Ah, the early 2000s. A chubby young Portly was still sweating his way through high school (and, from 2003-2006, college); America’s love affair with patriotism was in full swing; and M. Night Shyamalan was bringing The Twilight Zone-style stories to the big screen.
M. Night could do know wrong in those days. He’d scored a major success with The Sixth Sense (1999), the film that spawned the instantly iconic line “I see dead people.” Then his twists became progressively more schlocky and insulting, starting with The Village (2004). For many years, he was, like the intro to the television show that inspired his stories, spiraling, before mounting a comeback in the last decade.
But he was enjoying his salad days in the early aughts, and this week’s film is an example of Shyamalan during his early peak. I remember seeing this flick at the movie theater in the mall in Indianapolis, Indiana, on a church music trip, and found it quite enjoyable as the chubby, sweaty young man referenced in the opening paragraph of this introduction.
Well, enough of my puffing. Here is Audre Myers‘s review of 2002’s Signs:
