Bryce Dallas Howard is a gem. It’s fine if you don’t buy it, just watch her and Joaquin Phoenix share their childhood.
M. Night Shyamalan, the writer and director, over the years has managed to create his own followers, fans with a specific voice and taste. Now I might not be strongly one of the members of the elite group but his grammar is something I understand and occasionally fall for. And this is what I love the most about his films. It is not something that actually makes you think or makes your head spin with jaw dropping visuals, what it is, is a slow burn and what it does is make you fall for it, slowly, like falling in love. It could happen within two hours or just an instant. And his films does spiral out, does advance in a way that every scene lacks a missing puzzle.
And it is always that one missing puzzle. So it can happen that you can fall in that one moment. But this one works somewhat different than his usual films. In fact it works in the opposite direction. Usually his film starts somewhere in the middle of the desert and then finds a proper track as it ages. The film ages and things start to make sense as every element falls into places. What we have here is outrageously arrogant.
Yes, I understand that the storyline asks for the film to make sense, have correct order from the first stage and it also asks for the chaos to flood in and upset the expected outcomes. But when the film shines the light on the hidden matter, where it is anticipated to check off all the avant garde activity into certain mannerisms, the film keeps that vacant and us, strangely alone in the middle of the woods. The Village could not be more isolated, it makes sure you feel the same way after you’ve had its tour.