After two episodes, the best analogy for The Mist’s highs and lows is the CGI moose that flies through a windshield in the opening moments of “Withdrawal.” Connor Heisel driving through the mist—having essentially left Kevin, Adrian, Mia, and Bryan to die—is the show at its best, his eyes nervously darting from left to right, trying to navigate a world of fog and fire where you can only see two feet in front of you. That uncertainty is the series’s best chance to become more than your average horror story; it’s terrifying but, at the same time, relatable on a deeper level, as all memorable horror is. But then Connor crashes into that moose, and we’re once again in a show where the jump scares are cheap and the effects budget is even cheaper. The scariest thing about a closet’s darkness, the glassy surface of a lake, or a slowing rolling mist is that you can’t tell what lies behind them. Every time The Mist chooses to pull back that curtain, it’s as subtle as a two-ton forest animal colliding with your car.
It’s no shock, then, that the parts of The Mist worth sticking around for are the ones we can’t explain yet. The name “Anna,” written this week on an office floor in blood and last week engraved on a tombstone. Mia’s long-dead relative materializing in the mist, real enough to say the words “I miss you, babydoll” and solid enough for Bryan to hear it, too. The mysterious trio of unnamed outsiders entrenched with those trapped in the mall, who can spout military-esque codes like “Shadow 41 standing by for report” but end the episode dead; one catching a bullet from mother-turned-murderer Eve, the other two hanging in the bathroom. This growing pile of question marks has the same sense of excitement that hung over early episodes of Lost, where the fun wasn’t in the knowing but in joyously admitting you didn’t know anything at all (If Connor had run over a polar bear on the streets of a small New England town, this would all be a different story).
But the more these characters talk and talk (and talk) through these dilemmas, the more interest starts to wane. Part of that is in the performances. With the notable exception of Alyssa Sutherland—whose time on Vikings honed that steely-eyed look reserved for mothers protecting their kids—The Mist’s cast seem stuck between stiff as a Church pew and inhumanly over-the-top. Case in point: Isiah Whitlock Jr.’s introduction as mall manager Gus Bradley. This actor played an integral part in arguably the greatest series of all time, but here he is putting in one of the sheeeeeeeit-iest performances in recent memory. Much like Russell Posner as Adrian, Whitlock Jr. is delivering his lines less like a human being and more like a walking cue card with exposition written on it. For a town plagued by mist, Bridgeville’s residents sure do sound dry.