Even if you are not acquainted with his work, you have probably had cause to hear the name M. Night Shyamalan in the past few weeks. The story, as reported, runs thus – young director scores a massive hit with his debut film The Sixth Sense, earning comparisons to a youthful Spielberg or Hitchcock. His sophomore effort, Unbreakable, is less successful (though to this writer’s mind even better). Still, he keeps making money for the studio. Signs, a contemporary invasion movie with Mel Gibson, scores a record opening weekend. His follow up, The Village, causes some grumbling amongst critics, notably Roger Ebert. The twist ending has run its course, they cry. Well, to hell with that. I was born a Twilight Zone junkie and I’ll die a Twilight Zone junkie. I can spot a twist at 20 paces. I start flinching and tingling like a pet before a thunderstorm. I still loved The Village and the film more than justified itself at the box-office.
So here’s the rub. When Mr. Shyamalan presents the Disney suits with his new screenplay for Lady In The Water, they sit scratching their heads and wonder aloud if he’s gone quite mad. He allegedly bursts into tears and jumps ship for Warner Brothers where he is permitted to make The Film He Wants To Make. He collaborates on a book, The Man Who Heard Voices, dissing his former benefactors. The knives are out. Lady In The Water is released to the some of worst reviews since the beginning of the written word.
It would be sweet to report that such notices were altogether misguided, that the writers were merely rising against Shyamalan’s unwise and petty inclusion of a smart-arse film critic character (Bob Balaban) or that they were merely trying to knock him off his high horse. Sadly, Lady In The Water is not the vindication it ought to be. Densely mapped with oodles of expository dialogue, it’s often like watching Yu-gi-Oh, or some other Japanese cartoon franchise where characters are required to keep extolling the virtues of the Blue Eyes, White Dragon card and such like.
Paul Giamatti plays an apartment building attendant who finds a water-nymph, or ‘narf’, in the swimming pool. Through enquiries into Korean folklore, he discovers that a narf is sent from The Blue World to influence a chosen human, so that human will be inspired to great deeds. Alas, the ‘scrunts’ - large, grass monsters – have also arrived to gobble her up. The scrunts can be defeated if Mr. Giamatti can find a Guardian, a Symbolist, a Guild and a Healer within the building. After Ms. Howard – looking eerily like a young Sissy Spacek – has contacted the chosen one (who, just to add to the sense of vanity project gone mad, is played by M. Night Shyalaman) she can be hauled away by the Great Eatlon - a giant eagle. Tragically, a rogue scrunt isn’t playing by the rules and the Tatutic - fiercesome tree creatures - haven’t intervened as they are supposed to. You getting all this?
Written as a bedtime story for the director’s children, Lady In The Water requires a greater suspension of disbelief than Santa Claus or God, and like The Village, the film juxtaposes magic with All The Evils In The World (in this case, America’s foray into the Gulf). Well, I don’t swing that way, but I was monstrously entertained throughout, even if sometimes the entertainment was at the expense of the film. (The twisted among you may enjoy googling ‘scrunt’ for one thing.)
At any rate, it would be unfair to dismiss Shyalaman as an auteur at this point. Occasionally, Lady does cast a Tourneur-type spell, the cinematography (by Chris Doyle) is beautiful, the performances are impeccable and the visceral jumps are delivered with aplomb.
The narrative may be a total mess, but if you can live with that, there’s treasure in the landfill. Besides, I’ll be damned if I’m siding with the Disney suits.