The Indulgence Thief: M. NIGHT SHYAMALAN and the Superhero Trilogy We Need (Patreon)

There are few directors who have experienced a bigger arc than M. Night Shyamalan. After two early features, he exploded onto the scene with The Sixth Sense and achieved a kind of immediate mythic status that few filmmakers ever earn. Granted, some of this was self-styled branding, for he immediately started advertising new films around his own name and not much more than cryptic teasing. But by the time Signs rolled along, he had another success on his hands and a Newsweek cover declaring him “The Next Spielberg.” But after that, things started to turn. The Village, for all its financial success, marked the point where the public’s view of his twisty-ness turned his work into a kind of self parody. Whether or not I think that feeling was valid, it was something undoubtedly worsened with oddball vanity projects like The Buried Secret of M. Night Shyamalan. But really it was his next two features that turned the tide completely. Because Lady In The Water and The Happening threw him into the realm of “gonzo auteur,” as both films feature some of the oddest and most confusing choices imaginable. Coupled with the release of the book “The Man Who Heard Voices,” which painted M. Night as a somewhat stubborn figure off in his own world, it did him no favors. Neither did the film’s box office. So after the underperformance of those original projects, M. Night tried shifting to big Hollywood projects to find his footing in the industry. First with the Will / Jaden Smith project After Earth and then an epic adaptation of Nickelodeon’s The Last Airbender. Alas, neither project worked (though, given the behind the scenes control issues, I’m not sure if blame entirely rests on M. Night’s shoulders… at least not alone).

But everyone loves a comeback. And I must say that M. Night’s Blumhouse era has been something I’ve enjoyed dearly. Starting with the fact he got into the mode of being a scrappy underdog again. Because he started self-financing his own low budget projects with huge upside. And they were often centered around his best skill: creating tension and scares. It started with the genuine creepy unease of the found footage film The Visit and was recently cemented with the wild dynamics of Old (the beach that makes you). What I first like about this recent output is how much these films highlight M. Night’s incredible technical acumen with the camera and his ability to create imagery that feels singular. The second thing I like is how they highlight the important thing to understand about M. Nigh: that both he is - and always was - a great big weirdo.

I say this in the best possible way. I love storytellers with weird minds. And when you go back and look at his early classics you can see that he always had an awkward way of approaching dialogue, one which often makes the characters all feel like aliens (I’ll come back to this subject at large in another upcoming essay). But the weirdness of his approach impacts some of the camera choices, too. M. Night understands the basics of cinematic language so, so well, but it’s like every third shot I’m like “Ohhhhh, that’s counter-intuitive, but really interesting.” Often because there will be something confrontational, jarring, or even withholding about the choice. So however you end up feeling about his work on the whole, throughout all the highs and lows, there’s always been something fascinating at play. And I’d argue that’s especially true when it comes to the curious case of his unlikely superhero trilogy of Unbreakable, Split, and Glass. Whatever you think of these films - and they do feature all the things he’s been good and bad that M. Night can offer…

I believe they are the superhero films we actually deserve.

THE HERALD

“I’m not a monster, I’m just ahead of the curve.”

It’s hard to believe, but there was once a time where “superheroes” and “comic book films” were considered toxic pariahs within Hollywood circles. Sure, you’d have the occasional outlier, like the first couple Superman and Batman films, but both of those figures had TV legacies and there’s a reason both of those franchises ended up in a jokey state of self-parody. Because you read all these stories about executives at the time and it’s amazing just how much they kept calling comics “nerd shit” with a kind of active disdain that would feel silly (and financially foolish) these days. They genuinely looked down on the material, which is why these adaptations always felt like they had to turn into the joke of it all. It wasn’t real cinema. It was the kid stuff of Saturday morning cartoons and toy sales. But like most cycles of Hollywood, these executives were dinosaurs who failed to realize that just like Spielberg aping the adventure serials he grew up on, those Saturday morning cartoons were quickly becoming the beloved draw of audiences as they got older. This generation was going to watch superhero films. And they were going to watch them big time.

Coming off the success of The Sixth Sense, M. Night chose to dive into this subject matter right before it all exploded (remember, while he was making this, the first X-Men movie was still in production). But he was going in a different direction with it all. This was not a work of adaptation, but an original work. A grounded (and often dour) drama about a man who discovers his inability to get hurt - and the mysterious stranger who takes an interest in this seeming power of his. It’s worth noting that given the climate I mentioned above, the studio was deeply afraid of selling the film as a comic book movie. Instead, the marketing centered around the mystique, fear, danger that comes with M. Night’s style of filmmaking - which, to be fair, were all the qualities that made Sixth Sense a big ass hit. But they were so afraid of the audience’s perceived lack of context, which feels like a part of the film’s opening title card that tells us “comic books are surprisingly popular and stuff” as if we all needed some kind of primer… Again, it’s strange to think about how quickly the climate changed.

But change isn’t always immediate. Unbreakable was successful enough, but not nearly as successful as The Sixth Sense. Moreover, it felt like a mixed bag with general audiences. The dourness and lack of action really seemed like a turn off for some. And yet, the film’s cult status came almost immediately (as it often does with studio efforts like this). I remember there were all these people who were immediately calling it one of their favorite movies of all time (especially within blossoming internet communities). So what was it about the film that seemed to strike such a chord?

I believe the reason is because it was the first popular film to genuinely validate a love of comic books and superheroes (while also being really thoughtful about it). Remember, even X-Men felt like it needed to make jokes about yellow spandex. But the grounded-ness of the film here was not about scoffing at tropes, but instead playing with the aesthetic limitations of the world as we know it. And emotionally-speaking, it was about the slow, realistic embrace of David Dunn coming around to the ideas at the heart of these stories. A story which actively plays into that age old question that so many kids think in their heart of hearts: what if I was a superhero? What would it REALLY be like? Which also part of how it plays into the dreams of the pop-culture obsessive that is Sam Jackson’s character, Elijah AKA Mr. Glass. Perspective is a huge part of this story. As an audience, are we going to be like Elijah, desperately craving this superhero’s existence? Or more like the son, who so desperately wanting to be like, and be in awe of, his father? Are either of those a scary thing to potentially imagine? Is this all some fantasy of indulgence?

All of these potential hopes and worries are why the film’s final coda isn’t a twist, but a warning;  a critical reveal of how these Super-heroic desires have an inherent darkness. For Mr. Glass’s desperate need for superheroes to be real only sows chaos. It’s not just all the murdering, but the philosophical underpinnings that fuel it. It’s the black and white morality. It’s seeing human behavior only in terms of how it fits basic character conventions. Like so many people hurt by life, Mr. Glass frames himself as the aggrieved patron, one not bent on some intention of evil, but does so simply to give order and purpose to his life. Look no further than the infamous ending speech, which Jackson kills:

“Do you know what the scariest thing is? To not know your place in this world. To not know why you’re here. That’s just an awful feeling. I almost gave up hope. There were so many times I questioned myself. But I found you. So many sacrifices just to find you. Now that we know who you are, I know who I am. I’m not a mistake! It all makes sense! In a comic, you know how you can tell who the arch villain is going to be? He’s the exact opposite of the hero. And most of the time they’re friends like you and me. I should have known way back when, you know why David? Because of the kids… They called me Mister Glass.”

There’s such wounded desperation in his voice, but there’s also great insight. Because what Elijah is after is not just purpose, but power and control. Because if you can’t have gifts? If you feel like you are left powerless by your place in the world? If you are not given what you believe is promised to “heroes” and such? Then you can use your mind to best create control over the world around you, which means turning into toxic forms of power. Which is often the power of isolating yourself and not being dependent on others. And then using that lack of dependence on “normal wants” to terrify others and turn their wants against them. Yes, much of this is the psychological tactics that go into extremist recruiting. And yes, it is what is so alluring to some people about villain characters like the Joker. And yes, these two groups have a Venn diagram of note. Whether consciously or unconsciously, it’s all a part of everything M. Night is going after here. Yes, Elijah’s more self-aware of it, and maybe even a little more remorseful, but the scariest villains often are. And he never once diverts from achieving his place of purpose. Which is why it’s so important to pay attention to David Dunn in those final moments as he wrestles with the horror of what Mr. Glass is really telling him. As much as the film is affirming the more simple and familial forms of heroism, it is equally aghast at what Mr. Glass has done in the name of finding his “place.” Turning the world into superhero absolutes can only wreak havoc.

It speaks to something I think is incredibly important, which is the subject of indulgence. Because the great fear of superhero-dom, that is of telling these stories of people who can do these incredible things, is that you tilt fully into the power fantasy of it all. And because every time I bring up this subject I get a “wait, are you saying every movie has to be some moralizing fable!” I must reiterate: of course not. But ideally you want to use any art, high or low, as a way to both entertain AND speak to some kind of helpful truth about the human experience, even if you’re telling stories of tragedy, self-examination, or even telling them satirically. But if you’re just telling stories as a kind of vacuous, serotonin booster that is bent on wish-fulfillment and nothing more? Especially given that these films are often aimed at impressional kids? Well, I’m just saying it’s important to be really mindful of this stuff. And the thing about Unbreakable is that it’s deeply conscious of what Mr. Glass’s brand of villainy really is. And in that, it acts as a herald - nay, even a warning for all that is to come.

Because if there’s anything I can truly ding the MCU it’s how little it understands how to frame villainy. There are outliers of course. But for every Killmonger, Ego the living planet, or Loki, I feel like so many of the villains either take the form of a humorless fuddy duddy that solely seems to exist for our fun-loving heroes to pants OR they are a well-meaning (generally left-leaning) idealist who strives for a group’s future except for the fact they’re addicted to mindless murder for some reason and thus, for this reason alone, must be stopped. Either way, most are built around upholding the centrist status quo that best lets our heroes whizz-bang along without a deeper thought or need to change much at all. Meanwhile, good comic book films understand that it’s often about doing the opposite. That a villain’s value lies not just mustache-twirling entertainment, but the ability to strike genuine fear in the hero and the audience alike, all to frame the folly of our goals, and to strike right down into the hero’s core ethos. Then ultimately, render it into something even more humane (unless the point is to do, you know, the exact opposite).

Mr. Glass ascribes to every one of these notions as if they are his sole purpose for existing. But David Dunn, to every bit of credit, doesn’t ascribe to such indulgences, roles, or “place” of any of these pitfalls. He is defined by his reluctance. Which is part of the simple, quiet, moralist center at work in him. And, dour or not, twenty years later Unbreakable remains one of the more careful portraits of hero-dom I think we’ve seen. Which is also why in all these twenty years, there’s been demand, along with long-gestating rumors of a possible sequel. And as much as M. Night would sometimes hint that if it ever came out it would be “something different,” it just never seemed to come together.

… Or so we thought.

THE GAMBLER

The viewing context matters on this one.

Because I first saw Spilt at the secret screening at Fantastic Fest in 2016. This was literally the first public screening of the film. And since it was the secret screening, we had no idea what we were sitting down to see. The film started suddenly. There’s this arresting, terrifying sequence of McAvoy abducting three young girls. And then we get credits along with M. Night Shyamalan title card. And I’m like OH, okay! I hadn’t seen The Visit yet, but I heard it was good. So I started watching this horror film with cautious optimism. And as it went on, I hate to be eponysterical, but I had a very “split” reaction while watching the film.

One one level, it’s so, so good at all the technical things that M. Night excels at. There’s this drenched sense of unease to just about every moment. Part of that is how M. Night now uses widescreen in this fascinating way. Pay attention to the ornate framing of his subjects that makes them feel a bit alien, and also make you feel on edge. But he doesn’t flatten the image or dally too much in the negative space (a sin which takes the air out of a lot of the tension in The Happening). Instead, there’s always a sense of depth within the frame which helps establish the relationship between the figures on screen. As the girls try to navigate their prison space, along with navigating the whims of their captor, it all feels so damn riveting. While Sixth Sense and Signs might have been his most classical approaches, this film honestly might be M. Night’s most distinct voice yet when it comes to the authorship of the visuals.

The other great thing the film offers is James McAvoy. Now, let’s be clear, I know the personalities he’s playing are broad, but he’s really fucking going for it. Just fully diving into the hamminess of all it, but in a way that’s just so fearlessly committed. And more importantly, it's consistent. The way he bounces between Barry, Dennis, Ms. Patricia, and especially Hedwig is done with unblinking command. It never slips. And for the audience, there’s always a joy in watching this kind of performance. Because you’re watching a story that gives a talented actor the ability to give a full showcase of their range. Better yet, it requires a high-wire act, for the very tension of the film hinges on the actor’s ability to manifest those characters in a way that makes their interactions, negotiations, and confrontations with Anya Taylor-Joy actually believable. To this point, Split succeeds wildly. You buy into their communication. And I think it’s the reason the film was a massive surprise hit.

At the same time, I think the movie plays fast and lose with two sensitive thematic areas in a way that gives me deep, deep pause. I’m not going to go a giant think blurb about either. But the first involves Anya’s backstory reveal and how the same tired tropes regarding sexual abuse victims get used so cavalierly - like how re-traumatization creates necessary action and empathy or her value in his eyes or something? I don’t word that way to be flippant, but more because the film is that unclear. And the problems of this been much better written about elsewhere. The second issue involves mental health, because for all the times the film seems to some kind of emotional credence to Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID, or what we used to call “multiple personality disorder), there are just as many times it seems to pervert or trivialize it in a way that feels so directly harmful for the way we try to frame mental health in the modern era (most of these scenes involve the fringe psychiatrist character).

Now, in one way, I understand this choice because it’s operating in the grand cinematic tradition of how Hitchcock and De Palma used vague psychological conditions to make some of the best thrillers ever made. But blindly aping the tropes of the past is often how we keep getting into larger thematic messes in general (see the sexual assault reveal). And in the modern age, the same lack of sensitivity just doesn’t play that way anymore. It can’t. We know too much now to villainize such afflictions. Rain Man arguably set the conversation around autism back a decade (ask anyone who went through it). And as I watched this film I felt all these thoughts coiling, all part of the split reaction between the thematic worries and the deft execution of the cinema itself. But little did I know this second thematic element was about to be reframed in the most unexpected of ways.

Because then comes the mic drop of Split. With one villain speech and a certain music cue, some discerning audience members (mostly score lovers) started to wig out in their seats. And then the film just goes for it. With all the clunky dialogue and all the grace of a beautiful panning shot, a diner patron says: “This is like that crazy guy in the wheelchair that they put away 15 years ago… and they gave him a funny name, too… What was it?”

Pan to Bruce Fucking Willis: “… Mister Glass.”

Cut to black.

And it is at this moment where you realize you’ve been watching a stealth Unbreakable sequel the whole damn time!?!?!? I cannot explain the amount of confused-yet-excited pandemonium in that theater. Because it wasn’t something that was even built into any possible expectation. The movie itself felt like NOTHING in that particular universe (sure, there is the absolutely weird scene where the psychiatrist is like “they could be our next evolutions,” but you’re mostly like huh????). But then your mind starts rushing back trying to re-contextualize everything you’ve seen. Does the fact that this was really about comic book archetypes make certain story choices more palatable? Or more reductive? How does the idea that it’s a DAMN HORROR FILM play into the idea of superhero-dom? People spilled into the hallways and engaged in hushed, panicked discussion, as no one wanted to spoil for others around. But everyone was so flabbergasted by what just happened. M. Night had somehow done the most unexpected “twist” possible. And to this day, I think it is arguably one of the most audacious things I’ve ever seen a filmmaker do?

Still, the problems of Split exist, and they will exist in perpetuity. But what softened matters is they also came with this inherent promise. That this film was but preamble for not just a larger confrontation in a possible new sequel. And thus, a recontextualization of all of these themes within the world of superheroes. Luckily for us, this time it wouldn’t take fifteen years. Because Split was a monster hit and the sequel to this unexpected sequel was greenlit immediately. All eyes were on M. Night. And the only question remained…

How would he approach it?

THE INDULGENCE THIEF

I can’t believe how long it took me to watch this movie.

Because going into the opening weekend of Glass I really had my hopes up. And then, whether they were fair or not, I had heard absolutely awful things. Just really, really bad things. I usually don’t pay attention to such chatter and go see the film for myself. But whatever I was going through at that moment, I just couldn’t bring myself to be let down. So I put it off for a few days. Then a few days more. And then a lot of plot points got spoiled so I put it off even longer. The truth is I didn’t get around to finally watching the film until fairly recently. And it’s the reason I’m writing this column now.

Because I think Glass is weirdly brilliant.

Do not get me wrong. I fully understand why the film is unsatisfying to a lot of the audience, particularly when it comes to the film’s final act. But these unsatisfying moments are not the work of a filmmaker who is letting an audience’s potential satisfaction fumble out of his grasp in a fit of incompetence. No, all of these choices are so deliberate and pointed. It is unsatisfying by design. Granted, these sorts of anti-climactic efforts tend not to go well with general audiences. As many people loved No Country For Old Men, it felt like half a dozen more people who were like “what the heck! You don’t see him die! I don’t care about his two dreams!” Even The Wire’s fifth season mostly works on the meta point that the paper wasn’t covering the stories being told on The Wire. But while I empathize with how un-fun it can feel to have a director be withholding, I think Glass is M. Night’s his most thoughtful, most semiotically driven work yet. And it doesn’t just sell me on the Unbreakable trilogy as a whole, it’s an effort that I think is deeply relevant to the modern climate of superhero movies.

The film starts with a pointed confrontation. We see two dipshits going around filming assaults as one of them yells, “Superman Punch him, Ronald!” as the other follows through. Is it a little awkward and forced? Yup! Particularly in its use of a video camera when surely one would use a smartphone. But the terminology and intent is pointed. The two boys are showcasing everything I’m talking about in terms of the danger of the power fantasy. Their “superman punch” is a posturing imitation of a superhero. One not beant on wussy do-gooding, but a display of their own power, achieved with malice and bullying. They have to put someone else down in order to feel that strength. This is the dark side of “wanting” to be like an actual superhero. Which is why they are almost immediately confronted by our actual hero, David Dunn. By comparison he is quiet, assured, and in a stark difference of indulgence, doesn’t want the recognition. He just doesn’t like bullies.

There’s a lot to be said about the way Bruce Willis has played this character. David is far from the charismatic, joking sort that populates an MCU film. No, his hero is far more internal and measured. But you get these small, telling glimpses. I love the way he comes back to his little security company and we see that he is still working with his son (Spencer Treat Clark, everyone! He looks great!) and it’s something genuinely sweet to see. Bruce even has this little wry smile and they banter about current “salt bae" jokes, which is all a part of M. Night loves the kind of internet which often immediately dates said movie. But there’s real sentiment here. Especially in the idea that all these years later, they take care of each other. And we still see that adoration for his father, along with some newfound adult concern. Perhaps, it’s the loss of his mom, but there’s a fear at the center of this that really matters.

There’s also a meta layer to this that I’m going to speak to, too. Because when the film was released there seemed to be a level of disappointment that there wasn’t “more Bruce,” but a lot of people in the industry rightfully didn’t want to talk about the behind the scenes medical stuff that was going on when Bruce started the redbox era.  Thankfully, it’s something I think people understand with much more now when it comes to the conditions of Aphasia and it deserves our full kindness. And for Bruce, his work with M. Night was important to him. The Sixth Sense was a fundamental part of his modern comeback. This character was important to him. And I think it’s all handled very well in the film. And I think anyone who wanted a “bigger” performance from him in this film may have misremembered David’s actual characterization. So much of what made him seem special was framed from the joy in his child’s eyes (and our own younger eyes, too). That desire also misunderstands why it’s so important that David remains so understated.

Luckily, the film doesn’t dally and instead gets us right to the confrontation itself. Because The Hoard has kidnapped four more girls (to stick with the archetype of the horror intent, they are all cheerleaders). David tracks him. They fight. And the cinematography exemplifies all the things I talk about when it comes to M. Night’s classical yet counter-intuitive style. They then crash to the ground and the movie we THINK we are there for suddenly grinds to a halt. In walks Sarah Paulson as Dr. Ellie Staple and she’s got a small army with her, guns drawn. Pleading for peace, she brings them to the psychiatric hospital where the rest of the movie will be set (and where Elijah aka Mr. Glass currently happens to reside). Here, she lets us in on the conceit of the film. She’s a doctor who treats people who suffer from delusions of grandeur, specifically people who think they’re superheroes. And suddenly, it all becomes an inmate movie centering around a grand discussion of ideas.

What the heck? Why do this? It’s a valid question. Everything slows down and eases off the tension. And when it comes to matters of indulgence, it doesn’t really make for a fun story now, does it? In fac,t the film spends the next 30 dang minutes trying to talk the characters (and the audience) OUT of the main conceit. She does not want the three of them to believe they are in a comic book reality. Again, why? In terms of the logic of it, there will be a narrative-driven reveal that comes at the end, but why in the moment? What is it exploring in these scenes? Is it just about creating moments of doubt? For all of her stale justification of mentalism, human strength, and really weak bars, really it’s just after fundamental questions behind the MOTIVATION behind each character.

Ellie gets at David first, “how do you know who is good and who's bad?” David explains the images and feelings when bumping into someone, things that are deeply true to him - but it’s the larger question that lingers: is what he’s doing ethical? Note the way both Ellie and the film target his son with the same line of questioning. Why does he need his father to play the role of the hero? Why does he need to look up to him? What space are they filling? And by extension, why do we, as a society, need to believe in people like David Dunn? What’s sneaky brilliant about it is the way Ellie is effectively trying to undermine absolutist thinking, specifically the belief in our own inherent goodness, consequences be damned. And it’s not an accident that she is combating PRECISELY the kind of stubborn, blind faith thinking that makes so many of the MCU characters chug along. As much as it gives pause, it’s less about the logic, and more about getting us to really think about the WHY behind our superhero desires.

The same is true for the way she comes at Elijah and his Mr. Glass aspirations. Granted, he’s seemingly in no position to hear her because he’s in (fake) drugged-out mode, so she places the conversation on his mother. I think this is another brilliant little decision. Because when we talk about the birth of “villainy” we often wonder what could have created such monstrosity. In real life, the parents whose children who go off to do murderous things face so much potential blame. Did they teach the kids this thinking? Did they create hurt in them? Did they ignore warning signs? In essence, the film is asking, “what gives birth to villainy?” His mom tells us that Elijah “thinks he was a mistake” and she does her best to reassure him that he is not. Despite his lot in life, he is not some broken, helpless person. She is trying to supply him with love and care. Even now, when the world thinks of him as a monster. But is she enabling his villainous thinking? Ellie gets at the center of what she could or could not be doing to try and more effectively “save” him, especially from his own delusions. But what is our parental responsibility when someone starts going down the dark path? It may seem an odd comparison, but many of the same questions lie in Lynne Ramsay’s quiet masterpiece We Need To Talk About Kevin. Is this a clunkier investigation? Of course it is. M. Night’s always going to be a little clunkier. But that’s part of the inherent modus operandi of how he comes at storytelling. And it’s part of the film’s next character investigation as well…

Going into Glass, one of the most essential questions would be how James McAvoy’s Kevin Wendell Crumb AKA “The Hoard” would fit in. Because he was, you know, a boogey man character from a Hitchcockian horror movie and now he’s in self-analytical film superhero universe with The Overseer and Mr. Glass. And yes, there are some weird things about the transition, but it actually functions so much better than I imagined. Because that question “how do I fit?” is also at the very center of the character’s struggle. Elijah’s whole ultimate goal is to get them to think of themselves as comic book characters in the tradition of varying “multiple personality” figures. They don’t use the proper nouns, but it’s your Mr. Hyde archetype that seeded down into Green Goblin, The Lizard, and yes, the Incredible Hulk. Note that Elijah doesn’t WANT The Hoard to see themselves as the horror-like boogie man. He wants them to see themselves as a powerful Villain, a self-possessed entity, who can work in league with him. Essentially, he wants to give them purpose through power. Because real villainy is about never thinking any bad part of you is “wrong,” but a feature that should be strengthened. Thus, he wants to feed the literal Beast inside them so he let lose to his own darker purposes. And as if instinctually understanding all this, Ellie goes to work in preventing this.

Quick Tangent: I noticed that Ellie is  always referring to The Hoard as them? I realize this may not even be the film’s intention, and it probably steps in a whole weird complicated question of whether this is sensitivity to misgendering and intended representation, which has potential offense in even associating DID with gender fluidity, but it’s just something I simply noticed. So if anyone with way more understanding of the subject can sound off on it or point me somewhere, I’d be curious. Thank you! Anyway…

Ellie zeroes in on the mental health aspect of Kevin’s condition. She does not want him to play into these grand notions of empowerment. She wants to understand the war of conflicting want raging inside of him. There’s a reason he sits between the hero and the villain, as if literally split. We have to remember that within Kevin there are 24 different personalities. And as dramatized, they might as well be 24 different people. Thus, when you place them within the context of semiotics, The Hoard is essentially “the larger public,” whose fate rests in how they navigate between the two spheres of absolute influence between the hero and the villain. And Ellie’s goal is to prevent him from treading in such absolutes. She wants to treat them, to ground them in reality, and to not enable their so-called powers.

But where Ellie’s intentions hit a snag is when Casey Cooke (Anya Taylor Joy’s character from Split) reenters the fold and instead of being the ready and willing ally to help Ellie in her mission, Casey instead is coming from a place of acceptance and shared empathy of experience Now, here’s the thing. On one level, this is a logical matter that comes from the fact Casey SAW The Beast’s wall climbing and thus isn’t going to back up the “it’s a delusion” route. But, on another level, this is a continuation of the incredibly loaded idea that gave me just as much pause in Split. Because there’s something that inherently plays into some kind of Stockholm Syndrome worry in the depiction. Even Ellie seems confused by Casey’s intention, offering a retort of “but you’re the victim” when she says she wants to talk to him. So what the hell is going on here?

I think Glass is trying to split a very, very, VERY fine hair. And I certainly don’t know if the movie does so gracefully. But it is operating on an extended piece of logic. If there really are 24 people inside the person born Kevin Wendall Crumb, then the abusive personalities like The Beast and Dennis are clearly victimizing the other people within him. Casey’s shared sympathy is effectively not for her attacker, but those others who have been trapped like her (for example, note her deep connection with Hedwig). Granted, this portrayal may be just as problematic. Especially if it’s a metaphor for the conflicting “sides” of someone then hoo boy does it play into tough tropes of abuse. But if it’s the larger semitic interpretation of him being “the larger public” then it’s about caring for the people who are similarly caught. I honestly don’t know. It’s probably both. Because, again, this is a very very VERY fine hair.

But to its limited credit, it’s worth noting that the film isn’t really trying to get caught up on answering the question. Instead, it wants both you and the character to revel in the question of whether or not this is the way to engage. Dare I even say it wants you to remain split on the question. And it’s all a part of why the film goes so damn hard in this middle section of sowing doubts. It’s not about the logic of the story. It is all about getting you to question YOUR motives and what you really want out of your relationships to the characters on screen. And right when you are at the height of questioning?

Then shit actually kicks into gear.

Elijah goes into grand villain mode and the monologues start flying. He’s all “first name Mister, last name Glass.” And there’s a way the narrative picks up obvious steam here, too. He gives us an end destination: Osaka Tower and all the superhero expectations we could dream of. And most of all, he issues the challenge to David: “you might want to try and stop us.” Yay! Here we go! It’s time for a big climax! But things don’t get very far, do they? Instead it all turns into a comparatively underwhelming parking lot confrontation where everything comes undone (to its cinematic credit though, I think it’s filmed very well). But it’s just so stunningly uncool. Mr. Glass gets so excited and is calling out all the nerdy action tropes with clunky glee. He bellows “the collection of main characters!” and “You’re the girl The Beast let go!” But as easy as it would be to think that M. Night is merely laying it on thick (which he is), he’s also using it all in a feat of anti-climax with a thematic point.

We don’t get a grand battle. Instead, it is revealed that the train crash that revealed David Dunn is ALSO the crash that killed Kevin’s father. We go back to the original scene, and with even more clunk, we see his father is holding a pamphlet on D.I.D. and therapy options - the implication being that he really could have gotten the help he needed before the rampant abuse worsened his condition. As forced as it may feel, the sentiment behind it is completely earnest and empathetic. Perhaps it is coming after the response to Split, but M. Night is making it clear that he knows that there is no salvation in the path that the Hoard is on now. This isn’t his best self. He knows that therapy is the conventional, hopeful path for mental health issues like this. And he knows there was never a need for us to ever think of him as a boogie man, nor beast. But Elijah tried to convince him this was the path, and thus the anger of the injustice unfurls. And everything comes apart.

But there’s nothing climactic about it. Mister Glass is killed by a light shove from The Hoard. Soon after, the Hoard is shot at the very moment that Casey managed to calm down The Beast. And then, instead of being thanked for his heroism, David Dunn is grabbed by the authorities and drowned in a damn puddle… You can practically hear the womp womp noise on screen. And if that weren’t enough, suddenly we’re on our heels because it all seems to be the doing of Ellie and her mysterious three leaf clover organization. To his credit, M. Night actually restrains himself and doesn’t explain the obvious metaphor of the name (as Billy Wilder said, “let the audience add 2 + 2, they’ll love you forever”). No, they aren’t superhero deniers. They know superheroes very much exist. They are just a secret society of normies who believe it is their job to stop their kind from dominating the world. She explains to Mr. Glass as thus:

“They got it wrong in the comics. They talk about secret evil groups trying to stop the heroes. I do not think we are particularly evil and we don’t choose sides. We try to stop both of you. If there is one of you, the opposite of you appears. It escalates. There just can’t be gods amongst us. Take consolation that you were right about your theory. Be at peace.”

There’s something kind, even weirdly empathetic in her verbiage. And the film takes care to explain that their use of violence was but a last resort. She even tells David “I would have left you alone” because he had no interest in going public until The Hoard required it of him. They simply had to put a stop to what all three characters in the film were after. As anti-climactic as this development is, I do think each of the three death scenes are emotionally affecting. We see David’s son crying over his fallen hero. And when faced with death, McAvoy naturally reverts to Hedwig and puts the idea of dying so heartbreakingly gentle as, “… I like being nine.” But it’s Mr. Glass who has the most curious death, narratively speaking. His mother stands over him, telling Elijah he was spectacular. It’s not ignoring the fact he killed so, so many people. Or maybe it is. However misguided, it’s a mother giving her son some comfort in death. But of course, it ends up that there is more to it.

Thinking it’s all settled, Ellie stops by a comic book store, perhaps for more research, and we are thus treated to a clunky conversation between two comic book fans (that would never, ever happen) and she overhears: “He’s too smart. There’s always a REAL PLAN!” And thus, her paranoia is sparked and we come back to realize that Elijah never had any intention of going to the tower. He instead used the established security cameras of the hospital to record these superhuman feats, all so that they may be now broadcast to the world. Thus, people will know superheroes exist. That this will have all meant something. And it falls on our three main characters left in the wake: David’s son, Casey Cooke, and Elijah’s mom, to birth them into the world. We are then left with the words:

“Belief in oneself is contagious. We give ourselves permission to become superheroes. We will never awaken otherwise. Whoever these people are who don’t want us to know the truth, they will lose.”

Now, I can imagine an audience watching all this, especially as two twenty year olds and old woman sit in the train station and watch people react and think: “Huh! This is weird!” And they’re right. It is weird. Even the staging. And M. Night seems to have a really goofy idea of how he thinks internet virality works (but hey, he’s trying to make it more cinematic). And more importantly, people probably wouldn’t believe those particular images if they saw them on screen. There’s just a clunk of verisimilitude that the audience would not be vibing with here. But I don’t really mind this. But there’s a second notion that I have more problems with.

Because there is a potential objectivist reading in all this. One that paints Ellie and the three leaf clovers as jealous normies who can’t handle a world that operates in big bold superheroic behaviors! They are limiting human nature and our potential to be our most incredible selves! And that there is a better world for people who wholly embrace their gifts! And blurgh. It’s the kind of thing deluded Billionaires are after. But the truth is that I’m not sure that’s what the story is really after. If it was, it wouldn’t be telling such an anti-climactic story. It would make David Dunn far more indulgent. And it wouldn’t be putting that kind of thinking directly in line with Elijah’s brand of villainy. Instead, the film offers a few more telling detail that go beyond this surface level projection. Earlier on the film argues superhero stories are about “what humans are capable of. What humans somewhere, somehow, saw or felt.” And the end moment is not about creating the I.R.L world of some power fantasy. No, the impact of their decision is in how those images are put on screens. And how we see all those stranger’s faces, watching the footage, completely rapt. So no, this is not about our behavior in real life...

It’s about how we watch movies.

Conclusion - Wanting, Waiting, and Watching…

It is easy to wish these films played into certain narrative expectations. But when you separate them from the notion of indulgence. When you take away the idea that the film’s reality is an aspirational reality for the viewer to project themselves into and just make them movies - which they are. And when you view the audience as a group of people who are watching them - which they are. Then you get to see how much the interpretation of the events on screen can shift. Because ultimately, The Unbreakable Trilogy is really just a meditation on what we want out of watching superheroes. And what we maybe shouldn’t want, too.

Take Sarah Paulson’s character, Ellie. Within the narrative, she’s the normie trying to bring down our heroes cuz balance or God fearing something. But within the context of cinema-going? You can reframe her as the nay-sayer who doesn’t want us to watch and adore superheroes. But in many ways, her concerns are valid. Note the way she often goes into meta discussion of fandom itself. Why else would she ask, “have you ever been to a comic book convention?” It’s easy to read this as her being the un-approving square who doesn’t get the fun of cosplay or something. But instead she zeroes in on the “THEY ARE SELLING THINGS!” angle of it all. Here, M. Night genuinely seems to be hitting on the cynical capitalist side of the fandom industrial complex. Remember, this is a guy who avoided big studio filmmaking as much as possible (and his two attempts went horribly). He knows they are the selling of a very, very specific kind of escapism. And to Ellie, there is a harmful delusion in thinking of oneself that way,  whether it be the “superman punch” guys or especially all the toxic ways that someone like Mister Glass embraces the tropes. It’s all an argument against certain kinds of absolutist thinking and “self-framing” that genuinely impacts people’s worldview.

For instance, I think about this in the context of Iron Man a lot. I think Downey’s charm in the character is outright undeniable. I think some of the movies are great at finding the moral growth inside him (1 and 3). I also think some of them are quite bad at it. And I think most of them are terrible at wrestling with the 1:1 of how this kind of character plays into real life thinking. Particularly when it comes to sentiments like, “YES, EGOCENTRIC BILLIONAIRES WILL SURELY SAVE US!” I mean Iron Man 2 literally has stomach churning lines like “I just privatized world peace!” and, like, Elon Musk is literally in it. Yeah, yeah I know Justin Hammer is supposed to be the flip-side alternative of this kind of figure, but who do you think Musk fancy himself as? Who do his fans see him as? I’m not talking about all this in terms of movies being causation, but there’s an obvious overlap that gives me pause. I mean, they literally made a movie calling Musk “The Real Life Iron Man.” All that and the jerk is a literal burden on our society.

I know this may seem a tangent, but it’s so deeply related to what M. Night seems weary of in these films. It all comes back to those essential questions of why David Dunn? Why have the opening “superman punch! scene as his entrance to the film? Why do these films strive so hard to shy away from grandiose conventions, while calling them out at the same time? In a world that seems to worship displays of power, turn violence into virality, and adore the showboating raconteurs, it’s the quiet, unassuming, reluctant nature of David Dunn that is precisely what makes him a relevant hero. Even the name David, biblical slayer of bullies is so important to this idea. He’s the Anti-Iron Man.

And yes, it’s why the film has an intentionally disappointing climax. It would be so much “nicer” and more cathartic to paint a world of conventional hero-dom, but M. Night’s always seen life as something smaller, sadder, and more intimate. As much as it sucks to watch, the fact that all it takes is a puddle is the point. Just as never making it to the tower is the point. M. Night has no interest in the conventions that indulge us. Just as there is a reason that Mr. Glass shouts clunky lines that feel so silly and out of reality. He’s highlighting his delusion of seeing life in an operatic context. But that’s exactly where Elijah’s portrayal gets so interesting. Because in his unwavering declaration, he throws out the line “I create superheroes!” and the wording gives us a huge clue.

He’s a creator. A facilitator. The architect of all these scenarios. Essentially, he is the storyteller. The one who takes all the events of these character’s lives and is always trying to give them shape. Which leads to the most fascinating question, if he’s our storyteller parallel, why is he the villain? Aren’t superhero stories good things? Well, this brings us back to M. Night’s surprising humane streak because I think he implicitly understands maybe they aren’t. And that there is something inherently villainous about the storytelling act. Because you are creating a “character,” but in terms of how we relate to them - a real aspirational human being - and putting them through trauma, through pain, whether it be an accident or a loss, and that becomes the framing that fuels them to go into the world and do some kind of battle with it. It’s inherent. And M. Night understands how much these heroic stories are (or at least SHOULD BE) about struggle and pain and loss. There’s a cruelty in relegating their existences to this kind of battle. You’re putting them into purgatory. And for a trilogy that started by asking: what if I was a superhero? What would it REALLY be like? He seems to keep answering, for the most part, that it would be bad… really bad. And hard. And likely end in tragedy.

Which is all part of why The Hoard is so weirdly critical to the function of this movie. When we reframe the character as “the larger public” and realize they are reflective of the variance of the general audience. The Beast represents the id, those with the unthinking primal nature that gives into power and inherently plays to the villainous side. As an audience, they crave that power, too. But also note how many of the characters introduced this time within Kevin deal with movie tropes. There’s the bro, the young ingenue, and there’s even a critic! And for so much of the film, Hedwig excitedly talks about Drake and all the other artists he likes as an ardent fanboy. It all gets framed with the notion of how we watch stories / consume art - and how we relate it back to our own needs. I mean, 80% of the run time of Glass is three characters reflecting on this entire process. And there’s a reason each of them has a parallel “fan” that mirrors that process. For our hero, it’s how he’s seen by his son. For The Hoard he’s seen by someone who empathizes with their pain and loss. And for Mr. Glass, it is his mother who is the only one who can really accept him, even after all the things he’s done. They are the audience - and we are too. Which is why the film tells us…

“We’ll finish this in front of the world”

Those are the words that are a key to it all. Mr. Glass calls this an origin story and logically, it’s about the public becoming aware of superheroes. But I don’t think it’s really “an origin” as we often think about it. It’s more of a reckoning. All the cameras are shining a light on what has transpired in this story and it’s telling that even Mr. Glass wants all the sides of this to be shown. It’s not about the symbol of superman flying high in his cape. It’s a whole bunch of things being shown, all great and terrible, so that the public can now consume as they wish. It’s upholding the literal lens. And by extension, the film is telling us something simple in turn: this is the world as we watch it.

Because, make no mistake, we WATCH superhero films. We are driven to. We are transfixed. And we hand them billions of dollars every year. But M. Night is after the fascinating and simple question of “why?” Because if you engage them as a pure viewer, we know they’re just metaphors. Sometimes the stories validate the intent of these comics and the simpler, quieter forms of heroism the world needs. But the film also takes such great care to identify the problems with the flashy, ugly, violent, and wild id of how “framing oneself as a comic book character” can have such terrifying consequences. But where the MCU often likes to avoid such complexities, M. Night’s trilogy is trying to shine a light on them from minute one. Unbreakable predicts the problems. Split IS the problems. And Glass is a brazen attempt to reckon with all of it in as anti-climactic-yet-morally-responsible way as possible.

But the thing that perhaps most fascinating of all is that I can’t quite be sure of any of this.

Because I don’t think that everything I’ve said in this essay has perfect semiotical coherence. He’s just too much of an instinctual filmmaker, who bounces between cerebral musings and unchecked gut work, for me to be certain. But that’s also part of the reason I’m so tickled by the possibility of it all. Maybe he really is stuck between human caution and an objectivist streak. I don’t know. Because, in the end, M. Night Shyamalan is many things. He’s a herald, a gambler, a Hitchockian heir, a Hollywood King, turned pariah, turned scrappy underdog. He’s the Mayor of Philly movies. A writer of clunky dialogue and a master of weirdness. And with this superhero series, as much as it is harder to watch, the thing I like best is that he is the thief of indulgence. But in being so overt about it, he’s practically BEGGING you to try and take all apart and think for yourself. The final images of people watching on screens are all part of the 20 years of visual clues at play here. They are prisms and reflections, much like shards of glass flying in directions, refracting against the ending credits. He knows we can invent a million reasons to validate or reduce what we have seen here. But that’s fine. Because M. Night also knows something more important: For all the worries about what we WANT out of superheroes and the expectations that come from wanting them to be a little too real…

The real magic is in the watching. Because superheroes aren’t real. Which means there is sheer joy in watching something amazing. Something wouldn’t be possible without movies. And because the events are taking place on a screen before us, it is PRECISELY what gives us the ability to reflect on them. For all of Ellie’s fears of absolutist thinking, the real reason we tell these myths is because they are clear thematic frameworks to view yourself through - much like the characters do in the films. I mean, there’s a reason that they all come back to more organic, grounded places by the end. And for all the clunk, I think these films get at the heart of that idea more directly, and in a way, far more effectively than all the other big cinematic universes put together. And If that’s not a reason to love M. Night’s work…

I don’t know what else there could be.

<3HULK