My buddy, Jason, has an amazing ability to sell movies to me. I don't mean this in the literal sense.
Rather, he somehow manages to drag me out to the cinema on a fairly regular basis. He is the reason I
saw Knocked Up (snore), Zodiac (cool), and, most recently, The Mist on the big screen.
Jason convinced me to go see The Mist on Thanksgiving, to the late show, an outing that would
normally rank somewhere below going to the dentist and above receiving an undeserved,
non-lubricated anal raping. See, I'm just not really all that big on horror movies. I think we've been over
this before: I'm not into horror movies; I'm into zombie movies. There's totally a difference. So, I already
wasn't at all excited to see anything about people trapped in a supermarket, surrounded by ominous
fog. Whooooo.
The next thing that failed to thrill me about the idea was that we were going to a multiplex in Daly City
on Thanksgiving night, which is widely regarded as the night when the movie-goers that both time and
social graces forgot pack their bloated, unwashed, tryptophan-laden, pasty flesh into dank, sticky
theaters and then proceed to blab and/or snore their ways through around two hours of marginal,
improbable Hollywood drivel (you know, like a Michael Bay movie).
So, if I haven't made myself clear, I wasn't totally stoked on the idea. And, of course, the theater was
packed with the above demographic, so Jason and I had to sit way up in the third row, off to the side,
without a heterosexuality-preserving, empty buffer-seat in between us.
No, I did not become aroused, thank you.
But then the movie started. It was ominous at first. The protagonist and his son get trapped inside a
supermarket with a bunch of small town Maine characters, walled in by a creepy mist. Not a bad way to
start. The script got right down to business... fast forward like ten minutes and giant spiders are spitting
skin-melting acid into the faces of hapless victims. Then, there are giant anaphylaxis-inducing flies, a
huge crab thing that plucks people into the darkness and eats them, and a crazy chick who is way into
the Old Testament and blames the decline of (Western) civilization on the unfolding carnage.
So, in other words, The Mist was pretty awesome. I won't spoil the ending for you either, because it's
the best ending to a movie ever.
Ever.
Oh god. Can't control it.
Somebody stop me...
THE MAIN CHARACTER SHOOTS HIS EIGHT-YEAR-OLD SON IN THE HEAD WITH A REVOLVER
TO SAVE HIM FROM THE MONSTERS SECONDS BEFORE THEY BOTH WOULD HAVE BEEN
RESCUED!
Sorry.
I feel much better now, if that's any conciliation.
Rather, he somehow manages to drag me out to the cinema on a fairly regular basis. He is the reason I
saw Knocked Up (snore), Zodiac (cool), and, most recently, The Mist on the big screen.
Jason convinced me to go see The Mist on Thanksgiving, to the late show, an outing that would
normally rank somewhere below going to the dentist and above receiving an undeserved,
non-lubricated anal raping. See, I'm just not really all that big on horror movies. I think we've been over
this before: I'm not into horror movies; I'm into zombie movies. There's totally a difference. So, I already
wasn't at all excited to see anything about people trapped in a supermarket, surrounded by ominous
fog. Whooooo.
The next thing that failed to thrill me about the idea was that we were going to a multiplex in Daly City
on Thanksgiving night, which is widely regarded as the night when the movie-goers that both time and
social graces forgot pack their bloated, unwashed, tryptophan-laden, pasty flesh into dank, sticky
theaters and then proceed to blab and/or snore their ways through around two hours of marginal,
improbable Hollywood drivel (you know, like a Michael Bay movie).
So, if I haven't made myself clear, I wasn't totally stoked on the idea. And, of course, the theater was
packed with the above demographic, so Jason and I had to sit way up in the third row, off to the side,
without a heterosexuality-preserving, empty buffer-seat in between us.
No, I did not become aroused, thank you.
But then the movie started. It was ominous at first. The protagonist and his son get trapped inside a
supermarket with a bunch of small town Maine characters, walled in by a creepy mist. Not a bad way to
start. The script got right down to business... fast forward like ten minutes and giant spiders are spitting
skin-melting acid into the faces of hapless victims. Then, there are giant anaphylaxis-inducing flies, a
huge crab thing that plucks people into the darkness and eats them, and a crazy chick who is way into
the Old Testament and blames the decline of (Western) civilization on the unfolding carnage.
So, in other words, The Mist was pretty awesome. I won't spoil the ending for you either, because it's
the best ending to a movie ever.
Ever.
Oh god. Can't control it.
Somebody stop me...
THE MAIN CHARACTER SHOOTS HIS EIGHT-YEAR-OLD SON IN THE HEAD WITH A REVOLVER
TO SAVE HIM FROM THE MONSTERS SECONDS BEFORE THEY BOTH WOULD HAVE BEEN
RESCUED!
Sorry.
I feel much better now, if that's any conciliation.
The guy holding the kid kills everybody in the picture but himself at the end... Sorry again.