Entering The Mist (Again)
Okay, so Mike Flanagan is adapting The Mist.
As in Stephen King’s The Mist.
As in the novella that already has one of the most beloved, most vicious, most “you will never emotionally recover from this after watching the ending” adaptations in horror history.
And listen, I need to say this up front, before anyone thinks I’m about to throw a brick through the Flanagan fandom window:
I love Mike Flanagan.
I watch his stuff the way some people rewatch comfort sitcoms. He’s one of the few modern horror creators who consistently treats genre storytelling like it matters. Watching a Flanagan project is like reading Literature. He consistently gets to the heart of a story and brings that theme to life, whether that theme is generational trauma, abuse, faith, the corrupting influence of an organized religion or redemption, and there has never been a time where a Flanagan project has been announced that has resulted with anything other than excitement and anticipation.
So this reaction isn’t coming from a place of hate.
It’s coming from a place of genuine confusion.
Because if the report is true, and if Flanagan is adapting The Mist as a feature film, then I have one question that keeps echoing louder every time I think about it:
Why?
That’s a genuine question. Seriously. Why?
Why would he adapt a story that already has a definitive adaptation?
Why would he go head to head with the only other creator who has a perfect Stephen King adaptation track record?
Why would he adapt this story when there are so many others at his disposal (I’m looking at you, Duma Key.)
Let’s talk about the elephant in the room. Or, in the parlance of this project, let’s talk about the leviathan in the mist: Frank Darabont’s 2007 The Mist isn’t just a good Stephen King adaptation. It’s one of the best horror films of the last twenty five years, full stop.
It’s grimy and sweaty and claustrophobic. It understands the emotional architecture of King’s story: not the monsters outside, but the monsters inside. The panic. The tribalism. The way fear turns people into zealots. The way survival turns into cruelty. The way the human mind will create a god in the dark if it needs something to worship. And Darabont does what very few can do (Flanagan is one of the only other ones to do this), which is to translate the experience of reading a Stephen King story into an audiovisual medium without losing the earnestness of the dialogue but avoiding the trappings of hokiness that brings down other adaptations when the director doesn’t have full control of the sentiment within the words.
And on top of all that, Mr. Shawshank himself did something that he’d done once before (arguably twice if you want to count The Green Mile) with the Tim Robbins starring classic. . .
He improved it.
The ending of Darabont’s The Mist is one of the most infamous endings in horror history. It’s one of the most soul-wrenching, devastating conclusions to a story ever committed to film. It’s audacious, bold, savage and bleak. It imprints itself upon you. Whether you like it or not, it leaves its mark on you.
Even King is in awe of it and jealous he didn’t think of it himself.
So again. . .Why?
Flanagan could have chosen any project that doesn’t have an established legacy:
Revival
Duma Key
Regulators
N.
Talisman
Insomnia
Rose Madder
Joyland
He could have even chosen stories that have been adapted, to solidify them as wholly his own:
Dark Half
Needful Things
Desperation
Bag of Bones
But with The Mist, he’s re-adapting something that no one was asking for, and even if it’s good, he’s still drawing an unnecessary comparison.
In Flanagan I trust. . .usually. I’m sure he’s going to make this work, but for me, every project he takes on–The Life of Chuck, The Exorcist, Carrie, and now The Mist–I can’t help but worry that The Dark Tower is falling.
O Discordia!