M. Night Shyamalan’s back with a new taut thriller about the apocalypse…
Director: M. Night Shyamalan
Starring: Dave Bautista, Jonathan Groff, Ben Aldridge
Running time: 100 minutes
Knock at the Cabin takes a genre that feels surprisingly non-existent in modern day cinema, injecting it with so much energy that it becomes incredibly kinetic. Shyamalan wastes almost no time in getting things set up; the opening scene of the film introduces every key character and uses some amazing formal language to slowly build up tension. An early shot-reverse-shot conversation between the hulking and terrifying Leonard (Bautista, who is truly fantastic here), and innocent child Wen (Kristen Cui) immediately builds tension with some incredibly unnerving Dutch angles; making you feel like something terrible is going to happen only ten minutes into the film. Whilst everything feels like a throwback to the heyday of 90s thrillers, Shyamalan slowly peels back layers and morphs the film into something much more profound.
Wen’s parents — Eric (Jonathan Groff) and Andrew (Ben Aldridge) — must make a horrible choice. One of them must agree to be sacrificed in order to stop an impending apocalypse from claiming the lives of every single human besides them. Proclaiming this doomsday prophecy and enforcing this decision is a gang of four, led by Leonard, who feel both deep remorse and dedication to the task they have been given. Initially the group feel like a sadistic cult, but the film goes deeper into that; turning into a psychological examination of what happens to the human condition when faced with the extinction of humanity. What allows the film to escape the traditional home invasion trappings is that the invaders are not allowed to kill the victims. They must choose to do it themselves by their own free will, causing the antagonist's role to shift into convincing the victims that their cause is true and all-consuming.
Most notable throughout the film is the bountiful number of extreme close-ups in this film, which help capture the intensely palpable distress inflicted upon almost every character
Whilst the film's core concept feels totally absurd, Shyamalan takes the story and plays it out with such conviction and a level of earnestness that is rare to see in modern filmmaking. Whilst the film remains punctuated with well written comedy, there is no winking or self-referential nodding (something that reeks of insincerity). This incredibly direct approach to telling idiosyncratic tales — something that remains constant throughout his oeuvre — is probably one of the primary functions that cause his films to be so divisive. Knock at the Cabin is sold with such deep sincerity that it becomes hard to not be overwhelmed by the extremely emotional story at its core; a story about love, sacrifice and family bonds. Alongside his dedication to maintaining this unwavering tone, he also brings a deep level of empathy to the story. No character exists to act as a joke or to be demonised. Shyamalan gives depth to each one and humanises each character enough that the sparse acts of violence that punctuate the film feel genuinely impactful.
It is refreshing to see a director who continues to believe in the power of visual storytelling. Many detractors of Shyamalan claim his dialogue and scripts are his weakest aspects, which remains to be a very boring critique, but on top of this the same people fail to acknowledge him as one the finest formalists in modern times. Knock at the Cabin is mostly told through how Shyamalan composes each frame, with every element carefully placed and each camera movement feeling fluid and meaningful. Most notable throughout the film is the bountiful number of extreme close-ups in this film, which help capture the intensely palpable distress inflicted upon almost every character. These close ups — combined with both the use of Dutch angles and intentional continuity breaks — make this film his most expressive yet, feeling like a lost Fritz Lang film. Backing the images is both: the crisp sound design which makes everything sound hard hitting, and the Herdís Stefánsdóttir’s beautiful score drenching the film with melancholy and tensity.
Over the past decade it has become harder to find true artistic visionaries who are able to work at a large scale level, and retain the stylistic flourishes that make them unique. Shyamalan, who has been self-financing his work since 2015, is able to continue to direct distinctive explorations of the human psyche that feel both incredibly personal and deeply humanistic. Whilst this film is unlikely to change people’s erroneous opinions on Shyamalan’s singular filmography, it is another example of one of America’s finest auteurs working on a level that most of his contemporaries have yet to achieve.
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