John Carpenter's 1980 original release of The Fog wasn't exactly a skilled and penetrating horror movie to behold, says our Frank. Nevertheless, Carpenter's sinister showcase had the atmospheric creepiness to at least register some legitimate jolts. So what does he think of the remake? Read on.

The Fog (2005) Columbia Pictures

Well, director Rupert Wainwright joins the ranks in terms of ushering another useless scarefest remake with his updated and shoddy delivery of The Fog.

With less than stellar return frightening fare such as Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Amityville Horror, and House of Wax on the comeback horizon, Wainwright yearns to get in on the "overstaying-your-welcome" skin-crawling sweepstakes. Sadly, he simply manages to conjure up memories of appreciating what a gallant effort Carpenter put forth with the first breezy blueprint some twenty-five years earlier.

To put it bluntly, Wainwright's The Fog is dismally conceived. Unimaginative, dragging and perpetually sour, there was no need to revisit-and consequently ruin-whatever visionary outlook that Carpenter had for his passable and inspired boofest from yesteryear. With stilted acting, mechanical plotting and an overall murky production, enduring The Fog is like trying to swim effortlessly through a giant bowl of dripping and sticky pea soup-it's messy and just as pointless. How this meagre movie got the green light to be released as major motion picture is beyond anybody's comprehension.

The setting takes place in the unassuming environment of Antonio Island, Oregon. This community is in the midst of acknowledging its centennial celebration. However, the venue also harbours many secretive titbits-mainly its unspeakable blemishes involving the past murders of so-called undesirables. The inviting spirit of the citizens of this small Oregonian haven is only contradicted by the nasty whispers of the island's haunting history of deceit and despair.

The main protagonists that fit into the thick of things are headed up by the hunky Nick Castle (Tom Welling from WB-TV's Smallville). Nick happens to be the town's version of local royalty-he has the distinctive lineage to the noted area's founding fathers.

By trade, Nick is a tour boat operator. His shapely blonde-haired companion is Elizabeth (Maggie Grace from ABC-TV's Lost). Also, Lady DJ Stevie (Selma Blair) provides the tunes for the island. And for convenience-and tiresome purposes-we have on board the obligatory high jinks of a hip talkin' "black guy" (DeRay Davis) who's needed as the dreary movie's comic relief no doubt.

Eventually, an ominous fog hovers over the bewildered town. The results aren't so kind: folks left and right start to perish as the island becomes crippled with fear, confusion and curiosity. This pesky fog also brings about indescribable figures (zombies perhaps?) that pop in and out of the dense smoky air.

Despite the strange goings-on that transpire within the area, it'll take Nick and his cronies a while to piece together the harried happenings and attach these hideous events to the town's shameful histrionics. How will our targeted heroes handle the mysterious fog and the unwanted turmoil it brings to the forefront? Better yet, do we really care?

It is hard to determine who is at fault for brandishing this draining dud as a potentially effective fright fable. Wainwright's direction is hopelessly pedestrian and about as wooden and clunky as a Dutch shoe. Screenwriter Cooper Layne's toothless script is a confirmed dead end street trying to masquerade as a thrilling highway. The performances are lacklustre and the film's alleged tension wouldn't scare a timid flea off of a deranged bulldog.

The pacing is uneventfully stiff and the CGI special effects don't even rival a grainy creature double feature matinee from the 1950's. The dialogue is relentlessly sophomoric. The Fog not only does any justice to the current staid-minded malaise of today's horror genre, it sets it back by several years! Basically, Wainwright holds this tremendously tepid terrorizing tale by the slight bull's horn and hopes that this dreck maintains some of its hollow spunk.

Let's face it-one would certainly be in the fog trying to decipher a hammy horror session that has all the precision of a one-legged man in a kickball contest.

Frank Ochieng

(c) Frank Ochieng 2005