7/27/05

 

Prologue:

 

The review I’m about to post is in two parts, namely because I first saw this in the theater last year.  Why didn’t I post that review originally?  ‘Cause, FUCK YOU!!!  That’s why. 

 

Regardless, I recently saw The Village again on VHS, and my opinion has drastically changed.  As such, I’d normally write an all new review, but there’s this dog story that is pretty funny, and I decided to post the first part exactly as I wrote it last year.

 

(Keep in mind I was still living in west Asheville with my training partner Kyle.)

 

Setting the Stage:

 

Ya know, aside from accidentally cutting myself when I’m shaving my balls, there’s nothing I hate more than people insulting my intelligence, and that’s just what M. Night Shyamalan has done with his latest film, The Village.  I’d like to tell you why, but my hands are shaking so bad that it might take me a few drinks to calm down.  You see, I just had the ever-loving FUCK scared out of me, and while I wish I could say different, it had nothing to do with the movie.

 

It’s an overcast day here in Asheville, dark clouds skirting the surrounding mountaintops.  This morning, the weather channel said we were in for, “occasional thunderstorms.”  But what they should’ve said was, “Mike is in for occasional death.”  Apparently, the gods are none too pleased about my atheism, and they’ve tried to kill me twice today.  The first was on my way to the theater, the second was on my way back.

 

The morning began well enough with a few rounds on the punching bag and my usual masturbatory rendezvous with the Kiera Knightly poster I have on the back of my bedroom door.  After taking a shower and going medieval on a turkey/sweet pickle sandwich, I went outside to find a big black dog in the driveway.  A mixed breed of Labrador and Doberman, (I’m guessing), the massive ebony beast was standing right in front of my car, almost like he was waiting for me.

 

I’d never seen this dog before, but strays are common in the neighborhood, so I strode down from the porch only to stop dead in my tracks when the son of a bitch started growling.

 

“Go on now!” I bellowed, “GO!!!”

 

But he just stayed there with his ears flat and his teeth bared.  I shit you not, boys and girls, this dog was PISSED, and I have no idea why.  He was also big enough that I didn’t wanna match fists with jaws, so I reached down and retrieved one of Kyle’s flower pots complete with miniature fern.

 

“Get away from my car!” I told the dog, then advancing with the flower pot held up to throw.

 

I locked eyes with him as well, because, that’s how I handle hostile adversaries.  Like people, most animals will punk down if you turn the tables on ‘em, (I’ll tell you about the night I faced off with a bear in another story), but, again, the dog just stood there snarling. 

 

“STOP GROWLING AT ME, YOU UGLY WHORESON!!!  I’LL BUST YOUR FUCKING HEAD WITH THIS FUCKING FERN!!!”

 

The dog barked his response, which I didn’t understand because he was a dog… and then he charged.

 

I’d like to tell you that we did battle fern to forepaw, that I smote him hip and thigh, but that’s not what happened.  Nope, I yelped like a little bitch and took off running, the flower pot still in my hand.

 

That flea-ridden bastard chased me clear around the back of the house, and the only reason he didn’t “get” me, was because I threw everything I could at him.  First the flowerpot, then a rake I grabbed in passing, then a water pump from the unfinished Jacuzzi in our backyard.  I even knocked over my “Slam Man” free standing punching bag to impede his pursuit, but on he came.

 

It’s funny now, but I kept yelling, “I’LL KICK YOUR ASS!!!  I’LL KICK YOUR ASS!!!” as I fled in terror.

 

Alas, the dog wasn’t buying it, and since I’d locked the front door when I exited the house, I knew my only chance was to get to my car.

 

Rounding the last corner and reaching the freedom of the front yard, I sprinted to my Honda Civic and did a T.J. Hooker ass-slide over the hood, then landing on the other side and trying to open the passenger side door.  It was locked.

 

“OHSHITOHFUCKOHCHRIST!!!”

 

Bloodthirsty now, the dog came around the rear bumper and started chasing me again, but I rolled back over the hood and reached the driver side door just in time.  Finding it unlocked, I wrenched it open with fear inspired exuberance.

 

WHAM!!! 

 

The dog ran face first into the side panel at the same moment I threw myself inside.  The dull * WAPUNK * of the closing door came next, and I was safe, then to watch in awe as the dog staggered incoherently about the front yard, barking at nothing like he was drunk.  I don’t know if it was on account of him head-butting reinforced Japanese steel covered in plastic, or something else, but it was the weirdest display of animal behavior I’ve ever seen. 

 

Once I was sure I hadn’t crapped myself, I started the engine and tried to run the dog over.  Tragically, he scurried off down the street, and the only thing I succeeded in killing was Kyle’s front lawn.  I left a foursome of twenty foot ruts all over the place… which I later claimed no responsibility for.  After that, I considered driving to my neighbors’ house, (Scott and Jessica from the “My New Year’s Eve” story), so that I could call Animal Control on their phone.  Then again, I was gonna be late for the movie, and I figured, “Hell, if the dog attacks someone else, that’ll be one less neighbor…”

 

The subsequent drive to Asheville’s Beaucatcher Cinema was somewhat uneventful, and I’d settled down by the time the movie started, (though I was still too freaked to buy my beloved popcorn).

 

I’ll tell you about my second near-death-experience in a moment.  But first, my review of The Village…

 

The Premise:

 

In the most secluded regions of 1890’s Pennsylvania, there exists a community of Amish-like folk, their “village” completely self-sufficient and isolated.  It boasts a population of perhaps a hundred people, and these twenty or so families have dwelled in innocent bliss for two or three generations.  They farm their own produce, they make their own clothes, they raise their own livestock, and basically enjoy a utopian lifestyle. 

 

I didn’t see any liquor or prostitutes, so I’m guessing it sucked.

 

The only members of this community that know anything of the outside world are those who make up “The Elders”, which is a counsel of founding fathers and mothers.  No one else has ever left the village, and for good reason since the surrounding woods are inhabited by monsters.  Said monsters are big and scary and predisposed to RUIN YOUR SHIT!!!  Yet, the creatures live in harmony with the villagers by way of an unspoken truce…  The villagers do not enter their woods, and the creatures do not enter the village.

 

Ah, but all that changes when livestock start popping up with their skins removed, and the villagers must decide how to deal with what appears to be a breach of the truce.

 

The Pseudo Review:

 

Now, if you’re one of those people who hate “spoilers”, then I suggest you stop reading right this instant.  I’m about to spill the beans on this ill-conceived assfest, and I take no responsibility for messing up your movie going experience.  If you just wanna know if it’s any good or not, well, that’s not a simple answer.  The acting is fantastic, the cinematography is fantastic, the music score is fantastic, and the first two acts are fantastic.  But the ending sucks dick like a gay man, and it ruins everything.

 

To give an analogy, watching The Village is like watching Cinemax After Dark.  Sure, soft-core porn will draw you in, but it eventually disappoints because there’s no penetration and no money shot. 

 

I’m so pissed at this film that I feel like tossing an incendiary grenade into a kindergarten class. 

 

It could’ve been sooooo awesome, but Shyamalan chose to get all preachy about the evils of modern society, and it’s dam lucky for that dog that we met up before the movie instead of after.  I’d be having mutt burgers right now if the latter was true.

 

At any rate, go see The Village if you like Skinamax.  Read on if you don’t.

 

The Real Review:

 

Like most people, my first M. Night Shyamalan film was The Sixth Sense, and I was blown away by it.  Not only was it scary as fuck, the “twist” ending caught me totally off guard.  One of my buddies, Phil Lomac, claims to have figured out the ending beforehand, and while that may be true, (he’s pretty fucking smart), I didn’t.  When Bruce Willis’s character finally came to the realization that he was, himself, a ghost, I turned and testicle punched this kid that was sitting in the seat next to me. 

 

Yeah, it was that good.

 

“Genius!” I cried, ripping off said kid’s scrotum and holding it aloft while his mother screamed in horror.  “Pure Genius!!!  ACCEPT MY PUBELESS OFFERING, MOVIE GODS!!!”

 

Months later, after settling out of court for an assault-against-a-minor charge, I saw Unbreakable.  That one took me by surprise too, but the finale felt a little flaccid, as if Shyamalan went right up to the edge and then stopped short.  Yeah, yeah, Samuel L. Jackson was the villain all along, but when Bruce Willis finds out, only to turn around and freeze as white fonted script comes up to tell what happened next, I was all, “Maaaaan, what the fuck is this?!?”

 

Maybe that was the only way Shyamalan could make it fit together.  I don’t know.

 

And then came Signs, which also ruled on some level, but likewise seemed to be lacking the colonic thrust of Sixth Sense.  The whole thing about the extraterrestrials being vulnerable to water pissed me off, as did the fact that one particular alien couldn’t get out of Ray Redding’s pantry, (even though they’re supposed to be super strong, and super fast, and intelligent enough to CROSS THE FUCKING GALAXY!!!).  Again, it made it seem like Shyamalan had given up when he got to the last act.

 

The conclusive impotence of Unbreakable and Signs- while forgivable- is repeated in The Village… only, it’s amplified tenfold.  I was so insulted by this movie that I wanted to drive to Hollywood, find Shyamalan, and beat his ass with the business end of my Johnson.

 

Let’s look at why, shall we?

 

It turns out that the monsters in the woods aren’t really monsters at all, but merely The Elders dressed up in monster suits complete with taloned hands, red cloaks, and scary pig faces.  Their continuing objective is to make sure NOBODY goes into the woods, because doing so might expose their peaceful community to the outside world.

 

Okay, that’s twist one, and it’s not a total pooch screw because Shyamalan leaves the possibility of REAL monsters lurking in the woods… ones upon whom the original ruse was based. 

 

He should’ve capitalized on that.  He didn’t.

 

The Cast:

 

Allow me pause for a moment and talk about the characters, which are the heart and soul of this picture.  The obvious one is Shyamalan favorite Joaquin Phoenix, who plays the stoic Lucius Hunt with a perfect mix of steadfast courage and underlying passion.  Joaquin NAILED this part, chiefly because he kept his mouth shut for most of the film.  His character isn’t brave because he chooses to be; he’s brave because such is his nature.  To put it another way, Lucius doesn’t know fear because it’s simply alien to him, and his perpetual silence really drives this home.

 

It wouldn’t have worked if he’d been this, “I’m a badass” kinda guy stomping about the village telling everyone how they shouldn’t be afraid of the monsters in the woods.  No.  Though his quiet demeanor speaks of a similar man with similar bravado, Lucius’s actions convey a feeling of ostracizing confusion.  He knows everybody is scared shitless, and he knows the proclaimed reason, but what he DOESN’T know, is why he doesn’t share their superstitious trepidation.

 

After the death of a village youngster at the hands of some disease, Lucius wants to pass through the monster-infested woods to get medicine from the outlying towns.  Again, he doesn’t make this vow because he’s recklessly brazen, but because he genuinely cares for the others in the village, and he sees his impending trek as nothing more than a preventative measure.  Shyamalan justifies this by hinting that Lucius and the dead boy were friends, thus providing a reason.

 

At any rate, Joaquin does a great job, and I sincerely wish him similar chances to shine in his future projects. 

 

The second mention-worthy character is Ivy Walker, brought to life with astonishing skill by newcomer Bryce Dallas Howard.  Bryce is the daughter of Happy Days-dork-turned-mega-director, Ron Howard, and we can only hope her hairline fairs better than his did.  A creamy skinned, red haired beauty, Bryce brings a depth to Ivy that’s nothing short of remarkable. Though blind, she’s spunky yet introspective, vulnerable yet clairvoyant, naive yet defiant.

 

Ivy is in love with Lucius, a fact she has to make plain for the both of them because Lucius is so closed off.  Lucius loves her too, of course, but we only come to know this during a beautifully acted diatribe in which Ivy forces Lucius to reveal his feelings by revealing her own.  Bryce is great in this scene, her candor playful and impossible to ignore.  Yet Joaquin arguably trumps her, his quivering rebuttal as desperate as it is painful.  The two are soulmates kept apart by their differing personalities, and when they finally come together, it’s heart-wrenchingly spectacular.

 

And finally we come to Adrien Brody, whose Noah Percy completes a sort of dysfunctional love triangle with Lucius and Ivy.  Noah’s played up to be the town retard, (who Ivy watches over like a pet marmoset), but the portrayal isn’t consistent.  Sometimes he’s childlike and buffoonish; other times he appears devious and “in the know.”  I think Adrien did a wondrous job with the material, but Shyamalan seems uncertain of the roll he wants Noah to play.

 

The Plot:

 

In the only real “HOLY FUCK!!!” twist of the movie, (which totally kicked me in the balls), Noah stabs Lucius after the latter gets engaged to Ivy, and while this particular visual was jolting in true Sixth Sense fashion, the plot that follows is pure ass.  Noah is locked in the “quiet room” while Lucius is carried off to the village infirmary where he lays dying.  Lucius’s wounds are survivable, but infection has set in, (yeah, in like 30 seconds), and- refusing to let her fiancé perish- Ivy takes up Lucius’s previous vow to cross the woods and obtain medicine from the outside world beyond.

 

Keep in mind, we’re talking about a BLIND GIRL here, yet the lead elder, (Ivy’s father, played with understated nobility by William Hurt), allows Ivy to embrace her quest anyway.  Yes, Hurt’s character sends an accompanying pair of “escorts” along for the ride, (played by a couple of dudes whose names I didn’t bother to look up), but Ivy’s still blind. 

 

What’s laughable is that after her escorts puss out abandon her, Ivy keeps on going.  No need to ask how a blind girl could keep her bearings and navigate hundreds of square miles of unmarked woodland… Shyamalan doesn’t provide an answer.

 

Regardless, halfway through her journey, Ivy is accosted by one of the monsters- and this scene could’ve saved the whole movie if only said monster was one of the fabled REAL ones.  But no, her attacker is merely Noah the Retard in one of the monster suits, which tips us off that HE was the one skinning the livestock in Act 1.

 

* cough * “CONTRIVED!!!” * cough * cough *

 

Not knowing that it’s Noah in disguise, Ivy dispatches her attacker by walking up to the edge of a pit she almost fell in earlier, turning her back, and offering the faux-monster a willing target.  When Noah charges, Ivy jumps aside at the last moment, thus condemning Corky to a plummeting fate.

 

Hmmmm…  Wait a tick!  I’ve seen this before!  It was in the second Austin Powers movie, when Austin and Felicity Shagwell are trapped in the lava chamber with the retracting floor.  Felicity flashes her boobs at the “one inept guard”, and he falls over into the liquid hot magma below.

 

Yeah, believable.

 

The movie just goes downhill from there, and let me make this clear… I am indeed about to give away the ending.

 

Ivy makes it through the forest, then to follow a gravel road all the way to an eighteen foot high fence covered in- guess what? –ivy vines.  Oooooo, symbolism. 

 

Apparently making a political statement about the visually impaired, Ivy climbs the fence and descends to the other side, only to be discovered by a modern day park ranger in a Cherokee 4x4.

 

Yep, that’s the final twist, boys and girls.  The Village does NOT exist in 1890’s Pennsylvania, but in 2004 Pennsylvania on a wildlife preserve.  The Elders, (namely Ivy’s billionaire father), set up the village two generations before so they could raise their spawn in isolation, and under the guise of idealized American antiquity.

 

Am I shitting you?  No, I wouldn’t shit you… you’re my favorite turd. 

 

Though genuinely surprised, I haven’t been this disappointed since I found out my favorite stripper at Escapades was once a man. 

 

Since Ivy can’t see dick, she doesn’t realize the world is not as she’s been told, and the park ranger gives her the antibiotics needed to save Lucius.  With the help of the park ranger’s ladder this time, Ivy rescales the wall and makes it all the way back through the forest.  We’re left to believe that Lucius is saved, and that life in the village will go on as it has for decades.

 

That’s how it ends.  I’m not kidding.  I couldn’t make this up.

 

Shyamalan has now earned a place on my Rectal Fisting list, an honor shared by such dumbasses as Anna Nichole Smith, George Bush, Jessica Simpson’s husband, and that guy who played “Evil” in the movie Fright Night.

 

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0089175/

 

Interesting tidbit: “Evil’s” real name is Stephen Geoffreys, and judging by his subsequent rolls in such titles as “Seamen Training Day” and “Guys Who Crave Big Cocks”, I can only assume he now makes gay porn.

 

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0313267/

 

Ah, yet another great thespian lured into the ranks of Asspoundium…

 

Anyway, what’s sad about The Village is that it could’ve been a masterpiece like Sixth Sense.  The first two thirds were pure gold, and I weep for the cop-out Shyamalan hits us with in the end.  It’s insulting, it’s B movie camp, it’s the Shroud of Turin being debunked by Carbon 14 dating.  I honestly have no further words to describe it, except to say that when Makers of Film make the transition to Makers of Movies, their arts suffer…

 

The Aftermath:

 

The movie ends, and I stomp out of the theater flashing “please fuck with me” glances at every person that looks my way.  I’m fightin’ mad, assbeatin’ mad, but none of the adolescents in the miniature arcade wanna piece, so I head for the parking lot.  The sky is even more dark and foreboding by now, pregnant storm clouds and distant lightning flashes DARING me to try and make it home before the coming downpour.  It is indeed a dare, because- like Bruce Willis’s character in Unbreakable- my Honda Civic’s only weakness is water.  Due to what I’ve been told is a crack in the distributor housing, water in the engine = Mike being stranded.

 

Ah, but I had faith in the Green Hornet, and I peeled out of the parking lot at warp speed towards west Asheville.  Unfortunately, a literal maelstrom was coming in from Tennessee, and I drove right into it.

 

Two minutes after hitting Interstate 240, the gates of heaven opened up to 400 billion gallons of water upon my fair city all at once.  Just that quick, day became night, raindrops pelting my car like a plague of locusts.  Keep in mind, I was HERE when that hurricane came through North Carolina last summer, and I’d have to say that this storm was far worse- simply because of the sudden veracity with which it struck.

 

There weren’t “puddles” yet because it’d just started raining, but the initial mix of water and motor oil made the highway as slick as ice, and I witnessed no less than three accidents in a matter of seconds.

 

I was scared, people.  No bullshit.  And though the smart thing to do would’ve been to pull over on the shoulder beneath an underpass and wait for the tempest to blow over, I was a mere two miles from the pimplair, and I refused to give in to my ever present demon: The Fear.

 

Because my air conditioner died a few months ago, the windshield fogged up immediately, and I was forced to roll down both windows.  Like a mad man I drove and swerved and laughed, water droplets stinging my face like needles.  I really had gone insane, though I have no idea what it was about that particular storm that provoked in me a total disregard for safety. 

 

I even thought back to that scene in Forest Gump when Gary Sinise’s character is sitting atop the main mast of Forest’s shrimpin’ boat amidst Hurricane Andrew.

 

“YOOOOOU’LL NEEEEEEEVER SIIIIIIIINK THIS HONDAAAAAA!!!!” I screamed, my front wheels jerking sideways as I hit a virtual lake near the Merrimon Avenue exit of I-240 W. 

 

Amazingly, the engine kept running, but I was indeed hydroplaning, an overpass guard rail drawing closer and closer as I skidded out of my lane.

 

Now, when I was younger, I spent a summer in Japan as a YMCA collegiate ambassador, and while climbing Mount Fuji, a series of totally avoidable events put me in a situation where I almost lost my life.  I’ll write about the Japan trip sooner or later, but what happened that night on Mount Fuji, happened again today.  A strange calm descended, and I downshifted into second gear to slow my approach, then turning the wheel gently to the left.  Through some miracle of physics, my front tires caught at the last minute, and I skirted the guard rail with mere inches between it and the passenger side quarter panel of my car.

 

I’m mentioning the “strange calm” because I’m always surprised when it pops up.  I’ve felt it before during those rare street fights in which I was too sober or too outclassed to think I could win, and I swear “it” takes over.  What’s “it”?  Detachment, really, the separation of mind from body, and it consumes all fear, all doubt, all panic. 

 

I’ll stop there since this is a movie review, but one day I’m gonna write a whole piece on this “strange calm.”

 

Ooooooo scary…  FUCK OFF!!!  I just got a little introspective there for a second, but now I’m fine.  At any rate, the gods haven’t been able to kill me today, so I guess I’ll end this review here.  The Village is worth eight bucks, but I’d probably wait for it to come out on video.  In the meantime, be sure to rent some of “Evil’s” gay porn…

 

Epilogue:

 

Okay, that’s what I wrote last year, and I can’t believe how much my opinion has changed since then.  Watching The Village in the privacy of my own home last night, I kept thinking to myself, Damn, this is a powerful fucking film!!! 

 

Yeah, I knew all the twists, I knew the ending, but Shyamalan rendered a masterfully complex and character driven story, and I was wrong to criticize the direction he chose.  Maybe it was because I’d read some other reviews before I saw it the first time, maybe I’ve grown as a storyteller in my own right, or maybe I wanna marry Bryce Dallas Howard.  Whatever the case, I have ZERO complaints about this movie now, and I give it a full 10-penis rating. 

 

The imagery and musical score alone are worthy of ownership in my personal library, (right next to such gems as Ford Fairlane and Team America), and I’m actually downloading the soundtrack right now.

 

Thanks, eDonkey!

 

In closing, unless you excel at depriving yourself of things that rule, go to Wal-Mart right now and buy this video.  You have my personal guarantee that it will kick you in the balls.  And, if not, send me an email.  I’ll come over and kick you in the balls at no charge…