The Mist

When a storm knocks out power in a small town, a mysterious mist sweeps down from the mountains, bringing an array of monsters that attack a group of townsfolk in the grocery store. Writer-director Frank Darabont, who has made a career out of overrated movies from Stephen King stories (The Shawshank Redemption, The Green Mile), is at it again, and this time his movie is so crummy he practically dares his admirers to overpraise it. There is energy, in a low-camp-’50s-monster-flick sort of way—almost a humorless parody of Roger Corman at his worst—but it’s old-hat and essentially humdrum. The film has a downbeat ending that underscores a theme running through King’s work: a contempt for the kind of people who read the kinds of things he writes. Some good actors grapple with the King-Darabont clichés.