I never thought I would be saying this, but M. Night Shyamalan is actually NOT a talentless hack.
The problem with his films is not that they are ill made. On the contrary. Shyamalan is wonderful at mood. His cinematography is dare I say, Hitchcockian, and his films don’t leave you ambivalent. The problem with his films is that they are overblown and pretentious.
Since his enormous hit The Sixth Sense went on to net Oscar nominations (including one for its director), become a neo-classic, and was even included in the American Film Institute’s list of The 100 Greatest American Films Ever Made, Shyamalan understandably has started to believe his own hype. This leaves him reaching for Art, convinced he has something to say and maybe he does. Having a message is laudable. Many “artists” go through their careers churning out blockbusters and laughing all the way to the bank. Unfortunately, he is not a very talented writer so his messages are didactic and sloppy and his dialogue is embarrassingly pedantic. Yet he trods on, seemingly unfazed. Which you have to admire. Many “artists” also spend their careers skirting the familiar and relying on their past laurels. Shyamalan, while using his trusted “twists,” plays with genre and creates unique worlds. People can say what they want about him – and I have said plenty; just ask my husband – but the man goes for broke every time, unfortunately JUST missing the mark (or, in the case of Lady in the Water, he was so far out to sea that he had no idea he was drowning…). His films seem to be lacking one key component. And ironically, that component is tied to the very thing at which he excels: the resolution of his suspense.
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The Happening is a polemic about environmental awareness told like a ’50s B movie. Without warning, people in Central Park start jabbering nonsensical conversations. Then they stop moving. And then they kill themselves. People assume it is a terrorist attack, some strange biochemical warfare, messing with our minds. And they would be half right.
Elliot Moore (Mark Wahlberg in his worst performance until The Lovely Bones) is a good natured Biology teacher in Philadelphia, struggling to connect with his wife, Alma (a flaccid Zooey Deschanel, bug eyed and clueless as to what movie she is in). Their relationship is strained because unbeknownst to him, she had dinner with a male co-worker and is wracked with guilt; even though never for a minute do we believe that the two of them have ever loved each other. We never see them kiss or show any kind of outward affection. Even when they think the world is ending. It’s as if they got together because they were the two prettiest people in town, and what the hell, we’ll at least have some pretty babies.
So they are distant and awkward and Elliot’s best friend Julian (John Leguizamo at his frumpiest) tries to push them back together. But there is no time to worry about love because whatever is “happening” (a word uttered no less than six times in the film) has left New York and come to Philly! People are killing themselves left and right and Wahlberg and Friends have got to get the hell out of Dodge before it’s too late. But Julian has lost contact with his wife in New Jersey so while he goes to figure out if she’s still alive, he dumps his daughter on Elliot and Alma. We know he will never see her again.
Elliot puts his biology skills to the test and figures out that what is “happening” is chemical warfare alright but not from al qaeda. It is chemical warfare from….all the plants on Earth. Yes, all the plants on Earth have started talking to each other (we are told that they can do this) and decided to fight back after years of destruction and pollution and global warming. It hits big cities first – anywhere that large groups of people gather together – and then trickles down to Small Town, USA, in a battle for self-preservation.
This is where Shyamalan really succeeds (and fails) as an homage to ’50s sci-fi. The premise of killer plants fits right in with the endless line of killer bees, ants, robots, and creatures from black lagoons that dominated the decade. And Wahlberg definitely has some Gina Gershon moments, but the problem is that Shyamalan, hellbent on mixing genres and playing with our expectations, doesn’t go far enough. The acting for the most part is too subdued to fit the ridiculous plot and the dialogue, while awful, never embraces full on camp, leaving it sounding amateurish instead of just a throwback to a specific style.
After everyone in their party – and presumably the town – has died, Elliot, Alma, and their ward hole up in a house in the woods, waiting to die. Elliot and Alma “reconnect,” professing their so-called love, and miraculously, the plants stop their killing spree and spare them. Which would be moving if we gave a shit about them. Or knew that they held some kind of power, or there was a reason that they were chosen to be spared; to rebuild, to teach. But no. The whole happening seems to have…happened…so Elliot and Alma could get back to being in love. Even though we never believed they were in love in the first place. Shyamalan rests the denouement on the shoulders of his character’s reconciliation, which is disappointing at best and ambivalent at worst.
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The sad thing is that this didn’t have to suck. Shyamalan’s visual prowess is on full display (the best example of his “pure cinema” comes in the form of a heavily choreographed death scene with a revolver) and the premise – while out there – was not doomed from the start. But one of the ways Shyamalan differs from Hitch or even De Palma is that in their films, there is always something in addition to the suspense and technical skill. Even when Hitch is dragging you through a MacGuffin, his films endure – among many reasons – and don’t feel like a let down because he gives you three dimensional, intriguing people to root for, to hate. Shyamalan, inept at character and their development, relies on his suspense tactics to keep you engaged. And when the resolution is lackluster AND you have flat characters played by actors who need a lot of coaching that they are clearly not receiving, you get something like The Happening (or The Village, for that matter…). Please M. Night. Collaborate with a writer. It won’t make you less of an auteur.
***Rip van Winkle***
*Featuring Betty Buckley in an Oscar worthy performance as a crazy townie…
SERVING UP SAIA. 