SIGNS (M. Night Shyamalan, 2002) R

Reviewed: August 3, 2002

Personal Baggage: Privileged enough to view The Sixth Sense before general public release (and thus before the colossal hype-storm all but destroyed it), sat in awe as near masterwork unfolded. Knew as soon as the end credits started rolling Disney had a huge sleeper hit on their hands. Wondered who the hell is this immensely talented M. Night Shyamalan fellow? Heavily anticipated Unbreakable only to be bitterly letdown. Watched in absolute horror as the pretentious, overwrought, stiff, tedious failure unfolded. As end credits rolled, colored confused-as-shit as to whether Shyamalan was a flash in the pan or a genuine talent. (Though for the record I admired Unbreakable's one line story synopsis and Night's continuing to write his own material.)

Pre-Signs: Heard M. Night wrote yet another original script and immediately wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt/forget I ever saw Unbreakable. Heard Signs' one line plot synopsis (re: the implications of mysterious crop circles) and grew encouraged/intrigued. Heard Night had signed Mel Gibson in the lead and grew even more curious. Saw Signs' first teaser trailer and could feel in my bones Night had another winner on his hands.

Post-Signs: My instincts were right-on. Signs is one of the best films of the year, a frightening, touching, courageously minimalist piece of thoughtful entertainment from what I now realize is one of our most gifted filmmakers. Combining his proven flair for the extraordinary, his proven expertise with reinventing big action stars (Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense, Mel Gibson in Signs), his proven rapport with young actors (Haley Joel Osment in The Sixth Sense, Rory Culkin and Abigail Breslin in Signs), his proven visual flair (consider his eerie, wide-angle compositions; a foreground character often looks directly into the lens distorted almost fisheye style), and his tendency to show only what is essential, M. Night's crafted a mostly-strikes-all-the-right-edge-of-your-seat-chords film. It is only in Signs' final fifteen minutes Night stumbles painfully (for elaboration see this review's appendix after you've viewed the film).

Far as I can tell, Signs' towering over Unbreakable boils down to M. Night's decision to lighten the fuck up. Unbreakable was so far up its own ass and took itself so unbearably serious (I mean for God's sake, the movie has its main characters whispering for no apparent reason other than for us to appreciate the alleged gravity of what they're saying), it felt like I might as well been watching one of those pre-movie cinema advertising slides for two hours, this particular slide touting via a single white sentence on a black backdrop: "Look Deep Inside These Words For The Answers To Life's Eternal Mysteries."

However. Night has returned to the creative well and retrieved a sharp, formidable new weapon: he now wields a comedy switchblade. Signs is, at times, quite funny. I wasn't prepared for the delicious little chunks of humor Shyamalan sprinkled across his pic. The comedy is dry and unforced, and makes every scene it touches feel all the more realistic (without ever distracting from the scene's power).

The cast is flawless. Mel Gibson does the best work of his career. Shyamalan has extracted a caliber of performance we've never seen from him before (Gibson's said in interviews Shyamalan wouldn't let him use any of his standard acting shortcuts). Rory Culkin turns in yet another perfectly faceted and unstudied performance (after his excellent work in 2000's You Can Count On Me). Who would have thought the most talented of the Culkin clan would be saved for last? That little girl (Abigail Breslin) is cute and spooky as hell. Joaquin Phoenix is great as always. But the true revelation is Cherry Jones as the local cop. A Tony-awarding winning actress without much film experience (relatively speaking; according to imdb I've seen her in films like Erin Brockovich and The Perfect Storm, though I couldn't tell you who she played), Jones inhabits a small, but important role with a piercing humanity all too uncommon in today's cinematic climate. Someone cast this woman in a lead ASAP.

What perhaps impresses me most about Signs is its economy of filmmaking. Shyamalan brilliantly utilizes glimpses of television and news clips to convey an entire world. Without Night, Gibson and whomever else's massive salaries (not that they don't deserve it; they absolutely do given how much Signs will make), Signs requires so few locations, so few special effects and so few centerpieces, it could conceivably be made on a shoestring. That's a refreshing change of pace from Hollywood's normal mantra of be bigger each time outta the gate. I, for one, am quite thankful that on Night's fifth outing he elected to proceed on the conversation route (especially considering -- with his clout and box office track record -- he could probably get an $150 million budget greenlit).

Shyamalan refers to the last 45 minutes of Signs as a "super-emotional take on a sci-fi movie," and he's right. He's mounted a handful of quietly devastating scenes. As for complaints I'm already hearing echoes of that Signs is too slow and/or too long: Shut up. Go crawl back into your hole and watch Swordfish or Gone In Sixty Seconds or something. It's sad that sub-par Hollywood product has corrupted your attention span. Signs is -- to place my friend's quote after viewing Eyes Wide Shut into pixelated print -- about as boring as being chased by a rabid panther.

***APPENDIX: SERIOUSLY, DO NOT READ ONE MORE WORD UNTIL YOU'VE SEEN THE FILM***

My Big Problem With Signs and My Tiny Problem With Signs:

(and in case you're a dirty bastard who didn't heed my warnings and decided to read this without having seen the film, I'm still gonna be as vague as reasonably possible)

1) As I said, the ending (meaning the last ten or fifteen minutes, give or take) sucks. But let's be clear-- the initial anticlimax angle is NOT what I'm referring to. In fact, I wish Signs' ending had been even more anticlimactic. The way Shyamalan suddenly and flagrantly abandoned all the crucial restraint he'd shown for so long is unacceptable (you know what I mean, think the living room). I also found the ending to be a generally lazy, uninspired way of shoving Signs' themes down our throats. Everything happens for a reason, okay, we get it. Not exactly a shocking insight into the human condition, so you better find some glorious new way to prove your point. What Shyamalan has there now there --including those lame The Sixth Sense-ish last minute flashbacks -- certainly doesn't cut it. I and many others I know would have preferred more ambiguity, dangling the puzzle pieces in front of our eyes, but not getting down on your knees and placing everything where it belongs for us. Also: We know Gibson plays an ex-preacher who's lost his faith cause his wife died. By the penultimate scene we know Signs is about his regaining of that faith. So for the love of God Shyammy, we didn't need that terrible final shot to cement this point! We also didn't need your little cameo in which you tell Gibson point blank: "I know I've made you lose your faith." What you know Shyammy, is that we, the audience, are not dumb. What you also know Shyammy, is that we, the audience, are in fact extremely perceptive (you must know, or else you'd never thought we'd respond to Signs' mostly unseen dread). So fuck, man, follow through on the credit you've afforded us for the vast majority of the pic! Don't wimp out at the end!

2) This is very nitpicky, but I detested Shyamalan's use of slow motion. When will filmmakers realize the super slow, cheesy 80s action flick "jittery" slow motion is a piss-poor device. Only the Scorsese/Wes Anderson school of subtly slow motion is acceptable. Know your frame rates, filmmakers. The two bad Signs slo-mo moments that stand out in my brain: a certain pantry scene and a Gibson moment in a certain cellar. Oh, and one other visual flourish that bothered me: I am sick of seeing the rack focus back and forth between two or more characters engaged in a conversation (think when Gibson's asking everyone what they want for dinner). Racking focus can be fine... if used sparingly (i.e. max once per scene). When you abuse, you lose. Like I said, tiny problems in the scheme of things but annoyances that stood out for me in the context of an otherwise visually marvelous pic.

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