Editorials
We Need to Reevaluate ‘The Village’ Before it’s Too Late
Ask someone to name their favorite M. Night Shyamalan film and you’re guaranteed to hear the same two titles: The Sixth Sense or Unbreakable. Sure, the odd outlier will praise Signs, but we all know they’re just trying to be different. And I get it. The Sixth Sense re-introduced the art of “the twist” to cinema, and Unbreakable was itself a twist on archetypal superhero storytelling, released at a time when comic book readers had very little to do at the movies. They’re both well made genre exercises, even if that’s the only level they’re operating on. I’d like to suggest, however, that The Village bests each of them simply because it’s actually about something. And not only is it about something, it’s about something that’s becoming more relevant than ever as we reach peak isolationism in 2016.
For years it’s bothered me that The Village was so widely and carelessly dismissed, not only by critics but by the companies that produced the film (there is still no Blu-ray for the film). Back in 2004, the negative consensus swirling around the film seemed to stem from two main grievances: The first being that the film’s revelation betrayed some fundamental requirement it had as a genre film (which, ten years later, I hope we can all agree is absurd), and the second was that its themes of political fear mongering and xenophobia were too on the nose in a post-9/11 world. Because that conversation was happening all around us already then, and weren’t we all oh-so culturally savvy at that particular moment.
The cynical, eye-rolling response to The Village bothered me at the time of its release because it signaled a troubling trend that, in my estimation, has only gotten more pervasive in the years since. And that’s the fact that we absolutely DO NOT want summer movies to be political in any way. And they certainly should never pick any kind of obvious ideological stance on anything. They should just do the job of delivering what we expect from them and go away so we can move on to the next piece of easily digestible “content”. The long term results of this early consumerist attitude are not surprising: the rise of corporate oversight, endless superhero movies, bland mainstream horror remakes, a shift towards TV, and a massive uptake in friendly animated features. I mean, how on earth are we living in a world where educated, adult film critics are twisting themselves into knots writing think-pieces about Disney princess movies and putting movies for kids on “best of the year” lists? Let it go, indeed.
Let’s be honest here. If we were all really so hip to how politicians and the media were using fear back in 2004 then how did we not see the flourishing of its effects on a global scale until now? We shudder at the thought of refugees entering our border, Britain just voted for a profound move back to nationalism and we’re literally contemplating building a wall to keep the monsters at bay. Shyamalan’s vision is manifesting itself all around us and the same blasé attitude that made us dismiss The Village back in in 2004 is largely blame.
In truth, The Village is more relevant today than ever. Taking its cues from Plato’s allegory of the cave, it imagines a forest society whose reality is informed by a lack of knowledge. Truth is distorted and facts are denied for the “safety” of its residents as well as the ideological wishes of its leaders. Modern science is looked upon with skepticism and deemed a source of corruption and evil, while villagers are kept within its borders through a vague fear of monsters called Those We Do Not Speak Of.
To really hit this allegory home, the film’s protagonist, Ivy Walker, is quite literally blind, a product of the culture she was born into. And her ascension into enlightenment requires facing the community’s fears on their behalf and revealing them as nothing more than constructs.
Keep in mind, the villagers are warned against the color red, which traditionally symbolizes knowledge, puberty and maturity. Since the much sought after purity of a culture can only be obtained at the expense of knowledge, what we end up with is a population of children. This is shown in the extreme through Adrien Brody’s portrayal of mentally challenged Noah Percy, who, to William Hurt’s patriarch Edward Walker, must stand as the ideal state of the population. So, as sad as it is, it’s not surprising that Noah becomes a victim of Ivy’s ascension, his death calling an end to a childlike ignorance about the world. You can’t tell me that Shyamalan is writing the sh*t out of this movie.
Now let’s talk about the film’s “twist”, which is unlike any other Shyamalan twist in that it actually serves the themes of the film. Again, it’s about something. It’s not just a cheap gotcha moment like the end of the recent The Visit, a film that, as enjoyable as it is, is about nothing at all. It’s not like the reveal at the end of Signs which is a bit better but only serves a character and nothing more. No, the ending of The Village signals a revelation that the world, regardless of what our leaders tell us, is in fact much larger than we can know. It tells us that reverting back to a simpler, supposedly pure and holy life is only achievable at the expense of facts and understanding, asking questions and the right to information. It comes at the expense of freedom itself.
I guess what I’m saying is: while I’m big fan of The Village, I don’t want to live there.
In this day and age, the word “troll” is often used to describe various online nuisances. Yet as abundant and irksome as the modern troll can be, they aren’t usually as fearsome as their mythological counterparts. I’m not talking about the small and gentler versions that have become more common to see in media. No, there are much bigger and scarier trolls out there—and André Øvredal’s movie Troll Hunter is one of the best places to find them.
It doesn’t take long for Troll Hunter (or Trolljegeren) to dump the Blair Witch Project-esque setup and aim for something a lot fresher. The trajectory of the story is augmented by Otto Jespersen’s character Hans, the titular Troll Hunter. The second he comes barreling out of the deep, dark woods and shouts “troll” at the camera, this movie takes a turn into what feels like uncharted territory. Not only subject-wise, but also conceptually.
For fantastical and made-up subject matter in cinema, found footage is a fast way to add a guise of believability. After all, what we accept to be the most crucial aspect of documentaries—the truth—rubs off on pseudo-documentaries, despite our understanding of the pretense involved. That is what Øvredal delivered with Troll Hunter: a movie so convincing that some viewers wondered if trolls really do exist. So, had this been straightforwardly made, it likely wouldn’t have been as effective. Conventional narratives would be more inclined to treat something like trolls as flat out unreal, and never try to convince the audience to think otherwise.
Hans petrifies the three-headed Tusseladd troll.
The viewers, like the characters trailing Hans, are quickly thrown into the deeper end of that extraordinary story. They have to process all this new information while staying on the go. So, although there is no significant amount of meandering, narratively or physically, there is still a good amount of atmosphere, not to mention tension building. It’s never anything frightful, but then again, Troll Hunter isn’t your standard offering of horror; it’s more on the low end of the dark fantasy spectrum. We aren’t ever spirited away to a faraway world—we stay in rather familiar surroundings, as well as dip into those less so. The outcome is a movie where you’re constantly more in awe than in terror.
As fantasy fiction might do, Troll Hunter prefers not to deal with incredulity. There is no time to waste on doubt, as interviewer Thomas (Glenn Erland Tosterud), soundperson Johanna (Johanna Mørck), and cameraman Kalle (Tomas Alf Larsen) all follow Hans around, recording whatever this character is willing to reveal about his bizarre job. Of course, the Troll Hunter himself is not an open book; in that respect, the diegetic documentary fails to fully capture and unpack the more interesting of its two subjects. Yes, all those giant, monstrous trolls are indeed incredible, but understandably, your mind wanders to their pursuer. What kind of person signs up for this gig and then chooses to stick with it for so long?
Reviews have called out Troll Hunter for its lack of character development. In regard to Thomas and his fellow documentarians, that criticism is valid, but bear in mind, they aren’t the focus of the story, either. Meanwhile, Hans is a well-crafted character. At least better than first realized. Before he was introduced, Hans had already grown tired of the troll grind. Fed up with that low compensation for his services, resentful of the bureaucracy, and wanting to expose his employer on a large scale, Hans’ discontent is glaring.
Then there are those finer details about the Troll Hunter, such as that indifference to both the natural splendor of his everyday surroundings and the affections of an obviously smitten colleague, that also suggest some level of despondency. So it is fair to say this movie doesn’t feature any sizable growth for its characters; however, the namesake isn’t underwritten. No doubt, putting a real-life character like Otto Jespersen in that role is partly why Hans is so fascinating—maybe even relatable.
Otto Jespersen as Hans the Troll Hunter.
There is always a small risk whenever using the term “mockumentary” to describe a found-footage movie, as the word could imply humor where there is none. In the case of Troll Hunter, the term’s usage is appropriate. Some folks have claimed the English-dubbed version has the more comedic tone, however, the Norwegian cut isn’t exactly humorless. Apart from the trolls’ absurd appearances, this is a movie where the characters nearly choke on the monsters’ farts, and Christians are like walking targets. Hans’ complete apathy towards everything is another cause of laughter. Overall, the comedy is intentionally dry and inconsistent. Unfunny, though? Absolutely not.
In a movie where endemic creatures are maltreated, as well as disavowed from living freely and peacefully, it’s hard not to notice the ecological message buried beneath the story. In addition to that is the unmistakable political satire. There is this whole business about intrusive and unsightly power lines—like trolls, they’re big blemishes on the land—that leads to what is perhaps the movie’s funniest moment. The scene in question is that one where certain electric lines, the ones secretly being used to keep the trolls at bay, go in a loop and don’t actually send power to any residents. Yet the monitors of said lines don’t find this at all weird. So it stands to reason that Øvredal was having a go at those who accept the government’s doings without question.
Looking past the fact that trolls aren’t actually real, this movie is an enlightening source of information. And not just for international audiences; Norwegians, too, get schooled about their homeland’s own mythology. It’s also evident from everything on screen that Øvredal and his crew were enthusiastic about the topic. The creature designs are the most indicative of that zeal; those imaginative yet myth-accurate manifestations are equally amusing and grotesque. One second you’re laughing at their phallic noses, the next you’re white-knuckling during a hairy sequence. Most surprisingly is how well the trolls’ visual effects hold up after fifteen years. It’s not all spotless, but on the whole, they remain impressive.
Vouching for a mockumentary about trolls isn’t easy, but those who do come around and give it a shot will more than likely be grateful for the recommendation. For Troll Hunter is a real find in that vast and varied genre we call “found footage“.
A bridge troll reaches up for food and finds Hans decked out in armor.
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