Michael Suarez
Sometime in late 2010, I wrote a lengthy unpublished essay about how a series of M. Night Shyamalan’s films were a reaction—conscious or unconscious—to the events of 9/11. It began with Signs, which dealt with a lot of people’s reactions to the immediate aftermath of the events of that tragic day, mostly how so many were glued to the television or found themselves discussing theories of what happened. There was Lady in the Water, which was about an unspoken desire to hope for more in this world than the horrible stuff that’s out there seemingly all the time. Finally, The Happening explored 9/11 directly.
In the summer of 2004, the United States of America was amping up for a presidential election that would ultimately see incumbent George W. Bush elected once again. The election was omnipresent that summer and the movies were no exception. Hollywood produced quite a few political films, including but not limited to The Day After Tomorrow, Jonathan Demme’s remake of The Manchurian Candidate, and M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village. To me, the latter remains one of the more emotionally scathing explorations of the post-9/11, War on Terror administration that rarely gets discussed.
Spoilers are coming, so if you’re reading this and haven’t seen the film, you’ve been warned. The Village is about a community that lives in the woods. This “village” is not what it appears, as it turns out to be a ruse from those in charge. Though appearances would seem to put the timeline of the film sometime in the 1800s, it actually takes place in the present day. The elders of the village got together many years before the start of the film and decided to form a community that they could control.
The purpose of this deceit seems to have its root in a positive place. The elders lost loved ones to violence and simply wanted to live their lives, and those of the families they chose to raise, in a place where there is no violence. Shyamalan asks whether good intentions matter when those in charge lie in an effort to keep us, the citizens, safe. At what point is it okay for a government to strip its citizens of their freedom? Is it ever okay?
In 2004, the country wasn’t very far from the Patriot Act, a document that, in part, allowed for enhanced surveillance in the name of national security. The elders in The Village aren’t so much concerned with keeping a close watch on everyone as they are with doing whatever is necessary to ensure their community is safe, even electing to not take certain measures that could very well save citizens of the village, as is implied by the death of August Nicholson’s son before the film’s start.
I do understand where the elders are coming from, in the sense that if given the opportunity, I might very well want to establish a society I believe is superior to the one I am currently in. This is in theory. In actuality, the elders have not succeeded. Sure, there are no weapons, let alone guns or bombs in the village. However, people still die. While progress could very well help August’s son, Noah Percy (Adrian Brody), and even Lucius Hunt (Joaquin Phoenix), by denying truths to the citizens of the village, the elders are complicit in unnecessary deaths and traumas. Just how much better is their village than the world they left behind?
That’s the question, though, isn’t it? During the film’s emotional climax, Edward Walker (played so well by William Hurt that he deserved an Oscar nomination, in my opinion) considers this very question. After he’s told the rest of the elders that he made the unilateral decision to send his blind daughter Ivy (Bryce Dallas Howard in her breakthrough role) into the world to find the medicine that can save Lucius’ life, Edward is confronted by a few of the others. When told that he “jeopardized everything [they had] made,” he launches into a powerful speech:
WILLIAM: Who do you think will continue this place, this life? Do you plan to live forever? It is in them that our future lies. It is in Ivy and Lucius that this…this way of life will continue. Yes, I have risked. I hope I am always able to risk everything for the just and right cause. If we did not make this decision, we could never again call ourselves innocent. And that, in the end, is what we have protected here—innocence. That, I’m not ready to give up.
As if that weren’t enough, August steps in, after having been quiet for much of the film to say this:
AUGUST: Let her go. If it ends, it ends. We can move towards hope. It’s what’s beautiful about this place. We must not run from heartache. You know, my brother was slain in the towns. The rest of my family died here. Heartache is a part of life. We know that now. Ivy’s running toward hope. Let her run. If this place is worthy, she’ll be successful in her quest.
Alas, Ivy is successful, and so The Village ends on a bittersweet note. On the one hand, Ivy returns with what is needed to save Lucius’ life. On the other hand, the elders unanimously decide to keep the village going, to continue their, as Edward tells his daughter, “Farce.” The words from Edward and August ring hollow as James Newton Howard’s masterful (and Oscar-nominated) score kicks in over the end credits. Such are politicians, which is ultimately who the elders are. Individuals who say one thing and do another. Perhaps that is a cynical view, but it’s one the film puts forth.
Of course, it was a cynical time in the summer of 2004, at least for those who did not support the Bush administration, or the War on Terror in general. It wouldn’t be until Shyamalan’s next film, the criminally disrespected Lady in the Water, that he would see things more optimistically, albeit in a more hopeful and fantastical than realistic way. With The Village, Shyamalan wants to confront those in power. This even extends beyond government and politics.
The elders are parents, and I can see Shyamalan coming to terms with the idea that sometimes parents have to lie to their children in the name of protection. The film doesn’t skirt this but tackles it head-on. Lucius knows his mother keeps secrets from him, and he recognizes that Edward Walker hides his true feelings from his mother. He tells her this midway through the film. And Ivy is practically disgusted when her father tells her that “Those We Don’t Speak Of” aren’t real but a lie to keep the village from venturing out into the world. Again, in the name of safety.
Yet, as Edward confesses to his daughter, the weight of his lies brings him to tears. He is not happy that he’s lied to the village, specifically his daughter. His belief in safety is most important, though. I suppose I can admire the sacrifice of his own morality for the greater good, but not much. I’m afraid I ultimately have to disagree with Edward and the elders.
Even the name of the creatures in the forest aligns with the film’s central thesis. “Those We Don’t Speak Of” implies half-truths or no truths at all. There is no room for falsehoods and lies. To not speak of something suggests not giving something power, but the opposite is true. That the creatures are referred to this way tells the citizens of the village to not give them any mind. To do so would spark questions, and the elders do not want this.
Those in power do not like questions. Critical thinking is the enemy. I believe the elders love Lucius. He is quiet, but also kind and loyal. Still, he asks questions. He wants to venture out of the village the way a lot of protagonists in these kinds of stories want to leave their homes. Scare tactics and blame are ways the elders try to keep him in his place. Lucius steps into the woods, and he needs to feel the weight of the so-called consequences of doing so. And it seems to work.
Lucius finally confesses his feelings to Ivy, and they are to be wed. Tragedy inevitably strikes with Noah violently attacking an unsuspecting Lucius with a blade, and it is Ivy who seeks to leave the village to get medicine to save her love. She is blind, and the cynical way to look at this detail is to say that the only way for a citizen to gain agency is to not be able to see everything. Because of her condition, she doesn’t realize that it’s Noah who attacks her in the forest and not a creature. As such, even though she is privy to the lie perpetrated by the elders, she doesn’t know the full truth. In the end, those in power are able to stay in power.
Since I’m not a cynical person, I can see things a little differently. I’ve spent a lot of time on cynicism and its relation to the milieu of 2004, but even then, I focused on the film’s love story. Shyamalan is not a one-note storyteller. Everyone’s reaction may vary, so not everything will work on audiences. Still, The Village has a lot to say about power, government, politics, trust, and safety, but it also has plenty to say about love, bravery, and connection.
Lucius and Ivy’s relationship is the important part of the film to me. Here are two people who have known one another their entire lives. Ivy is perceptive but blind. Lucius is a good citizen but has questions. Together, they’re kind of perfect. I don’t know how their future will be, but I do know they have the tools necessary for real leadership. What does that mean in relation to the future of the village? I’m not sure.
Together, these two understand that it is important to keep people safe, but at the same time, fear is not the way. I know it’s cliched at this point, but I do feel like, even though it doesn’t conquer all, love comes close to that. The village isn’t necessarily safe because Edward and the rest of the elders live in the middle of a wildlife reserve, lying to everyone that it’s the 1800s and not the early 2000s. They’re safe because they look out for one another. That said, Noah doesn’t. He’s selfish and attempts to kill Lucius because he’s not looking out for anyone but himself. That he’s mentally challenged could hurt this claim, but I’d argue that Noah knew exactly what he was doing.
August is correct. Loss is a part of life. I don’t like it, but it happens. I will die one day. It might be due to an illness, natural causes, an accident, or violence. I don’t know how, but it will happen. Those in power know this as well. They have the means and ability to ensure our safety and to help us not suffer in life and in death.
The trouble is whether we can trust those in power. Is it cynical to simply ask whether those in power really have our best interests at heart? I don’t believe so. Lucius is correct in this regard, too. Those in power have secrets, and we need to know them. We simply do.
Overall, though, I like to think Ivy has it down. As she tells Lucius early in the film:
IVY: I see the world, Lucius Hunt. Just not as you do.
Fair enough. Ivy understands that it’s not simply about what you see. It’s about what you feel. She describes how everyone has a color, an impression. When she finds Lucius dying, she tells her father that she cannot see his color. In a sense, the color is someone’s life. For Ivy, it’s not about what a person says but what they do. It’s not about why someone lies, just that they do lie. It’s about a person’s ethos.
If The Village is about confronting those in power, it seems what’s most important is what someone does with their power. Does this mean stripping away rights in the name of safety, or does it mean lying in the name of safety? Neither option seems all that concerned with love, caring, and community. M. Night Shyamalan has a lot to say in this film, and although he might not provide all the answers, I like to think he provides the clearest one. Whether in the 1800s or today, we just need to look out for one another.
