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.
Horror was thriving so well in the 1980s that movies like Pen Densham’s The Kiss (1988) would understandably get lost in the shuffle, only to then gain their fans later on in life. Even still, this one Canadian-American curio has had a more challenging time than others, as far as contemporary reevaluations go, which is very likely due to the movie’s limited availability—at least as of this write-up.
However, the scarceness of The Kiss, while a bit annoying, makes it like catnip for ‘80s horror completists everywhere. Hopefully, a lot of them will walk away satisfied after watching this hidden gem.
Even though The Kiss was intended as the first of several horror collaborations between Astral Pictures and TriStar, as well as the first feature produced by Densham, Richard B. Lewis and John Watson’s Trilogy Entertainment Group, it ended up being the only one produced from that former union. Once the movie was released, TriStar’s distribution jitters—they opted for a regional rollout—did the $6-million flick no favors. TriStar’s cold feet toward horror releases have been well noted, but The Kiss still did a tad better than Night of the Creeps (1986), another genre outing that flopped due to its regional opening.
Shot in Montreal, but set in Albany, New York, The Kiss—which was still called The Host just a few months before its October premiere—concerns an average middle-class family and their forthcoming situation. The uncanny problem in store for them was, in fact, set in motion some years earlier. As that hot and dusty flashback to the Belgian Congo shows, a familial curse was set upon the two Dunbar sisters well before Meredith Salenger’s teenage character was born.
Meredith Salenger, Nicholas Kilbertus and Mimi Kuzyk in The Kiss
The Kiss, which was based on a story by co-writer Stephen Volk (Ghostwatch) and penned by both Volk and Tom Ropelewski, has the outward appearance of The Stepfather (1987). This movie, though, is anything but a gender-flipped retread of that classic domestic disturber. For starters, The Kiss is far less grounded in reality—that much is clear from its unsettling opening scene. There, a trusting girl (Priscilla Mouzakiotis) is the victim of her own deceptive aunt (Céline Lomez); the movie’s titular act, and the story’s first shock, becomes the means of transferring an ancient evil from one host to another.
In the present day, Salenger’s role of Amy Halloran, a religious schoolgirl, is dealt a harsh blow in life once her mother, Hilary Halloran née Dunbar (Pamela Collyer), suddenly dies in a freak accident. But rather than a complete stranger sweeping the Halloran widower (Nicholas Kilbertus) off his feet some months later, Joanna Pacula’s character is that chosen temptress. Here, Pacula plays the grown-up version of the afflicted girl last seen in the movie’s opener. Since Amy’s mother is insistent about there being no reunion between estranged sisters, and she even contemplates buying a gun shortly before her tragic demise, it’s presumable that Aunt Felice poses a threat to her family.
The Kiss isn’t a movie ever too concerned about its own predictability. The audience is indeed often one step ahead of the story here, but also keep in mind how every one of those steps is loud. Take, for instance, the death of Amy’s mother; the Halloran matriarch goes out in garish, gruesome fashion, as a supernaturally commandeered truck sends Collyer’s character through a store window first, then leaves her one leg short. The directorial enthusiasm truly comes out in horrific moments such as these.
The Kiss is always sure to revel in its characters’ ills and misfortunes. So if the plot doesn’t impress, then its lurid parts should. Amy’s mother’s exit scene was proof of an eager, first-time horror director proving his worth. Then, bestie Heather (Sabrina Boudot) survives to tell the tale of a bizarre escalator mishap that, despite showing relatively less gore, spikes viewers’ empathy meter. The wilder bits of this movie, however, commence with that inevitable hookup between Felice and Amy’s bewitched father; their kitchen coitus is paralleled by Amy’s feverish classroom terror. The outcome there is a disquieting cross-cut of sex magic and a young woman’s menstrual onset plus hallucinations.
Sabrina Boudot in The Kiss
From foam appliances to bladders, that parade of special effects in The Kiss casts its own spell on the audience. Felice’s familiar, a visibly malevolent cat, was realized here with several models, some more articulate than others. Admittedly, the demon cat’s not as convincing as most of the effects here, but accepting that artifice, as opposed to fighting it, will make the whole experience way more enjoyable. As for the makeup used to manifest Felice’s inner villainy, it is more minimal and subtle than one might like; yet the work done to turn Pacula into an antithesis of herself is nonetheless compelling.
The otherworldly perils and dreadful goings-on wouldn’t work half as well as they do in The Kiss without the story’s contrast effect. Finding frights in picturesque, extremely ordinary settings was something that took off in the ‘80s, thanks to that sweeping shift to locales like the suburbs. And Amy’s home, a replica of a real Montreal suburban house, is the ideal battleground for any proper good-versus-evil story. It’s also prime real estate for this movie’s satanic panic-inspired horrors.
Because of their ostensibly similar plots, The Kiss has been compared to The Exorcist (1973). Except in Densham’s movie, the sinister, non-Christian entity targeting a teen girl lies within something less apparent and, perhaps, more devastating upon its exposure. To an outsider, Pacula’s Aunt Felice is too beautiful and unobjectionable to ever suspect of being a monster. More suspicious is how quickly she rips into the fabric of the Halloran home. Felice’s mere presence upsets the “texture of family life,” according to the director.
The demon cat in The Kiss
Taking out Amy’s mother and best friend, and distracting her father, would suggest The Kiss is playing by a different set of rules. It is initially leaving its adolescent target unsupported in a rather grim scenario. In contrast, though, this story offers up a surrogate parent who does her best to fill in the holes of Amy’s eroding home life. Mimi Kuzyk does good work as that family friend and doctor, Brenda, who guides the lost child without also steering her in any one direction; she is naturally skeptical of Amy’s accusations until it’s almost too late to do anything about them. So although The Kiss does an admirable job of undoing the main character’s support system, it never leaves her without a lifeline. This dark movie, in spite of everything that’s transpired, doesn’t deprive itself of light and hope.
The Kiss is a potent mélange of familiar ideas. If not for the director’s surprise flair for horror, though, the movie would have been less effective. What a shame that Pen Densham didn’t continue with the genre. As for Joanna Pacula, she is, too, owed credit as the wicked vixen opposite Meredith Salenger’s pitiable Amy; she never fails to be unsettling in her role. Pacula makes Aunt Felice a sexy yet intimidating character.
For horror that steadily doles out madness and menace, while also delivering a flashy and ghastly conclusion, The Kiss is certain to please. Yes, it’s cheesy all the way, but most favorably, everyone involved plays everything straight. That kind of commitment goes a long way with this movie.
The Kiss
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