_Lady_in_the_Water_ (PG-13) no stars (out of ****)
It would be easy to glibly dismiss M. Night Shyamalan's _Lady_in_the_Water_ as an epic trainwreck--and, indeed, it is. So let's get all of that out of the way: it's one of the most astonishing, embarrassing, misbegotten misfires from a name brand director in recent memory. While it's undoubtedly fun to hurl the invective at a work that truly deserves the abuse (and does this film ever ask--nay, *beg* for it), what is truly striking is that maybe, just maybe, this fantastical tale could have worked on screen. It's just that Shyamalan makes just about every conceivable wrong move along the way from basic conception to execution.
The basic idea is this: a sea nymph, called a "narf" (Bryce Dallas Howard), arrives in the pool of a Philadelphia apartment building on a mission to inspire a writer who will change the world. With the help of the building's superintendent Cleveland Heep (Paul Giamatti) and just about all the other tenants, the narf--named (flaming, sledgehammer symbolism alert!) "Story"--attempts to find her "vessel" and then return safely to her aquatic home of "The Blue World" without being harmed by the dangerous wolf-like creatures called "scrunts."
Now, it would be easy to dismiss this basic idea, which reportedly comes from a bedtime story Shyamalan made up on-the-fly for his young daughters, as incredibly silly. But then that doesn't mean it couldn't have been adapted from the screen effectively, particularly with the originaly intended target audience in mind: children. After all, who would be most willing to let the paper-preposterous mythology of narfs and scrunts wash over them at face value? But Shyamalan misses the boat by not only bypassing the kid audience or even the *family* audience but by aiming this heap of hokum squarely at adults. It's perhaps a noble intention to try to make an adult audience appreciate and embrace the innocent wonder of a fairy tale, but to do so would require that ever-so-tricky balance known as magic realism--and when the former quality isn't exactly magical and the latter is hardly convincing, trouble is afoot.
Giamatti deserves special credit for doing his damndest to deliver a real performance here, but his authenticity in bringing to life the anguished, stuttering schlub that is Cleveland works against whatever spell Shyamalan tries to conjure. Cleveland, not unlike Mel Gibson's character in the director's 2002 _Signs_, has withdrawn from most of the world after a tragedy shattered his faith. Why, then, does he instantly buy into Story and her increasingly convoluted Blue World rules and mythology? Even better, why does *practically everybody else in the building* instantly go with it without question as well? Maybe Shyamalan intended this giant leap to read as a metaphor about how every grown-up is eager and ready to find something greater in which to believe in their mundane existence, but such a theme is clumsily conveyed at best, downright stupid at worst.
It also doesn't help that the magic of this would-be magic realist world isn't the slightest bit alluring, which would've gone a long way toward explaining why everyone in the building is immediately drawn in. Story, with her perpetually limp locks, zombie-pale skin, equally frozen visage, and droning voice to match is quite simply an incredible drag all around--she's rather creepy to look at, and the purple prose that's solemnly whispered out of her mouth is more likely to strike bone-chillng fear than foster exuberant creative inspiration. The feeling she is said to inspire, akin to "pins and needles" as the audience is told, doesn't exactly sound like a sensation that would lead anyone, much less a Chosen One (more on this doozy a little later), to craft a world- and history-changing magnum opus of art and thought. As if it weren't already difficult enough to go with the flow, according to Shyamalan's script the narf mythology derives from a Korean bedtime story--and so the bulk of the heavy, neverending exposition comes via tedious and often downright insulting scenes of a heavily-accented, skanky Korean party girl tenant (Cindy Cheung) translating her non-English-speaking mother's explanations in rough, rather offensive "Me So Horny"-level pidgin English. The talk of narfs and The Blue World are already difficult to take when delivered straight; how can we possibly take it the slightest bit seriously or have even a twinge of investment when the pertinent information is given by stereotype joke characters? Worse still, just when one thinks they have everything with the narfs and the scrunts straight, then Shyamalan introduces new wrinkles and rules to the mythology; I'm not going to even go into what the "tartutic" and "The Great Eatlon" are, or how the interpretation of cereal box images (!) comes into play. (Actually, I'm still trying to figure out how that one came about myself.) The neverending web of new convolutions--needless ones, no less, as ultimately it's still simply about trying to send the narf back home--betray what is by stated conception a kid-friendly fairy tale bedtime story. The reality may be that Shyamalan made up his bedtime tale as it went along when he first told it to his kids, but there's no good reason why a film derived from it should feel like it is.
But no one dare question the story Shyamalan tries to tell and how he chooses to tell it, and that such smug, self-justification finds its way into the very narrative of _Lady_in_the_Water_ is what finally pushes the film from already overstuffed, undercooked mess to a landmark of catastrophic indulgence. The writer whose über-profound musings will go on to inspire future world leaders and form the impetus to large-scale global sociopolitical change is played by none other than the writer-director himself. His character--no less than the third lead behind Giamatti and Howard--may not bear his own name, but he might as well, as there's no excuse to cast himself in such a large role (after all, talented South Asian actors who would've nailed this part with far more expression and empathy, such as a Saif Ali Khan or an Abhishek Bachchan, were just a phone call away) other than to make his statement blatantly clear: M. Night Shyamalan is the Vessel of Story. Doubt that at your peril--lest you meet the same fate as Farber (Bob Balaban), a fussy film and book critic whose ceaselessly cynical ways lead him to being at the wrong place at the wrong time with a scrunt. The character and Balaban's rather hilarious performance are probably the most amusing aspects of the film, but in the end one realizes that he really doesn't have much purpose in the grand scheme--other than to be proven "wrong" and pay dearly for it.
Perhaps the saddest part of _Lady_in_the_Water_ is that Shyamalan definitely a talented filmmaker. Even in some of his heretofore lesser efforts there are moments of technical brilliance; for example, the nailbiting basement/flashlight scene in _Signs_ and a key character's plot-pivoting stabbing in _The_Village_. If the latter film's disastrous final third was his leap off of the cliff, then the whole of _Lady_in_the_Water_ signifies his plunge off of the deep end. I would love to see Shyamalan work a writing collaborator who would help hone and enhance his admittedly imaginative ideas while streamlining the indulgences--or better yet, apply his craft and technique to someone else's screenplay. But then again, what the hell do I know--I'm a lowly scrunt-bait critic deigning to question the very Vessel of Story.
(c)2006 Michael Dequina
Michael Dequina twotrey@gmail.com | mrbrown@iname.com | mrbrown@themoviereport.com The Movie Report/Mr. Brown's Movie Site: www.themoviereport.com www.quickstopentertainment.com | www.cinemareview.com | www.aalbc.com www.johnsingletonfilms.com | on ICQ: #25289934 | on AOL/Y! IM: mrbrown23
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