Vomiting? Reckless Gunplay? Anything but this film mess...

Rating: Null/10 (15 July 2006)

A hundred megabucks to Mr. Willis for this ponderous pile of celluloid psychic - psychotic? - parrot droppings? Wildly popular? Doesn't that explain why we're now richly paying for the brain-dead 1990's? Sixth Sense in one sense is prophetic. It prefigured breathtakingly dull snore-gasbord of pretentious films and TV shows in which actors make it so small they become gassily hissing statues. Whisper, whisper, whisper. Reductio ad absurdium of 'make it small' 90's method. Subtlety run to ground. Mark of manipulative hackwriters who've nothing to say. This moribund arthritic film strains constipatedly along at glacial speed like a tortoise with lumbego. Actors whisper softly, their words lost in a maelstrom of soporific hissing. No matter. They're saying nothing. Sixth Sense is cheezy manipulation exemplified. Making it small lets viewers project themselves into the action. Well and good. Make it too small, whisper interminably and what? We're privy to sacred yet uninteresting secrets of the ancients? Hidden albeit inane wisdom of the condemned?
Viewing Sixth while typing. Scary? You bet. Film so boring, ready to hit Circle-K, load up on Jen & Berry's High-Viscosity Frozen Cow Secretions and wash them down with bushels of Choco-Chip Suet Snaps. Goal? Induce insulin shock to forget I squandered an elegant tropical Saturday night on this beautifully photographed snore.
Bituminous scenes of Willis meandering thru gutted garages are marginally interesting. Yet not even that and a compelling soundtrack can save this dreadful 90's polemic-lite. More economical and less fattening: turn in early, enjoy good night's sleep.
A few minutes of this New Age Chapter 11 filing does the trick faster than flocks of sheep bearing jeroboams of ether.
Paul Vincent Zecchino
Manasota Key, Florida
16 July, 2006
"Truth leads a wretched life - and always survives the lie."

Cathy O'Brien