Fun
Frisky
Nostalgic
Intense
Adventurous
Choked Up
Curious
Romantic
Weird
M. Night Shyamalan catches a lot of unwarranted heat from critics and fans; while all his films may not be top-notch, he is certainly one of the most innovative storytellers of the horror genre in recent memory and has created a legacy likely to outlast any bad reviews. His early work, like Unbreakable, The Sixth Sense, and Signs, turned him into something of a darling amongst thriller-lovers, but 2004’s The Village and the films that followed – including Lady in the Water, The Happening, The Last Airbender, and After Earth – saw his once-loyal fans turn on him and critics seemingly lose faith. Some of this criticism is certainly fair, but The Village does not belong among the ranks of his misfires. When a filmmaker develops a reputation, it’s difficult not to go into their movies with preconceived notions and criticize it accordingly, but The Village‘s unfortunate plight was likely due to expectations created by his former work. If you hated it upon first viewing, I implore you to give it another chance – The Village is a truly special film, one that is largely misunderstood by the masses.
True to its name, The Village is about the inhabitants of a seemingly quaint Pennsylvania village called Covington in the late 1800s. While this bucolic residence initially appears to be tight-knit and pleasant, it’s soon revealed that Covington’s inhabitants live their lives in fear of “Those We Don’t Speak Of”, terrifying, bloodthirsty creatures that occupy the surrounding woods. From the opening sequence, we know that something is amiss. Shyamalan expertly creates a sense of unease at a meal following a funeral as the village’s inhabitants look towards the woods in silent fear, on a front porch when two women urgently rip a red flower growing nearby from the ground and bury it out of sight, and in a chilly observation deck just barely lit by lanterns. This picture-perfect town has a secret, a horror discussed wordlessly amongst residents with wide eyes and closed doors. That horror, evidently, wears a red cloak and keeps Covington’s locals from venturing beyond village limits.
The idyllic setting with just a hint of disquiet lying beneath the surface sets the tone beautifully; thanks to Roger Deakins‘ visual feast of cinematography, even the darkest scenes manage to remain engrossing and eerie. On a technical level, it’s a gorgeous film, and that alone is worth appreciating – the score will haunt you for days. What’s completely astonishing about The Village, however, is how it manages to weave so many different stories together. We’re initially led to believe that the story belongs to stoic, quiet Lucius Hunt (Joaquin Phoenix), whose heart belongs to Ivy (Bryce Dallas Howard), a blind young woman with a refreshing sense of humor and wisdom. Their love story carries some of the emotional weight of the film, but the events that follow – involving Lucius’ stabbing by the lovesick-for-Ivy, intellectually disabled Noah (Adrien Brody) and Ivy’s quest to save him before time runs out – build up to something frankly remarkable. After leading us to believe that Ivy might just be another two-dimensional love interest, the entire story ends up in her hands. This isn’t another tale of a damsel awaiting rescue – this brave, determined woman resolves to do this on her own, no matter what the cost may be.
The twist that follows – one that evidently elicited a series of sighs and eye-rolls from viewers – reveals “Those We Don’t Speak Of” to be the village elders who absconded from modern society after experiencing tragedies and began their own village to cut themselves off from the violent reality of the rest of the world. Ivy, while the hero of her story, never quite learns the whole truth – her blindness makes sure of that. It’s understandable that viewers were rubbed the wrong way by this revelation; Shyamalan’s other work until this point involved ghosts, aliens, and superheroes – why would this one be any different? This lack of supernatural elements, however, is where The Village‘s strength lies. It’s a film with undeniable humanity, with a yearning for hope, with a respect for the power of love. It’s not a story meant to keep you up at night or hide under the covers; it’s an allegory of grief and trauma, and how we respond to it. You can’t escape the past, no matter where you go or what era you pretend to live in. Pain, violence, and heartache are inescapable. The big question The Village asks is whether or not ignorance is worth living in fear – and that, in itself, is what makes it a good movie.
If you go into The Village hoping for high-stakes horror and jump scares, you’ll likely be disappointed. That is not what this film is. It’s an atmospheric, patient rumination on pain, fear, and loss. It’s a wholly original film that grips you right out of the gate, rife with symbolism and the anxieties that lie deep within all of us. Delivered in stunning fashion by its insanely talented cast, Shyamalan’s story is elevated to a place that it may never have traveled otherwise. The Village is meditative, suspenseful, moving tale – one better understood if approached without preconceived notions.
