus to save us. Jesus dwelled in the elevator’s ceiling, evidently, if the direction of her gaze was any indication. She prayed loudly and thoroughly for rescue. She did nothing else.

In contrast, my mother immediately told me to sit on the floor with my back against a wall, then helped me to do so without falling over. She scanned the elevator’s controls and pushed the big red emergency stop button. The elevator stopped shaking, stopped moving entirely. The nurse continued to pray. With some difficulty, my mother pried open the inner elevator doors. We were exactly between floors. She pressed the call button.

A cheerful voice somewhere in the hospital assured us that the elevator had been doing this off and on all week, that it was nothing serious, that we could either switch the elevator back on and proceed safely but bumpily to the nearest floor or wait for a rescue party from security, whichever we liked. My mother looked at me, seated more or less calmly on the floor. “We don’t want to miss your appointment,” she said. I nodded. I was young, and my mom knew everything. She switched the emergency stop off and pressed the button for the next floor. The elevator began to bang and bump slowly upwards again. The wailing to Jesus continued.

When the elevator finally arrived, several uncomfortable minutes later, it took quite a while for the doors to open. When they did, we saw that we were at least a foot below the level of the floor. A security guard and an orderly gave us a hand out. The nurse was the first to leave the car. She scrambled out on unsteady legs, wiping at her ruined mascara with the back of one hand. She had fallen silent as the elevator doors slid open, and said nothing more to any of us. My mother and I took the stairs the rest of the way up. We were not late for my appointment. The whole experience had lasted no more than fifteen minutes.

I watched The Mist again recently on DVD. The film was no less wrenching the second time around, though I did notice more details. The film has some thematic similarities to H.G. Wells’ The War of the Worlds, which I am teaching this semester, and I thought about showing certain scenes to my students. I brought this up in class today. No one seemed enthusiastic. Several students said that the movie was “bad.” None of them would elaborate, though I asked number of questions. The Mist was just “bad.” No further explanation necessary, or perhaps even possible. It didn’t matter. I understood.

David Hurwitz

The Mist

2008. U.S.A

Real : Frank Darabont

Int : Thomas Jane, Laurie Holder, Andre Braugher..

Alors oui, on pouvait considérer le « Stephen King Movie » comme une relique des eighties et ce, a juste titre. Les adaptations des classiques de l'épouvante du maître ne faisant plus frétiller aujourd'hui qu'une poignée de producteurs de téléfilms médiocres. En même temps, passer aprés Carpenter (Christine) relevant du suicide...

Gageons donc que le pari de Frank Darabont d'adapter The Mist, qui plus est, pure nouvelle de monstres z-et bebetes, devait d'averer sérieusement casse-gueule au départ dans une époque qui ne se prête pas franchement au genre (ici une litote).

Evitant habilement de tomber dans le film a sursaut de deuxième partie de soirée sur M6, Darabont manie ici avec une adresse déconcertante l'équilibre entre la mise en scène, la psychologie de ses personnages et la satire politique. Car, arriver a filmer un groupe de pékins effrayés, terrés dans un Wal Mart, attendant de se faire charcler pendant deux heures sans endormir les trois quarts de la salle relève en soi de l'exploit, mais arriver en plus de çela à donner une réelle dimension politique et psychologique a ce huis-clos, je ne sais pas vous, mais de mon côté, l'analogie avec 12 Angry Men est vite faite, certe audacieuse mais pas dénuée de fondements.

The Mist nous conte donc la terreur vécue par les habitants d'un petit village de... on s'en cogne d'ailleurs, réfugiés dans un supermarché aprés la descente brutale (un plan, 6 secondes) d'un brouillard a couper au couteau infesté de bestioles qui n'en veulent de la viande.

Entre horreur et incrédulité, la survie s'organise sur fond de montée apocalyptico-évangéliste au sein des refugiés orchestrée par une folle de Dieu, pretexte a King pour tirer a boulets rouges sur le fanatisme aveugle et l'obscurantisme religieux pratiqué par une certaine frange politique aux Etats Unis.

Malgré des SFX franchement mais alors FRANCHEMENT foireux, qui malheureusement confèrent parfois un aspect téléfilm au métrage, Darabont parvient à créer une tension extrême parmi ses personnages qui ira crescendo tout au long des deux heures de The Mist. La detresse des survivants s'amplifie au fur et à mesure qu'ils prennent compte de leur impuissance face au danger de l'exterieur dont ils ne savent rien, et celui de l'intérieur qu'ils ne connaissent malheureusement que trop bien. Le film se termine dans une noirceur jusqu'au boutiste, absolue et viscérale repoussant tout ce a quoi un spectateur d'une adaptation de King peut s'attendre. NON ça ne finit pas bien.

En attendant le Cell d'Eli « provoc a deux roubles » Roth , Darabont nous livre le meilleur « Stephen King Movie » depuis Misery en 1990 (je ne cite pas Shining, ce dernier étant plus un achèvement total qu'une adaptation)

Julian.C

It’s been a pretty busy few months over here for us Cinemaspeak people, which has resulted, for me, at least, in the viewing of very few movies. The combination of my local theater’s “Super Tuesday” $4 movie ticket promotion and a recommendation from a friend, however, led me to watch an unlikely movie- The Mist, directed by Frank Darabont, a film that has been received with very lukewarm interest, both commercially and critically.

There wasn’t much interest from me, either- I don’t really care for Stephen King’s mainstream sensibilities, always pushing obvious buttons for silly effect; the only horror movies I can think of liking are usually tongue-in-cheek, such as Peter Jackson’s Dead Alive. Actual attempts at scaring me pretty much always fail, so I rarely bother trying to find one that does. For the most part, the Horror genre holds little interest to this guy… but The Mist was quite different in all these respects, and I found myself captivated and engaged like I haven’t been since… who knows. I don’t watch many horror movies.

The best thing about The Mist is the storytelling. Darabont keeps it simple and sincere, with an honest, hand-held style that stays far away from the gimmicky “guerilla hand-held” look found all over television, while maintaining the tension that you can’t get from static camera shots. Other than the opening nod to horror movies by way of a few famous movie posters (the main character paints movie posters for a living), there is nothing self-conscious about the film. It gives you some very simple, genuine characters from a small New England town (what else? It’s Stephen King, after all) who find themselves fending for their lives while trapped in a supermarket surrounded by fog and monsters. It’s a ridiculously clichéd horror movie premise, I know, but Darabont paces it so well, that, for the first time since who-knows-when, I was actually buying it, genuinely concerned for how the whole thing was going to be played out. Without giving any plot elements away, I can simply attest to the overall intelligence of the storytelling, right up to the end, where Darabont gives us a dramatic plot twist that is fitting and genuinely surprising. Compare that to the gimmicky, contrived and confusing plot twists of almost every thriller made today, and you’ll hopefully start to appreciate how refreshing The Mist is.

Which is not to say the film is perfect; every so often there are scenes where the dialogue or situation comes off a little too forced, as when the characters all tell us that when people are afraid, you can manipulate them to do almost anything. True enough, but the entire film is showing us that already- no need to hammer the point with some supplemental cliff notes. Here and there, characters do things that are more in keeping with “movie logic” rather than actual logic, but the film never strays too far off the path before it becomes believable again. There is also a classic Stephen-King-religious-nutcase right out of any 1970’s horror film, preaching fire and brimstone to those who will listen. This would be fine if this were a clever, ironic, self-conscious-reference type of film, but here, where the drama is actually played straight and sincerely, she’s just way too silly to buy into. I also wonder if it was the budget or Darabont’s lack of expertise that led them to give us some incredibly cheesy digital monsters, the film’s most obvious weak point. The scenes play out perfectly, until you actually see the creatures. They’re so obviously digital, they already seem dated, as if the film was made 10 years ago and is only being released now- not good when you’re trying for a legitimate horror film. Because everything else is well-crafted, those scenes still remain suspenseful, but it does pull you out of the moment a bit.

None of the little flaws, however, stop The Mist from becoming a solid piece of entertainment, and while the message is far from insightful or eye-opening, it is an intelligent piece of filmmaking that comes from the heart, rather than the wallet. It’s an old-fashioned horror film that stands out among the glut of overdone, over-sensitized gore-fests simply because it is simple. It deserves better than the attention it has received, so get off your ass and go check it out while you can. I think that’s all I have to say about that.