The Village: The Center of an Onion

The Village: The Center of an Onion
by Dileep Rao

M. Night Shyamalan's narrative voice and area of emphasis are as clear as crystal. He is a fable maker, one whose chief concern is the psychology of fear and our relationship to the supernatural. He has made one superb film (Unbreakable), one very good one (the break out hit The Sixth Sense), and one terrible film (the silly and overtly self-conscious Signs). The Village is a bit of a return to form for Mr. Shyamalan; the film is beautiful to look at, having been well photographed by Roger Deakins. The acting is of a fine caliber and, in certain spots, the dialogue and script are both inspired and incredibly human.

The story concerns the happenings in a village in the nineteenth century. It is surrounded by a wood in which live monsters the residents call "they who must not be named." Shyamalan is a world-class director when it comes to spooks and startling terror. He is also a master of psychological terror, of using off screen scenarios and expertly setting up material to create tension. There is a section early in the film where the creatures invade the village which is breathtaking in its ultimate moment. You'll know what I mean when you see it.

Shyamalan is by now familiar to audiences for his particular narrative eccentricities. He uses long takes and minimal special effects. He is razor sharp with his jabbing moments, moments that startle the audience more than terrify them over time. But mostly, the audience knows his narrative is told in dual motion: that which is said and that which is not. The spaces where these two notions intersect is the point where his precisely considered reality lies, and in The Village, the secret he has buried there is fairly goofy. It is a fable and it is allegorical, but where it is going is actually quite disturbing to the viewer, and not for its effect on the story. It is disturbing because, in the end, this sleight-of-hand artist has made a film that is considerably less when it unravels than it was when it began.

Shyamalan in his first two films used his "twist" endings to greatly enhance the stories and to stun audiences with their Occam's Razor truth. Signs was a poor representaion of Shyamalan's skill; that movie ended on a whimper and was ludicrous to have even been considered in the first place. The Village builds tremendous kinetic momentum, folding the behavior on the screen into a wonderful blend of character and plot, but one which hurtles toward a conclusion that is more hot air than we deserve.

The acting by Bryce Dallas Howard as Kitty, Joaquin Phoenix as Lucius and Adrien Brody as Noah is very good, particularly that of Howard, who is a discovery playing a bright young woman bursting with energy and vitality. Judy Greer is a standout, a truly gifted comedienne. William Hurt is his usual belabored self, making more out of a sentence than could possibly be sustained, but even he has moments of real stillness and authenticity.

The flaws in this movie are partly in Shyamalan's underlying conceit. The way the villagers speak, in early New England colloquy, is a bit silly, and the constructions and cheats Shyamalan builds into his film are sometimes a bit visible. The reveal in the third act and how that is handled is a touch clumsy; he seems to want to justify things that need no justification and over-produces his revelation, hitting it a bit too hard. He could have achieved his effect more devastatingly with less. That is not to say that much of the movie isn't brilliantly structured and works, as we watch it, very well. There are some virtuosic passages of dialogue and camera movement that show that Shyamalan is less the particular, idiosyncratic filmmaker he once was and is now becoming a master visual storyteller. A conversation on the porch between Kitty and Lucius is particularly well done.

Still, when The Village comes to an end, it's as if a magnificent piece of art has been reduced to a pile of paint flakes on the floor, and we can't help but feel a bit cheated. After all, Mr. Shyamalan is a man of tremendous gift and very real talent. He may be the finest structural writer of his generation and certainly the best storyteller. The story he chose this time, however, was not up to the standard of his first two films. While he is a director of singular vision whose work is well worth following and The Village has much in it to be recommended, in the end, this film feels too flimsy to have been worth the journey.

Dileep can be reached at dileep@babblog.com.