Shyamalan, my son, what have you done?

What happened to M. Night Shyamalan, that genius of modern thrillers once compared to Spielberg at the start of the century, who now seems to be wildly inconsistent? Much was expected of the so-called "new experience from the mind of…" — a type of marketing campaign that, at this point, no longer resonates with audiences. In the end, what matters most is always the result, not the expectations placed on a film. No matter how much the press hypes it up or compares it to related titles (like they did with Longlegs, calling it "the best serial killer/horror movie since The Silence of the Lambs as part of its incredible marketing campaign), what you see on the screen is the only thing that deserves to be judged. Now that I’ve finally watched the latest Shyamalan film, which premiered on Max a few days ago, I’m more convinced than ever of this theory.

The latest misstep in the Indian director’s repertoire is Trap, a premise that aimed to be as twisted as possible but ended up burying the idea that Shyamalan is a master. How many chances did he have to bring us something genuinely shocking? The truth is, many. It’s not that I’m belittling his work (or maybe I am), but I dare say this obsession of his—believing that any idea, no matter how absurd or poorly supported, can serve as the foundation for a thriller—is what’s damaging his credibility and reputation. In this pseudo-mystery, Cooper (Josh Hartnett, the best part of the movie) is shown as the prototype of the ideal father: loving, helpful, cool… The setting for the mystery, which ultimately doesn’t exist, is the concert of “Lady Raven” (an up-and-coming pop star and a convenient excuse for M. Night to promote his daughter, who is also a singer and, frankly, wouldn’t be known if not for her father—no offense intended).

Maybe if Shyamalan had filmed Trap in the early 2000s, he might have leaned toward a plot twist to keep us on edge. But he hadn´t. He decided to reveal the serial killer’s identity in the first trailer, and for those who missed it, he does so within the first 15 minutes of the movie. Why? What’s the point? By the time the movie ended, I was still waiting for the punchline. “There is no punchline. It’s not a joke,” as Joaquin Phoenix’s character says before killing his idol in Joker. And the reality is, no. The final 30 seconds suggest that the director has run out of good ideas and might even plan an unnecessary sequel in the future—if Warner dares to greenlight a potential franchise. In a mainstream landscape desperate to rewrite pointless sequels, Shyamalan makes his stance clear. I’m putting it in writing here. If I’m wrong, I’ll keep quiet on the matter for a month.

But that’s not the main issue with this “trap.” The director no longer plays with the audience’s mind the way he used to; he doesn’t know how to hook us with the construction of a mystery. For me, he’s definitely lost all credibility. The intention is there—his taste for unconventional stories is appreciated. Could it be that fame, or the demanding attention given to his two artist daughters, has affected him? The story, which follows this serial killer “trapped” at his daughter’s favorite singer’s concert, is riddled with narrative inconsistencies that contradict the logic the director tries to establish. On one hand, Cooper is portrayed to the concert staff as someone persuasive and calculating but also extremely kind—a red flag. Everything he does is premeditated, and when the vital plot information is revealed by a friendly T-shirt vendor, he knows he must escape. To his daughter, who’s only focused on the unforgettable moment she’s having, he starts to appear erratic, almost clownish.

Multiple personality disorder? Schizophrenia? It’s unclear what’s happening with the character, despite the delicately placed clues and visual gags throughout the film. What drove this man to kill and dismember his victims? At one point, I read somewhere that Dr. Josephine Grant, played by Hayley Mills—a criminology expert who caught ten subjects with similar profiles to Cooper—deserved a spin-off. I couldn’t disagree more (well, maybe I could, but let’s dramatize the context). I found this “expert” to be more of an attempt to emphasize the villain’s “intelligence” than a solid presence.

The film, clearly divided into two parts (inside the stadium and outside it), gives us everything we want, and don’t want, from this kind of genre: a villain we can empathize with, a “mystery” that stands out from the beginning… and then a string of events that don’t align with the cinematic codes of mystery/suspense. If I had to recommend it, it would only be to those who’ve never seen a Shyamalan film and want to decide whether they´ll be impressed by his mastery or give up after the first attempt.

As for me, there’s nothing left to say but: Shyamalan, my dear, what have you done?

BY JERÓNIMO CASCO

Posted on NOVEMEBER 15, 2024, 19:00 PM | UTC-GMT -3

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