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Lady in the Water (2006)

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Part Real. Part Fable. All Night., 16 September 2006

Author: dunmore_ego from Los Angeles, California

*** This comment may contain spoilers ***

M. Night Shyamalan's *Lady in the Water* is truly what it sells itself as – a bedtime story; make-believe of the highest order, taken with a generous pinch of sandman salt and a mountainous suspension of disbelief.

Artfully woven, beautifully shot and accidentally involving, this movie solidifies writer-director-actor Shyamalan as a tale-telling talent akin to Stephen King, a director rivaling the eye of Spielberg - and an actor only slightly better than Keanu Reeves.

Yet, redemption. Regarding his thespianic dabblings, I've got two words for Night's naysayers: Darth Vader. Though he is far from usurping the thrones of Oldman or Ford, Night need only display *two* emotions on screen to put him miles above the Christensens and Cruises - and he pulls off his emotionally-draining role in *Lady* quite commendably.

Up against Paul Giamatti, he has to. As Night is the new breed of fantasist, turning Hollywood's formulaic swill in on itself, so too is Giamatti – through sheer talent – redefining the new breed of leading man. In *Lady*, Giamatti mines his well-known, put-upon Everyman character, yet taps into acting territory reserved for the De Niros, Hoffmans and Day-Lewises. Playing a lonely, stuttering caretaker – and making it look as painful as it must really be (a stutterer AND a caretaker) - he turns in a gutsy performance that makes all his awards for *Sideways* and *Cinderella Man* sit that much more securely on his shelf.

Giamatti is Cleveland Heep, caretaker of an apartment complex called The Cove, which has raised the condition of Nothing Ever Happening to an art form. Into this lusterless community, up through the swimming pool, comes Story (Bryce Dallas Howard, daughter of director Ron), one of an ancient race of Sea People, called a narf (which translates as "great legs, but a face like Richie Cunningham"), whom Cleveland keeps finding naked in his shower, quickly buying her tale of being sent to mystically jog the inspiration of surface people (the nakedness only helps).

The narf legends are intermittently revealed through one of the Cove residents: apparently, Story must gather together a group of prophesied icons such as The Guild, The Healer, The Wordsmith - but lands a coterie of Batman villains instead, in the form of The Whiner (Giamatti), The Puzzler (Jeffrey Wright) and The Stoners (a bunch of surfer dudes).

Even as a patch of Big Bad Astroturf stalks her – all the better to scrunt you with, my dear! – Story, with Cleveland's unintentionally-comedic help, discovers The Writer (who is actually – wink wink - The Director) whom her presence inspires to complete a magnum opus which will "change the world." By casting himself as The Writer, Night brings down the wrath from all walks of entertainment wannabes (critics, directors and writers alike), who begrudge Night this indulgence of Ego and frankly, I'm getting sick of the hypocrisy – who gets anything done *without* Ego?! It's all ABOUT Ego. As Gene Simmons so astutely sneers, "You wish you were me." Try looking on the bright side of Night's humble, Homeric character – it may be the only time we'll ever hear him say he is "nothing special." *Lady* works effectively as long as we believe that Cleveland believes wholeheartedly in Story's veracity - but convincing one lonely, balding man you're a magical sprite can't be that hard with legs like those; we are distracted minimally when *everyone* buys into the fairy tale as readily as Cleveland. The Night sleight-of-hand is employed just when we feel secure with the story's predictability - what we thought was a plan coming together was merely misdirection. We recall Night's notoriously subtle foreshadowing - how he merely pencils in, rather than hammers home - and realize that he has once again concealed his mystery in full sight.

The failing of the movie is in its less-than-compelling climax, for even when the plan DOES come together, we ask ourselves what exactly came together.

Yet again – redemption: the stirring and stunning music of James Newton Howard dynamically spirits us into this world of twigs shaped like wolves and mermaids shaped like Twiggy, salving the wounds of weak plot; Giamatti provides a surprising amount of humor amongst the suspense, at times, overlapping the sublime and ridiculous; Night's film-making itself is a wonder to behold, with his penchant for making every frame count, his creative camera placements and artful use of out-of-focus shots.

*Lady* even gives us a self-referential movie critic (Bob Balaban, whom some critics take as seriously as he satires them), who didactically elucidates "movie formula," specifically so that Night can show us how *Lady* ingeniously subverts that formula… As much as he is lauded by film *aficionados* and fans alike, an unsophisticated coterie obsessively maintains that unless an M. Night Shyamalan film contains a "twist" exactly like that in *The Sixth Sense*, it is worthless. Who made up *that* rule? Writing, acting, music, sound design, ingenious plot arcs matter not to these bent-parochial netherworlders. Either they need to get over their stone-stupid provincialism, or they need to get laid.

Maybe one of the most poignant messages of *Lady in the Water* is that even the insignificant among us may have a significant role to play on some grander canvas. Unfortunately, only the "significant" will glean that message. While those who pule for twists and horror and moronically await *Sixth Sense Part II: The Seventh Sense*, or *Sixth Sense III: Ocean's Fifteen* should take my advice and get themselves a massage.

And – like this movie – include a happy ending.

(Movie Maniacs, visit: www.poffysmoviemania.com)

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