The Movie We Do Not Speak Of

Rating: Null/10 (3 August 2004)

Dear God, where to start with this one? The atrocious dialogue? The unbelievably pretentious tone? The mawkish, preposterous acting? Yes folks its all here in this ridiculous excuse for a film. I'm actually rather amazed that this movie was made. It set me off wondering who could have read this screenplay and thought it was a good idea. Chimpanzees? Invertebrates? Perhaps. All I know is that at some critical stage in the development of this film M. Night Shyamalan must have put a hex on all of the parties involved. "Make this movie," he must have intoned, immediately putting such folks as William Hurt and Sigourney Weaver in a trance. "It is incredibly important.
That which you think of in your mind will all be to the glory of the movie which soon will be shown on screens." This is actually a fairly representative presentation of the dialogue that escapes from the mouths of the poor actors in this utterly embarrassing film. William Hurt is forced to utter phrases that are amongst the most moronic ever spoken. Adrian Brody plays the most idiotic idiot ever to tarnish the silver screen. Sigourney Weaver appears confused most of the time, as if some voice in the back of her mind is pleading with her to reconsider what she is doing with her career. Joaquin Phoenix, however, should be praised just for staying awake in his scenes. He wanders through the movie as if he had just been shot with about 45 tranquilizer darts. He has two expressions: Blank and slightly pained.
All in all, this movie is a cluttered, incoherent mess. It would be watchable if indeed it was the huge joke that it at first appears to be. The suffocating heavy-handedness of the proceedings, however, soon made me realize that although I was laughing hysterically no one involved in the making of the film was let in on the joke. Basically, the movie is just a long-winded excuse for M. Night Shyamalan to offer the audience a twist which, when it comes, is so predictably dumb that one has to question his sense of reality.
Does he live on this planet? Does he exist day to day with people that find his pseudo-philosophical musings worthy of their time? Can he be held responsible for his actions? Basically, this movie, if it ever had a chance of being watchable, would have begun at the ending, for only then is the true scene really presented. In other words, this is not really a movie. It is an elaborate excuse for a setup. It is a long depiction of a guy getting ready for a date. He preps endlessly, walks for miles to get to his paramour's abode, rings the doorbell and then...the movie stops. Woe to those who witness this unholy spectacle! May you, with time, be able to remember that elysian past before you walked into the theater one day, glanced at the show times, and thought, "Hey maybe we should go see The Village." I, for one, am not sure if this is possible.