I am Edie Sedgwick and this is my little corner of the web.
A room of my own where I gather my thoughts and explore my aesthetic.

I watched M. Night Shyamylan’s The Village (2004) on the American Movie Channel last night. Since I read O. Henry as a young girl, I have been skeptical of “gotcha”-style twists within narrative structure and, post-Unbreakable(2000), a Shyamalan detractor. Though a Shyamylanian twist might thrill, this tiresome device does little to advance the themes of his cinematic works. When I saw The Village in the theater, I groaned at the “Oh shit! These ancient villagers live in the present!” conclusion.

My second visit to The Village revealed the genius of Shyamylan’s direction. I had wondered why William Hurt and Sigourney Weaver had phoned in such wooden performances in stilted “olde timey” dialogue. Now I understood—though they live in the present, these characters must self-consciously act as though they live in the past. Thus,The Village is trebly metaphysical:

Reality #1: William Hurt/Sigourney Weaver themselves as actors in The VillageReality #2: William Hurt/Sigourney Weaver’s characters as “olde timey” elders in The Village Reality #3: William Hurt/Sigourney Weaver’s characters denying the present in The Village

In short: a “meta/meta/meta” Shyamylanian layer cake of postmodernity.

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