I just watched The Mist, another Steven King adaptation brought to screen life by the wonderfully talented Mr. Frank Darabont. This is the same Frank Darabont of Shawshank Redeption, Green Mile and The Majestic fame. Be wary my kindness.
I'll say something without reluctance or hesitation...Shawshank Redemption made me want to do everything I'm doing today. Um no...not blogging. As a young chap, that movie shaped what I wanted to be, hands down. It's the exact voice I aspire to hold...remarkable and affirming and inspiring and tragic and beautiful. It made me want to stand on the roof of every house I lived in and declare to the world -- Frank Darabont is my guy. That guy is my aim.
Since those days, he's been long dethroned -- names the likes of Anderson Anderson and Crowe...but still. When The Mist came out, I put it at the top of my Netflix. Then, I waited...waited and waited. Yesterday, it came. Yesterday I started it. Yesterday I stopped it. Today I decided to give it full due, to finish it. Today, I stopped it again. I went up to the roof, sat in the sun for 2 hours, returned, and finally finished it.
I don't really know what to say. I guess the are a lot of things I don't understand about auteurs...to start with Shawshank and end up here.
I'm sorry, Frank. Truth is I feel ill calling you out like this. You're remarkable, I want you to know. And a lot of people really liked The Mist, I think. I know I heard a handful of people tell me how gripping and moving it was to them. All I can say...bold ending, ridiculous but bold.
Hope you don't mind If I remember you for something else...
