)(*@#$!$* Teenagers

The one night I forgot my mouthguard, was the one night some teenager goes nuts and..I don't know exactly what he did, but it involved trying to smush my mouth with his forearms. I don't know if the kid is frustrated because he can't put me away (I'm much smaller than him) or if he has unresolved issues, either way the idea of ju-jitsu as the "gentle art" seems to escape him.

This is training in a dojo, not a streetfight, you leave a guy's face alone, it's just common courtesy. I 'd like to see him try that shit with one of the bigger guys--I was ready to clock him! But I didn't. I kept my cool. Anyway I'm sure I'd come out lookin' the bad guy: being older, etc. But geez!

We practice passing the guard last night, so at least practice was productive.

A Clear ending for The Mist vs the ambiguous hipsters

Endorsing a horror film and an endorsing one enthusiastically is no small feat. For professional critics who live off their credibility, rather than shill for blurbs, there is real risk in going out on a limb for a movie. Historically, horror films have not favored well in the eyes of the film reviewers. This has changed—somewhat in the last ten years or so—but the torture films have worked overtime to garrote the in roads horror has made.

Which is what, I think partially explains the tentatively positive review offered up by the AVclub.com.

Hipsters.

Sigh.

What can I say that hasn’t been said by wikipedia and angry metalheads?

For the most part, I don’t have problems with hipsters. I’m politically sympathetic to most of their positions (I’m a lefty), and honestly when it comes to film reviews the AVclub is a darn good resource. Their critics know their stuff, and even though Nathan Rabin gets carried away once in a while, they are good writers.

But their commenters! Jesus H Christ in a motorized wheelchair, they can get pretty fuckin’ annoying! I have a middling tolerance for “snark” as they like to call it, and a low, very low tolerance for ironic detachment, which is a vice hipsters really tend to overindulge.

This brings me to the Mist. As I’m scanning the comments I saw the occasional “I liked the movie because...” mingled in with the usual “Darabont is a hack” and the normal cat fighting one finds on any comments section, peppered of course with that oh so precious snark hipsters snort like kitty litter.

I’m not nieve enough to think a movie I consider great will meet with universal acclaim; however, there was a pattern in the comments, something that was touched among my theater compatriots after the film: the ending.

One popular criticism of the movie, as professed by a chunk of the AV peanut gallery, is that the ending was—well, the movie had an honest-to-god-put-a-stamp-on-it-dinner-time-ending. There was a cry for—how do I put this?—uncertainty. The film should have ended with them driving into the mist with us never knowing quite what happened to them. That, in their opinion, would have been better than the over the top megatragedy that plays out.

I must politely call bullshit on this argument.

The driving off into the mist/into the sunset/into the dark/here’s three minutes worth of meandering road footage/we’ll never know what really happened because the future is uncertain/No Fate!/ was effective for the original cut of Blade Runner and a few other works, but by the time Good Will Hunting rolled around it was already a horrible, horrible cliché’. Any director with balls, any artist with ambition (even flawed uneven ambition) would recognize this and shoot for something better. The so-called ambiguous ending has become a lazy cipher, a trick for artists too chickenshit to offend the ruling class of the pop culture scene. Ambiguity, you see, provides room for ironic detachment, which for hipsters—and a lot of people really—is a comfort zone. “Life doesn’t have endings. Things just keep going. You choose what happens next. The viewer is always in control of the story.” Yes, it’s only a movie…only a movie…only a movie.

In other words, our good friends the AVhipsters, who pride themselves on sophistication and ironic detachment, have been angling for the safe, standardized ending, the Hollywood ending, an ending that is merely artificial uncertainty, because accepting anything else would mean that it’s NOT only a movie: it’s a howl, furious, soaked in blood, raging against very real injustices and disappointments.

Hipsters suffer from a condition similar to vampirism; instead of blood, they need irony.

Of course, vampire myths are riddled with supposed weaknesses and wards: wooden stakes, sunlight, etc. Hipsters, as far as I know, have only two real weaknesses:

one, a six foot tall metal head with a knife; and two, sincerity. Hipsters hate sincerity, especially in their art. They don’t know what to do with it, can’t tell it apart from sentimentalism and can’t process it on face value (which is where ironic detachment comes in but I don’t wanna go on a rant).

Well, I doubt anyone will believe me now when I say I don’t hate hipsters, but I’m gonna insist anyway!

As a final note, I’m sure there are plenty of genuine criticisms of The Mist, no film, even great ones, are perfect. Heck, the flaws give them character, but this whole line of reasoning behind the ending is just stupid. If you want to hate the ending at least find a reason that doesn’t espouse a cliché.

The Mist

I’ve watched a lot of horror films. My Master’s thesis involved horror films and terrorism. I’ve seen good ones, bad ones, funny ones, self-loathing ones, but none of them was an angry horror film. Yeah yeah slasher films are gory, lots of people die very theatrical deaths, the torture films are pseudo-topical, hiding behind the screams; too afraid to ever say the words “Iraq” or “united states government” or “Guantanamo Bay.” Dawn of the Dead was a vicious critique of consumerism, but it was, at its heart, a satire.

None of them, not a single one, comes close to capturing the anger of The Mist. Mr. Darabont is pissed, and he’s not gonna take it anymore.

I talked to the screen at this movie. I made exclamations at the screen. “I’ve seen a hundred movies with you, and you’ve never done that” a friend observed.

This film is about politics, class, religion, reason, authoritarianism, the abyss, fathers and sons, war, and yes, gore. I’m sure some out there will say it is heavy handed; I’d disagree, it’s accurate, deadly accurate. As the Milgram experiment, the SPE, and Nazism illustrate, this IS the way people behave when the shit hits the fan. These are the things they say; these are the things they do.

And the fact that the protagonist’s profession is artist is telling, very telling about Mr. Darabont’s feelings not about art, rather the devaluation of the artist in society; mistrusted for the book learnin’ and their thinking.’ What do they know right? They just draw pictures and make pretty sounds!

A reviewer on chud.com compared this film to John Carpenter’s The Thing, and I think he is dead on. They share a common language of paranoia punctuated with Rorschach monstrosity: in each scene the monstrous is never the same. It is flux. The meaning is always just a little bit different.