Crap Sandwiches

Having many brothers has led to having a pretty colorful vocabulary. My favorite variation on the "don't pee on my leg" saying is "Don't hand me a crap sandwich and tell me it's roast beef."

Okay, Mr. Darabont?

Yesterday afternoon, Jason and I went to see The Mist. Actually went to a theater and paid full ticket price because we both were looking forward to seeing this adaptation of Stephen King's short story, done by the writer/director who also directed The Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile.

The movie was great. Awesome. The characters were lovable/hatable, which ever they were supposed to be. Special effects were great. It was scary without being too gory. Loved it.

Right up to the end.

I won't reveal the final scene in case anyone out there has plans to see the movie.

I don't care that Mr. Darabont changed the ending. I do care that the ending did not make sense. I felt like I'd been handed my crap sandwich.

I understand the shock value he was going for and if I contort my mind around it long enough, I can sort of, kind of, maybe see what he was maybe, sort of, kind of implying.

But it didn't fit the scene as it was played out. I felt cheated. Not only as a viewer, but as a writer. As Jason said, "It was a cheap trick to play on your audience."

Happy ending, sad ending, indifferent or vague ending, I don't care how you want to end your story, but it has to make sense. It has to fit with the scene. That's all I'm saying.

Thor sez: I smell something rotten in The Mist!