M. Night Shyamalan (hereafter referred to as Night) has got himself into pickle, and I suppose maybe it's his own fault. Many people are going into his movies with the single-minded purpose of figuring out the "twist", and in the process are not paying enough attention to grasp the more important things. In a sense Night reminds me of the guitarist Buckethead, whose genius shines through the presence of a KFC bucket turned upside-down and an expressionless white mask, at least for those who can look past the bucket and realize that it's irrelevant and only a problem for those who insist on seeing the gimmick instead of listening to the music. Night is known for this gimmick of the surprise ending, and people are ignoring the virtues of his films because they are too focused on the gimmick.
**This review will contain spoilers so please read no further if that is an issue for you.**
Okay. There are two major revelations in this film, one of which occurs late in the film and the other which occurs at the end. The first revelation, that the creatures - "those we do not speak of" - are not real, is something which I more or less assumed early on. I immediately made a connection with these creatures and the myths of religion. I admit that I didn't know that this myth of the creatures was fabricated by the village elders. Many people consider this a silly premise, even a preposterous one, but given that we live in a world where our ancestors (our elders, if you will) actually have fabricated a massive lie about a mysterious realm populated with demons and a real-live Satan to boot, I find it completely plausible. Not only plausible, but entirely realistic. History is full of efforts by well-intended groups of people to isolate themselves and their loved-ones from the outside world by creating micro-utopias and religious and/or ideological communes of one sort or another. Why people have difficulty accepting this premise is completely beyond me, especially since the film goes to great lengths in exposing the inherent flaws in similar premises and why they almost always fail.
The second revelation (or "twist", if you must), which is that the film takes place in modern times, is almost entirely irrelevant and adds nothing of great importance. It changes nothing. We already know everything we need to know by the time this revelation occurs, and the story is all but finished. We already know that this community has isolated itself from the outside world because of the disillusionment and fears of those who created it, because of the wild hope that their new world will be purer, better, and safer. When I saw the modern vehicle pulling up to Ivy, the blind girl who is the hero and central character of the film, I wasn't racked with any great surprise. It was a "meh" moment. I didn't care much, to tell you the truth. All I cared about was if the driver of the vehicle could help Ivy complete her mission. That's it.
And why is that? Well, because one of the things this film is is a love story, and a triumphant one at that. Ivy is in love with Lucius Hunt, and he is in love with her, and he needs medicine to survive two stab wounds given to him by another person who also loves Ivy, but with a different kind of love, as Lucius is about to explain before being stabbed. As anyone who has seen enough of Night's films knows, or should know, Love, with a capital "L", runs like a bright thread through all of them (at least the ones I've seen). Romantic love, familial love (the deceased mother and living daughter in Sixth Sense: two words to remind you of one of the most moving scenes in movie history: "Every day"), and deep, spiritual love (with and without the religious connotations). It bugs me to no end that in all the criticism I've read about Night's movies, so much is written about the damn "twist" and so little about the power of Love. What's especially touching about Ivy's love for Lucius is the way she has to draw him out, to make him speak his feelings. She is the great strength in the community, despite being blind, and the scene on the porch where she gets Lucius to confess his love for her is one of the most satisfying scenes I've ever watched in any film. Adding to the poignancy of this unspoken love is what is going on between Alice Hunt and Edward Walker (Sigourney Weaver and William Hurt). Lucius is speaking at one point to his mother, Alice Hunt, and mentions that Edward Walker is in love with her. She asks her son how he knows this, and he replies, "Because he never touches you." Again, a hair-raising line and a magnificent reflection on what it's like to harbor feelings of love for someone and not be able to tell them, a feeling with which I am painfully familiar.
Early on there is a scene which stands in stark contrast to all of this: a scene where Ivy's sister confesses her love for Lucius Hunt boldly and without restraint. It's an early reminder that no matter how we try to insulate the people we love from being hurt, our efforts will very often - if not indeed always - go for nothing. The scene serves to remind people that the dangers of the world do not merely consist of evil people or evil creatures with dark intentions. Even Love can be dangerous, and in fact often is. Not only dangerous, but fatal. Enter one of the other pivotal characters, Noah Percy. Noah has some sort of mental deficiency and his behavior is often reckless and erratic. Ivy Walker is about the only one who seems to have a calming effect on Noah. She has power over him, and only later on do we realize that Noah has his own deep feelings of love for Ivy, feelings which become a dark and dangerous force equal to that of any evil mythical creature. Noah is the person who stabs Lucius, because Lucius threatens Noah's relationship with Ivy. It's not for nothing that Night has Noah dress up as one of the Covington Woods creatures in order to terrorize Ivy on her painstaking trek through the woods to the "towns" and frustrate her efforts to bring back medicine to save Lucius. He is showing how even innocence and love can be corrupted into something deadly and evil, and why we don't need to invent supernatural agents of terror, nor even supernatural agents of Love, for that matter, since the very real and natural Love that we are capable of as mere humans is sufficient to make us do virtuous and heroic things (as well as terrible things). This reminds me of a wonderful few lines spoken late in the film by Edward Walker, when he and the elders are beginning to realize that their utopian dreams may have been somewhat misgiven (I am paraphrasing, and may not have it exactly right): "Love moves the world. The world bows before love, in awe."
To sum up, the Village is a film which offers many things to think about: is religion a good thing after all, can any utopian system actually work, is it a good idea to smother our loved ones in good intentions and keep them from living full, normal lives, and can love really save the day, when all is said and done? I believe it can. Thanks, Night, for this great and thought-provoking piece of work.
**This review will contain spoilers so please read no further if that is an issue for you.**
Okay. There are two major revelations in this film, one of which occurs late in the film and the other which occurs at the end. The first revelation, that the creatures - "those we do not speak of" - are not real, is something which I more or less assumed early on. I immediately made a connection with these creatures and the myths of religion. I admit that I didn't know that this myth of the creatures was fabricated by the village elders. Many people consider this a silly premise, even a preposterous one, but given that we live in a world where our ancestors (our elders, if you will) actually have fabricated a massive lie about a mysterious realm populated with demons and a real-live Satan to boot, I find it completely plausible. Not only plausible, but entirely realistic. History is full of efforts by well-intended groups of people to isolate themselves and their loved-ones from the outside world by creating micro-utopias and religious and/or ideological communes of one sort or another. Why people have difficulty accepting this premise is completely beyond me, especially since the film goes to great lengths in exposing the inherent flaws in similar premises and why they almost always fail.
The second revelation (or "twist", if you must), which is that the film takes place in modern times, is almost entirely irrelevant and adds nothing of great importance. It changes nothing. We already know everything we need to know by the time this revelation occurs, and the story is all but finished. We already know that this community has isolated itself from the outside world because of the disillusionment and fears of those who created it, because of the wild hope that their new world will be purer, better, and safer. When I saw the modern vehicle pulling up to Ivy, the blind girl who is the hero and central character of the film, I wasn't racked with any great surprise. It was a "meh" moment. I didn't care much, to tell you the truth. All I cared about was if the driver of the vehicle could help Ivy complete her mission. That's it.
And why is that? Well, because one of the things this film is is a love story, and a triumphant one at that. Ivy is in love with Lucius Hunt, and he is in love with her, and he needs medicine to survive two stab wounds given to him by another person who also loves Ivy, but with a different kind of love, as Lucius is about to explain before being stabbed. As anyone who has seen enough of Night's films knows, or should know, Love, with a capital "L", runs like a bright thread through all of them (at least the ones I've seen). Romantic love, familial love (the deceased mother and living daughter in Sixth Sense: two words to remind you of one of the most moving scenes in movie history: "Every day"), and deep, spiritual love (with and without the religious connotations). It bugs me to no end that in all the criticism I've read about Night's movies, so much is written about the damn "twist" and so little about the power of Love. What's especially touching about Ivy's love for Lucius is the way she has to draw him out, to make him speak his feelings. She is the great strength in the community, despite being blind, and the scene on the porch where she gets Lucius to confess his love for her is one of the most satisfying scenes I've ever watched in any film. Adding to the poignancy of this unspoken love is what is going on between Alice Hunt and Edward Walker (Sigourney Weaver and William Hurt). Lucius is speaking at one point to his mother, Alice Hunt, and mentions that Edward Walker is in love with her. She asks her son how he knows this, and he replies, "Because he never touches you." Again, a hair-raising line and a magnificent reflection on what it's like to harbor feelings of love for someone and not be able to tell them, a feeling with which I am painfully familiar.
Early on there is a scene which stands in stark contrast to all of this: a scene where Ivy's sister confesses her love for Lucius Hunt boldly and without restraint. It's an early reminder that no matter how we try to insulate the people we love from being hurt, our efforts will very often - if not indeed always - go for nothing. The scene serves to remind people that the dangers of the world do not merely consist of evil people or evil creatures with dark intentions. Even Love can be dangerous, and in fact often is. Not only dangerous, but fatal. Enter one of the other pivotal characters, Noah Percy. Noah has some sort of mental deficiency and his behavior is often reckless and erratic. Ivy Walker is about the only one who seems to have a calming effect on Noah. She has power over him, and only later on do we realize that Noah has his own deep feelings of love for Ivy, feelings which become a dark and dangerous force equal to that of any evil mythical creature. Noah is the person who stabs Lucius, because Lucius threatens Noah's relationship with Ivy. It's not for nothing that Night has Noah dress up as one of the Covington Woods creatures in order to terrorize Ivy on her painstaking trek through the woods to the "towns" and frustrate her efforts to bring back medicine to save Lucius. He is showing how even innocence and love can be corrupted into something deadly and evil, and why we don't need to invent supernatural agents of terror, nor even supernatural agents of Love, for that matter, since the very real and natural Love that we are capable of as mere humans is sufficient to make us do virtuous and heroic things (as well as terrible things). This reminds me of a wonderful few lines spoken late in the film by Edward Walker, when he and the elders are beginning to realize that their utopian dreams may have been somewhat misgiven (I am paraphrasing, and may not have it exactly right): "Love moves the world. The world bows before love, in awe."
To sum up, the Village is a film which offers many things to think about: is religion a good thing after all, can any utopian system actually work, is it a good idea to smother our loved ones in good intentions and keep them from living full, normal lives, and can love really save the day, when all is said and done? I believe it can. Thanks, Night, for this great and thought-provoking piece of work.
No comments:
Post a Comment