The Mist

“People are basically good, decent. My god, David, we’re a civilized society.”

         “Sure, as long as the machines are working and you can dial 911. But you take those things away, you throw people in the dark, you scare the shit out of them – no more rules.”

         So goes a conversation late in The Mist between two of the main characters, David and Amanda, and it is this dialogue that highlights what writer–director Frank Darabont is trying to say.

         Darabont, known for his adaptations of Stephen King’s novels (The Shawshank Redemption, The Green Mile), turns away from King’s more low key, non-horror works for his third King adaptation in favor of a gory, horrifying film in which small-town locals are besieged in a supermarket surrounded by a strange mist outside that harbors giant bugs and other monsters that would love nothing than to make a meal out of them all. However, Darabont proves not only that his directorial skills are well suited to horror as well as drama, but that he is in fact uniquely qualified to tell this kind of story – by capturing the complexity of the characters, as well as how their stories all tie to the central theme, The Mist succeeds where most other adaptations of King’s horror novels fail miserably.

         Behind the blood and guts of Stephen King’s work lie rich, flawed, human characters – this is what makes his work compelling, and it is also what made Darabont’s previous adaptations so engrossing. However, Shawshank and The Green Mile were classically made films, composed of tightly structured photography, unobtrusive editing, and careful, deliberate staging. For The Mist, Darabont brings his eye for story and characters to the material, but also radically reinvents his own directorial style to better suit the film. He trades in elegant tracking shots for rough, documentary-style hand held cinematography, employs fast paced shock cutting, and relies on heavily improvised action. This is not to say The Mist is a Blair Witch Project knock-off. The camera work does not suggest a first person viewpoint, and audience members will not feel nauseous upon watching the film (well, not because of the camera work anyway). According to Darabont, due to the film’s low budget, the actors would improvise, staying within the basic structure of the script, and the cameramen would, in turn, improvise their shots around the actors. This both allowed The Mist to be made on a limited budget and provides it with a heightened sense of realism, which becomes critical to its success. 

         Another element crucial to the effectiveness of The Mist is the effects. Any film featuring ravenous, man-eating creatures needs convincing creatures. These monsters are rendered entirely by computer-generated effects, and for the most part, they are very convincing. Because the film’s special effects team created crude models for the actors to interact with, as well as using various methods to blend the CGI monsters in seamlessly with the physical set and actors (for example, when the bugs are supposed to be breaking down a store window, a pitching machine was hurling softballs at the store window on-set, and was replaced later with the creatures) the monsters actually seem to occupy the same space as the actors. It is an enormous downfall of many visual effects heavy films (Star Wars episodes I-III come to mind) that when characters are supposed to be confronted with a creature or landscape that is created by computer, the actors have nothing to interact with, and as a result often seem as involved with the onscreen action as if they’re phoning in a carry order out to Pizza Hut. Not so with The Mist, which has a director and technical crew too invested in the material to let that happen, and an acting ensemble too skilled to give lackluster performances. However, if the film’s low budget does any harm, it is that the computer-generated monsters occasionally lack the believability that a larger special effects budget could have afforded. It should be said, though, that in Frank Darabont’s original black and white version of the film, the visual effects blend in with the film much better, and never seem substandard for a moment.  

         In fact, the black and white version of The Mist is superior on several levels to the color version that the studio forced Darabont to release to theaters. The black and white version, which can be found on the DVD, not only suits the visual effects far better, but also adds a sense of claustrophobia to the film by de-emphasizing the backgrounds and scenery (black and white film is well known for this quality), and instead forcing the audience to focus on the characters. In terms of character, effective horror films typically use one of two strategies: either create detailed, three dimensional, flesh and blood characters that the audience learns about and empathizes with, or, create characters without any kind of dynamic personality traits, background, or depth whatsoever so that audience members can easily place themselves into the situations unfolding onscreen – creating a psychological state of mind that is both personal and unnerving. The Mist uses the former technique, employing a first rate cast of character actors and unknowns to portray characters that act not as devices of the plot (in order to arbitrarily increase the amount of suspense), but who behave as their own personalities dictate. The lack of stars in The Mist only adds further to the realism. No one in the film attempts to steal scenes or create a demo reel for the Academy – instead, they simply exist as frightened people trapped in a horrifying situation.

         And the film is based on situation, not plot. The main characters do not develop special weapons to battle the monsters or establish contact with the army in order to form a resistance. People are trapped in a supermarket, and they have no idea what’s going on. That’s it. The only time even a partial explanation is given is in an ill-advised scene in which a soldier on leave rambles about scientific experiments being conducted at a nearby military base. Stephen King’s original story offered no explanation whatsoever, because none was needed. Apparently Darabont thought movie audiences wouldn’t stand for that kind of ambiguity, so he falls back on the old horror film standard of scientists meddling with inter-dimensional gateways.  Besides this unnecessary bit of pseudoscience, The Mist simply consists of scenes of quiet character interaction and development, contrasted with quick bursts of violence. With the exception of one pointless scene involving two characters who are barely seen again, the dialogue scenes develop characters we come to care about not by having them discuss their pasts and emotions in great detail, but by showing their reactions to the situation at hand. By the time the blood and guts fly, we are invested in what happens onscreen.  

         Early in the film, the giant bugs are the main source of terror. However, as the film progresses, and the initially skeptical supermarket inhabitants come to embrace the preaching of Mrs. Carmody, a religious zealot who believes judgment day has arrived, some of the film’s more rational characters seem to prefer taking their chances out in the mist. Indeed, the two most horrifying scenes of the film don’t involve the giant bugs at all, just people and what they can do to each other. As frightening as giant monsters are, it is easy for audience members to distance themselves from giant bugs. When people degenerate into horrifying monsters, it seems less like a movie, because things like this can and do happen all over the world. And that’s what The Mist is all about.   

 

8.5/10

Gone Baby Gone

Year of Release: 2007
Director: Ben Affleck
Genre: Crime Drama



Adrian:

If not for Casey Affleck’s narration, the opening minutes of Gone Baby Gone could easily be mistaken for documentary footage shot in Boston. Director Ben Affleck did, in fact, take a film crew on location into the poverty-stricken neighborhoods that the story inhabits, casting non-professional locals as extras and for walk on roles, and the resulting authenticity is what gives the film its power. Indeed, Ben Affleck and his brother Casey (who stars here as Patrick Kenzie, an inexperienced private detective hired to help find a missing child) grew up in these same neighborhoods, and they infuse the dialogue (whether scripted by co-writer Ben or improvised by Casey, as much of it undoubtedly was), as well as each individual scene, with pitch perfect rhythm and a raw intensity that not only propels the story forward, but makes the viewer feel as though they are eavesdropping on actual conversations, as opposed to watching talented actors recite lines. So great in particular is Casey Affleck’s contribution that on repeated viewings it becomes apparent how easy his role would have been to overplay, but instead, what could have ended up playing like an over-the-top audition reel for the academy awards became the story of a real person, a story that immediately engrosses the viewer, whether watching it for the first time or engaging in repeated viewings.

However, many details which seem insignificant on first viewing acquire a great deal of importance by the end of the film, especially the opening narration by Casey Affleck. In it, he describes his neighborhood, and in doing so, effectively summarizes his outlook on life and morality- but screenwriters Ben Affleck and Aaron Stockard never imply that this is actually what he is doing, and Casey Affleck never telegraphs his emotions for the benefit of the audience. In fact, viewers will be unaware of the key importance of this opening narration until the end of the film. Naturally, since all good detective stories involve some kind of moral dilemma, Patrick Kenzie will have to seriously question his outlook on good and evil at some point during the film, and this is a film that is all about how a person can possibly do the right thing in a world that is basically evil. But that has to do with the plot, and to describe an unpredictable, labyrinthine, and brilliantly executed story such as this in much detail would be a huge disservice to potential viewers.

The cast, however, does deserve mention. Director Ben Affleck, instead of getting as much star power as possible behind his film, chose to cast the main and much of the supporting cast (Casey Affleck, Ed Harris, John Ashton, Amy Ryan, Morgan Freeman) from among the best character actors the industry has to offer, and, going off of Affleck and Stockard’s script, which gives them plenty to work with, they all shine in their respective roles. Too often filmmakers worry about writing and casting one or two key roles, completely ignoring the supporting players, which leads to a great deal of grandstanding by the stars in an effort to distract the audience from what is going on around them. In Gone Baby Gone, the two lead actors can and do passively observe events some of the time, which not only allows the supporting actors to enhance the audience’s understanding of both the story and the world around them, but also to show that there is a world these lead characters inhabit, and lives that they are living outside of the action shown onscreen.

All of the supporting and bit roles - some professional actors, many local Bostonians with no acting experience whatsoever – ring true and none of the actors (professionals or amateurs) utter a single syllable that isn’t completely believable. If the film’s colorful array of characters contains a single weak link (and it does), it is the partner/lover of Patrick Kenzie, Angie Genarro. This is not, however, the fault of actress Michelle Monaghan, who proves here that she is more than capable of handling her character. The problem is that there is hardly a character to play. Ben Affleck has stated that in the process of adapting the novel upon which the film is based, if he hadn’t trimmed some of the source material (which is over 400 pages), the film would have lasted seven hours. Because of this he decided to remove both a sub-plot about a gang war, which would have distracted from the important elements of the story anyway, and scenes that developed the character of Angie Genarro, which would have given the film the added depth needed to make it truly great. In the film, the enigmatic Genarro exists only to provide additional sources of conflict for Patrick Kenzie and to observe the film’s events with equal parts confusion and sadness. But despite this, Monaghan overcomes the script’s lack of development to make Angie Genarro believable, which prevents the audience from being distracted from the overall story.

Stylistically, first time director Ben Affleck displays more confidence than most filmmakers working today, infusing very few stylistic flourishes into the film, and instead employing a combination of standard (but effective) camerawork and gritty, handheld, documentary-style shots (it is to his credit that he does not overuse the latter, but rather unleashes them at deliberate points throughout the film). Affleck does not use cinematic tricks to enhance scenes, but rather, has the confidence to allow the script and the actors to tell the story uninterrupted. The only aspect of the film which sometimes distracts from the action onscreen is the musical score, which works effectively with some scenes, but disrupts other moments in the film when composer Harry Gregson-Williams goes too far over the top.

In terms of Gone Baby Gone’s technical aspects, the few lighting and editing tricks Affleck employs blend in with the scene they are a part of so seamlessly that they are virtually undetectable. The only glimpse of style made overtly clear to the audience comes midway into the film when Patrick Kenzie’s character looks into a pane of glass in a hospital hallway and sees himself reflected, through careful lighting, as a black shape, all of his features washed out, a symbol of the darkness consuming him. But even this is not stylistic excess, but is done in service of the story, a story that Ben Affleck and his cast and crew have truly brought to life.
9.5/10

Deep Red

Year of Release: 1975
Director: Dario Argento
Genre: Horror/Mystery
Edition: uncut (125 min)

Adrian:
The opening scene of the film, a vignette in which two silhouettes – killer and victim – are seen against the backdrop of a seemingly normal house decorated for yuletide, the latter of the two being stabbed to death, the murder weapon, a bloodstained butcher knife, falling to the floor at the feet of a third, unseen character, reveals more about the intentions of Deep Red and its architect, Dario Argento, than any analysis of plot, theme, or character arcs could: this is a film about itself.

The plot, a foreigner in Italy both hunting and being hunted by an elusive serial killer, is one that Argento lifted from his first film, The Bird With the Crystal Plumage, and would continue to use for the majority of his career. Not that it matters anyway. Many Dario Argento films make little or no narrative sense whatsoever, and those that do use plot solely as a framework to move the film along from one set piece to the next. However, it should be said that Deep Red sports not only a coherent plot, but one that becomes increasingly (and surprisingly) elaborate and involving as the second half of the film unfolds, revealing what appeared a slow, laborious, seemingly pointless first half to actually contain key plot points. This increased attention to plot is simultaneously the film’s greatest strength and its greatest weakness.

The purpose of Argento’s films is to reflect his own personal tastes and stylistic flourishes. Without his unique sensibilities and his ability to use off kilter shot composition, shock editing, eerie set design, and strange (but effective) musical scores to create a truly oppressive atmosphere, his films, even ones with intricate stories like Deep Red, would easily fall into the category of generic exploitation slasher films, and therein lies the problem. By using most of the first half of the film to develop the plot, Argento neglects the chilling, atmospheric set pieces that define his films. Instead, viewers are treated to the development of characters that serve solely as devices of the plot, and though the cast performs competently (particularly David Hemmings, who proves to be a solid leading man), the lack of dramatic depth in the script, combined with Argento’s (characteristically) poor dialogue, renders these early scenes unable to hold the interest of viewers, much less carry the film.

Fortunately, they don’t have to. After dragging on for some forty-odd minutes, the film begins to build momentum with a bravura sequence in which the killer breaks into musician Marc Daly’s apartment in an attempt to halt his investigation into a series of murders by means of a meat cleaver. Relying on minute details in Hemmings’ performance, the shot composition of the scene, and in the soundtrack to build suspense, as opposed to his standard approach of combining heavy, palpable atmosphere with stylish shock tactics, Argento delivers not only Deep Red’s best scene, but one of the best set pieces of his career.

Following this scene, an ongoing series of brutal murders, detailed in an excellent fashion by Argento - clearly at the top of his game here - is intercut with main character Marc Daly’s efforts to uncover the identity of the murderer, through which he slowly uncovers each new layer of the mystery, revealing many seemingly pointless scenes throughout the film (especially concentrated in the first half) to have contained vital clues. As the film gathers energy, building towards a series of chilling, unpredictable, and increasingly gory climactic scenes, pausing only for brief (but hopelessly boring), character-oriented interludes, the film becomes truly arresting, each new scene drawing the viewer further into the bizarre, gothic reality created by Argento.

The set design of the film also deserves special mention. The film promises Deep Red, and the sets deliver, providing a rich color palette dominated by shades of red that darken as the film progresses. Working together with the various other technical elements of the film to create the truly malevolent atmosphere which encompasses the events that unfold onscreen, the sets of Deep Red embody what the film is really all about: exercises in flashy, energetic, self-aware, self-indulgent style. Dario Argento’s style.

7/10



Brian:
Giallo, the Italian word for yellow, has been used to refer to Italian pulp fiction since the 1930s, when the first pulps were printed on yellow paper. The term was later applied to B grade horror movies, with their rise in popularity and output. Deep Red is director Dario Argento’s fourth giallo, and the second one I have the pleasure of seeing.

In short, the story follows an English Pianist, Marcus Daly, who witnesses the murder of a psychic. The killer gets away, and Daly soon involves himself in discovering the identity of the hatchet wielding murderer. However, the further he gets into the investigation, the more the killer strikes, keeping Daly on his toes moving from one murder to the next.

The film oozes with a creepy, semi-surreal atmosphere. The age of the movie itself gives it a special tone. There is nothing quite like the sub-par quality of 1970s color, especially in horror films. It’s like in many other 70s and 80s horror movies, where the picture looks almost real, but is ever so slightly imperfect. The soundtrack, composed by “The Goblins” (who also did Suspiria, another Argento film), is equally surreal. Being a music lover and musician, I paid especially close attention to this aspect of the movie. From what I remember, the music consisted mainly of very 70s synth parts and some quirky guitar riffs. Yes, it’s kind of cheesy (especially out of context), but when the music and the movie are melded together, the result is oftentimes surreal, often creepy and yes, occasionally just cheesy.

The atmosphere is created by much more than just the movie’s age and music, however. The real beauty of the film is in the camera work and the interesting, stylish sets. From what I understand about Argento, he is not known for the quality of his dialogue, or the uniqueness of his stories. And Deep Red doesn’t break away from that. The dialogue is tolerable for the most part, but every now and then it gets downright painful. The plot is fairly standard for horror/mystery movies, although in my humble opinion there are some pretty interesting twists (especially near the “end”). Thankfully, Argento takes the subpar dialogue and clichéd story and turns it into a very enjoyable, oftentimes frightening film by utilizing unique camera angles, a semi-gothic, prog rock soundtrack and fitting, atmospheric sets.

7.5/10