Calling this the best film M. Night Shyamalan has made in well over a decade is damning with very faint praise; this is, after all, the man who unleashed stinkers such as After Earth, The Visit, The Happening and The Last Airbender (the latter one of the worst big-budget fantasies ever made).
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| A creepy discovery — from a clever point of view — is made by, from left, Chrystal (Abbey Lee), Patricia (Nikki Amuka-Bird), Jarin (Ken Leung), Maddox (Thomasin McKenzie), Charles (Rufus Sewell), Sedan (Aaron Pierre) and Prisca (Vicky Krieps). |
Here’s a bigger revelation: Shyamalan’s altered conclusion — one of his signature twists — is more satisfying than the original’s ruminative metaphor.
Mind you, we’re talking a degree of success. There’s still much to complain about here.
We meet Guy (Gael García Bernal), wife Prisca (Vicky Krieps) and their children — Maddox (Alexa Swinton) and Trent (Nolan River) — en route to a family holiday in a trendy seaside resort. The atmosphere is a bit tense, the dynamic between Guy and Prisca clearly fragile. Troubled.
They attempt to mute such feelings, to spare the kids: not difficult, in such a pampered environment, where attentive staff cater to their every whim. This cheerful prologue is quite pleasant; it allows Guy, Prisca, Maddox, Trent and a few of the other resort guests to define themselves.
Guy’s family is encouraged to spend the next day at a gorgeous, secluded cove: “Only for our special guests,” promises the resort manager (Gustaf Hammarsten, oozing false sincerity). This invitation clearly troubles young Idlib (Kailen Jude), the manager’s nephew, who has just befriended Trent.
The family accepts; they’re joined by Charles (Rufus Sewell), his Barbie-doll trophy wife Chrystal (Abbey Lee), their 6-year-old daughter Kara (Kyle Bailey), and his mother Agnes (Kathleen Chalfant). The shuttle driver (Shyamalan, in his usual cameo role) deftly evades their questions.
The promised cove is peacefully picturesque; the little group is augmented by late-comers Jarin (Ken Leung) and his wife Patricia (Nikki Amuka-Bird).
They’re all surprised to find somebody else on site: Sedan (Aaron Pierre), brooding and isolated in a distant corner, against the sheer rocky walls that enclose the cove. His presence irritates Charles, who seems to have a hair-trigger temper. Actually, the three family groups seem oddly uneasy around each other.
(And for no reason, at this early stage; it’s just Shyamalan, clumsily — and needlessly — heightening the disconcerting atmosphere.)
Things … get odd. The children are constantly, ravenously hungry; while playing together, they find all manner of discarded toys, jewelry and other personal items, apparently left behind by previous visitors. Something genuinely disturbing is discovered. The adults are so preoccupied by the latter, for a time, that they’re startled when the children complain that their swim suits have become too tight.
Trent and Kara (now played by Luca Faustino Rodriguez and Mikaya Fisher) look roughly 11 years old; Maddox (now Thomasin McKenzie) looks 16.
And they keep aging…
The adults don’t immediately realize that the same thing is happening to them; their initial transformations are more internal than external.
At about this point, we wonder how this is happening. That’s immaterial, because there’s no answer; chalk it up to fantasy weirdness, and let it go. The better question is why: To what purpose is this taking place, to these people? (Observant viewers will have recognized that several of these folks have something in common; that’s a clue.)
Alternatively, does a purpose even exist? Or is this simply a dour parable about the brevity and insignificance of individual human lives, in the grand scheme of things: washed away each day like sand castles at high tide?
Unfortunately, much of our characters’ subsequent behavior — as these issues are negotiated — seems forced and oddly mannered. Shyamalan, never good with credible dialogue, gives them lines that ring false.
He never lets these people get metaphysical or religious; there’s no mention of God (which, I’d argue, is a narrative failing). Indeed, many of them are quite shallow and one-dimensional, defined by a single attribute. Jarin is calm and practical. Chrystal is shallow and vain. Patricia is a would-be peacemaker, forever trying to gather everybody into a kumbaya huddle; frankly, her dialogue is laughably ridiculous.
The biggest blunder, though, involves the degree to which everybody ignores Charles’ rapidly increasing derangement. Soon consumed by his xenophobia, armed with a knife and possessing a surgeon’s knowledge of how best to use it — Sewell practically foaming at the mouth — the man is clearly, obviously dangerous … and yet he’s allowed to remain loose.
Typical Shyamalan contrivance. It makes no sense, except to set up later (equally clumsy) events.
Fortunately, Bernal and Krieps do better. The relationship between Guy and Prisca has dimension and depth; it evolves persuasively. Bernal and Krieps get credit for bringing genuine pathos to these unsettling events. McKenzie also has some nice moments, particularly when Maddox and Sedan share a heartfelt chat.
Although the story cleverly addresses all the plot beats that would occur under such crazed circumstances — mutual suspicion, escape attempts, accelerated puberty — the film’s second act drags. We become impatient, waiting for the final shoe to drop. At close to two hours, this film can’t sustain itself; Shyamalan should have let editor Brett M. Reed trim 15 minutes or so.
That said, Shyamalan doesn’t dwell exploitatively on some of the more gruesome moments — in deference to the PG-13 rating — which remain off-camera and are left to our imaginations … until one truly gruesome sequence that’s wholly in our faces.
Cinematographer Mike Gioulakis makes the most of the pounding surf and secluded setting (actually Playa El Valle, in the Dominican Republic). It’s a gorgeous locale, and therefore an ironic counterpoint to the horrors taking place on its perfectly coifed beach. On the other hand, Gioulakis and Shyamalan rely far too heavily on tight-tight-tight close-ups: the first refuge of lazy filmmakers.
There’s no denying the unsettling power of this film’s creepy premise; after all, that’s long been Shyamalan’s greatest strength. Trouble is, he rarely knows how to flesh out his disturbing concepts, or populate them with anything approaching credible human beings.
Although he does better here than usual — the denouement is reasonably gratifying — the result is unlikely to make any waves.
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