mister night, get over yourself already

went to see new m. night shamalam film, the village, after scooby proposed that we take advantage of paris 3eu film fiesta. first american blockbuster seen since Honey, which managed to suck and be awesome all at once, and have come to conclusion that maybe blockbusters are really really shitty and rotting brain, and that even counter-culture gems are still imbued with the evil sin of having explain even their misty magic realism. Still love Bring It On and Clueless for at least being so incredibly well written, but am convinced that the hollywood genre of the dramatic film is making us into puerile false-emotive doldoids.

the village, like every mister night film, has a little twist at the end, and this one, like all his other twists, is strangely predictable, moralistic and irritating. I have the indelible impression that this guy fancies himself to be a bit of a genius, and can't help smiling smugly in the mirror, as he writes his name once more over the credits, and waits eternally for his oscar (speech written before Haley Joel got out of his bedwetting pants).

it's not to say that the village is not all at once a film without merit. The story itself is quite intriguing and luscious, like its overripe female leads. The visual are startling, and at times glorious. mister night makes several overt quotations on painting, rembrandt like lighting, medieval window-pane framing (adrien brody does incredible grotesque gargoyle imitation in that scene)...incredibly simple and almost japanese watercolour scene shot at night against mist on a porch. And the monster, with it's little red hood, evoking our little childhood memories of a certain red riding hood.

but the language is (deliberately) laughable at points, which seems appropriate in certain scenes, and chokingly bad in others...never got over the idea that sigourney weaver couldn't stop laughing during the filming.

it's really the end, like all of his films, that ruins it for me. He can't help himself...he has to explain the mystery, in crude and butcher knife way...and then everybody stands up in strange broadway finale chorus, like he couldn't figure out how else to end the film. And who cares? After we're blown away by the sheer audacity and calculation behind such a scheme, what's left is the same lord of the flies kohlanta like enthusiasm...so that's the scenario, and so??? people who were rich enough to hide out from the world...crazy koresh-like gated community. blah, sounds like another tabloid to me.

mister night has sooo many virtues, and such a wild imagination that it seems a shame that he can't just get a hold of himself at the end and stop trying to prove he's so wise already. in the end, I almost wished I'd gone to see Spiderman 2 again. almost, except that I still really love this kind of pseudo pioneer haunted mumbo jumbo enough to watch the film again, and walk out when she starts to climb the wall.