Aslap on the wrist and “Bad Stephen King!” might be in order
for his newest novella gone cinematic. Like a straight-to-DVD movie that
drunkenly stumbled into theaters on its way to Blockbuster, “The Mist” is
creamed in cheap thrills and CGI effects that would make even a five-year-old
giggle. True, King was the man who brought us classic horror reads like “The
Shining” and “Pet Sematary” where he scared the living shit out of us, but his
touch doesn’t always mean instant gold: He’s also blundered through sloppy
monster flicks like “The Langoliers” and now, “Mist.”

For a lack of anything scarier this fall, “Mist” just might
squeak out some play on slasher pranks alone, disguised in blatantly terrible
special effects and including neo-horror staples like locking random people
inside a building while a mysterious bad guy peruses the perimeter. We might as
well be in our ass-grooves at home, watching some Sci-Fi Channel original movie
like “Anacondas 4.”

So where did all the budget’s green go? To one of those
pricey actors pulling a J.Lo, demanding only holy-mountain water blessed and
hand-delivered to the trailer by the Dali Lama himself? Not even the mild fame
of Oscar-winner Marcia Gay Harden can explain why director Frank Darabont
scraped by on the cheap, making his giant tentacles look like imports from
“World of Warcraft.” One might even speculate that the oh-so-scary, penetrating
mist is merely a ploy to hide shoddy CGI spiders and scorpion-mosquito thingies.

Whatever the case, the bonanza of freaky critters is present
only as a backdrop for the film’s more character-driven drama. Like so many
seemingly simplistic horror films, the central catastrophe is actually an
opportunity to delve into the twisted human psyche. King attacks the age-old
question of who is more monstrous — man or monster? — by shoving about 20
townies and outsiders into one small supermarket during an unnatural disaster.
Their best and worst sides are exposed when the store captives realize they’re
in serious trouble and must rally together to survive.

For one of the film’s better performances, Harden plays
religious zealot Mrs. Carmody, the prophet of the bunch, who incessantly
preaches that the end of days is nigh and shows her blood-stained finger to the
camera, declaring it a down payment for God. Though the film’s conquering hero
bores as a white, middle-class, attractive He-man who has all the answers, many
minor characters carry their fair share of gumption. One big-time lawyer (Andre
Braugher) is wonderfully awkward toward said hero (Thomas Jane), bringing
cringe-worthy intensity to every line, regardless of how small or seemingly
unimportant; and the best part of his restrained creepiness is that it’s
completely at odds with everyone around him. In a very Vincent D’Onofrio vein,
Braugher oozes weird and acts with such groundless hostility that we almost
wonder if he resents just being in the movie.

The tired us-vs.-them theme is somewhat salvaged by King’s
ability to create characters we truly loathe and drop them into the most
ridiculous situations: When someone is slain for his stupidity, the entire
audience claps, and whenever someone leaves the store it’s terrifying
regardless of how stupid the reason. The film rarely ruts in scenes where
people aren’t ripped to bits, crying about something or blowing each other
away, a throwback to those days when all men were tough guys and monster suits
had visible zippers. Slip “Mist” into your ’80s B-movie marathon, and its
psycho-analyzing story might start to shine through the fog-machine haze.