LADY IN THE WATER

by Kevin Koehler

There's really no twist to speak of in M. Night Shyamalan's latest, Lady in the Water, unless you consider the lack of a twist a twist. Perhaps the picture as a whole is the twist, in the way that we have come to expect generally entertaining, if flawed, films from Night; Lady defies expectation by being a borderline unwatchable, poorly-constructed mess. Or maybe the film simply is, on the face, what it is: a director's love letter to himself, the martyred, fashionably-dressed messiah whose work may someday save the world if only we'd let it.

And by "we," I don't mean audiences. I mean film critics, specifically those who did not like Night's previous picture, The Village. If you are a film critic and you liked The Village, then you are doing just fine and please disregard this message (but maybe have a word with your friends, will you?). The whole saving of mankind business may proceed.

Full disclosure: though I can't say I loved The Village or would even recommend it, I didn't hate it as others did. Which circle of Hell my relative ambivalence to this film places me in I do not know.

The titular lady of Lady in the Water is not really a lady but a "narf" (played by Bryce Dallas Howard, who could use some sun), a narf being a sea nymph of Asian legend who appears one day in the swimming pool of a Philadelphia apartment complex. "In the Water" is also somewhat of a misnomer as Story (as the narf is named) spends most of the film not in water but in the shower stall of a stu-stu-stuttering property manager with a tragic backstory (natch), Cleveland Heep (Paul Giamati). With the assistance of other habitants (good actors wasted) of the complex, Cleveland must help Story find a writer she came there to inspire (Story...writer...get it?), a writer who will author the greatest novel in the history of time itself, changing the world as we know it. This novel will be so revolutionary, so dangerous that the writer will be assassinated after its publication, never to see the Eden-like paradise that he created. But he will write it anyway, regardless of personal consequence, because this is what people who save the world do.

The part of this writer is played by a handsomely-dressed M. Night Shyamalan.

There's also some stuff with dogs with grass growing on them, monkeys, a guy who only works out one side of his body, giant eagles, and some offensive stereotyping of Asian people. It's all about as ridiculous as it sounds. Some petty score settling is attempted in the form of a pretentious film critic (Bob Balaban), killed for deigning to know the complex mind of this film's creator (a capital offense, apparently). He dares to predict Lady's plot; yet there is no logic to it and thus cannot be reasoned. You see, Night constructed Lady as a bedtime tale he told his children, with apparent little regard for characterization, internal narrative coherence, or any other aspect of what is generally known in the free world as successful storytelling.

M. Night Shyamalan has always been a better director than a writer. His films are littered with obvious, gaping holes in logic - they often suffer because of them on second and third viewings (How does Bruce Willis not try to talk to anyone besides his wife and the kid who sees dead people? Aliens who are killed by something as simple as water come to a planet 70% covered by it?). However, his ability to compose shots in a manner building tension and suspense has never been called into question, at least not by me. Until now.

In a lot of ways, Lady in the Water could have been made by anyone, if that anyone had the monstrous ego of M. Night Shyamalan to cast a cipher such as himself in the important role of Jesus with a typewriter. Beyond the uninvolving, aggressively preposterous plot (whose glaring inconsistencies are too many to discuss individually), there is a simple disregard for such directing basics as where to place the camera, how to fill the frame, and when to yell "cut." Perhaps the story was too personal for any real objectivity, though it must be said he makes it bizarrely, inappropriately personal. Enamored with the mirror, Lady is Night cutting off his ear only to give it to himself. It might be a constructive exercise for him to try adapting someone else's material for a change - it's about time he found a new muse.

Interesting footnote: In 2004, the Sci Fi Channel aired a "documentary" entitled The Buried Secret of M. Night Shyamalan. During the program, Night claimed to have fallen into a frozen pond as a child and been legally dead for a half hour - since this time he has been able to speak with ghosts. It was later revealed as a hoax (with Night's full cooperation), part of the publicity campaign for The Village. Various media outlets were notably upset, having impugned their own credibility after reporting on Night's talking to the dead business (the network had distributed press releases advertising Night's boyhood revelation). Controversy ensued with blame, according Night, resting ultimately with the Sci Fi Channel. "I was, of course, involved in the production of the special but had nothing to do with the marketing of it,” he said. “If the Sci Fi Channel erred in their marketing strategy, it was totally out of enthusiasm."

© Pretentious Musings. This review may not be reprinted, in whole or in part, without the express consent of its author.