I am a very positive person. I really hold few grudges and maintain a near perfect state of love for all creatures on earth, both large and small. However, when I do find someone or something to loathe, I do it with a fury. Welcome, then, to my unadulterated hatred of acclaimed film director M. Night Shyamalan.
First off, look at that smug-ass grin he’s toting at all hours of the day. Anyone who could pull a face like that knows that he’s handing the American audiences steaming piles of poo and getting away with it. Because, no one in their right mind could ignore how terrible his films have gotten. (And how quickly!) He wears the grin of a man who blew his load early, never tried to make you come, and yet you still come back for more. It seems he just doesn’t have to try anymore.
So, Mr. Shamalamadingdong did make two earlier films before making The Sixth Sense (Praying with Anger and Wide Awake), but as I hate him I have not bothered exploring his earlier cannon. We will just ignore them from this point on.
The Sixth Sense is a phenomenal film. It’s pitch perfect, carrying itself with a grace and a charm that pull together an otherwise hackneyed ghost story. It’s scary, suspenseful, touching, and never overbearing. Unbreakable is notably worse, but not anywhere near what one would call a “bad film.” It’s got solid editing, a great cast, and an easy to guess plot that is still, almost disturbingly, entertaining. Sophomore films have a way of slipping by because we don’t expect them to reach the high mark of a brilliant first hit. So we let it go. We like it. We get a big ol’ grin for Sammy Jackson, and wait eagerly for the next shot from our newly beloved director. Then he makes a big mistake and starts to think he’s Alfred Hitchcock, writes himself into a movie, and we get Signs. Admittedly, I liked signs the first time I saw it. I thought, “Oh! How clever! All those water glasses,” like most everyone else. But think about it, aliens from outer space who land next to lakes and oceans can’t open doors and react to water like acid? That is not clever. It’s easy. After this he takes a shot at increasing the “what a twist!” factor and we get The Village. I am going to out myself right now and say that I totally didn’t guess the end the first time I saw it. I am really good at not guessing the end, so this movie was still mildly passable for me the first time. The first time, mind you. The second? I couldn’t believe myself. I was so angry that he had fooled me. And here is where the hatred started to grow. Sweet, sweet hatred.
Lady in the Water was maybe one of the worst films I have ever seen in the history of my having eyeballs. I am pretty sure it is actually the worst film ever made to receive a nationwide release. It makes me angry that I paid money for it, and I have a letter written, waiting for a stamp, demanding my time back from the studio that produced this horrible excuse for a plot-line. If you haven’t seen it, don’t. You’ll have a better time rereading a Curious George book or plucking out your own toe nails.
After that, I gave up. I read the reviews of all the movies this guy has made since that horrid pile and can only assume that they have one by one gotten exponentially worse than the one before. And for the record, Avatar: The Last Airbender was gift-fucking-wrapped for a competent filmmaker to mold into a live-action spectacular that would have us all shaking with delight. The script, the characters, the pronunciation guide, it’s all there on the show that he EXECUTIVE PRODUCED. He MUST have at least seen it once… once maybe? Apparently not, according to the horrific job he pulled destroying one of the best bits of story to come out of American TV in a long while.
I think the thing that makes me the most angry is that this guy is still raking it in. He’s officially made enough money and friends that he can just keep making movies until he falls of the planet. We cannot escape the horrid filth he is going to continue to spew over the movie theaters, Netflix accounts, and TBS daytime slots, until he finally empties his talent-less gullet and we can wrest ourselves free of his torment.
And that is why I hate M. Night Shyamalan.