Signs DVD Buena Vista Home Video   Signs CD James Newton Howard Hollywood Records     Reviewed by Tony Buchsbaum	M. Night Shyamalan burst onto the Hollywood scene with a movie few people expected to do the blockbuster business it did: The Sixth Sense. In addition to the film's huge grosses, it also made Shyamalan a household name, recreated Bruce Willis' career, and made us all commit to memory the now-classic line, "I see dead people." It was a smart, masterfully made film that caught everyone by surprise, using a concept that was all but out of left field. Shyamalan's follow-up, Unbreakable, once again starred Bruce Willis, this time as an everyman security guard with a young son and a strained marriage. The man is the only survivor of a train-wreck that opens the film, and soon he comes to realize, begrudgingly, that he is a real-life super-hero. He is unbreakable. Very much like The Sixth Sense, but also completely different, Unbreakable turned the notion of storytelling inside-out, introducing us to a man who didn't know who or what he really was until circumstances forced him to see the light. Signs of things to come? Now comes Signs, a movie that seems to be about crop signs (if you believe the ads and the poster and the hype) but is really about faith, both lost and regained. The film stars Mel Gibson as a recently-widowed priest in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. He and his young son and daughter -- and his brother, played by Joaquin Phoenix -- live on a farm near a cornfield. And one morning, Gibson wakes to find his kids in that field, marveling at the crop circles that appeared there overnight. Soft-voiced hero. Kids. Cornfield. Sounds like Field of Dreams. If you leave a mystery, they will come. And come, they will -- on spaceships, from God-knows-where, to invade Earth, gas us all and take the planet for all it's worth. This would all be terribly grim if it weren't for Shyamalan's gift for diversion. For Signs isn't really about any of that. It's not about the crop signs. Or the alien in the neighbor's pantry. Or the horror that unfolds on television as other crop signs are found and as the UFOs appear. No. Signs is about this one family, and most of the action takes place in and around their house. It's as if the rest of the world doesn't exist, except in the news. It's the reverse of Independence Day. Here the epic is entirely emotional, with the fright and desperation of the four main characters symbolizing the fright and desperation of the world's general population. Because the film is less about the invaders than about the characters, their stories come to matter much more. We learn that Gibson's priest has renounced his title; his faith vanished after his wife was killed in a brutal car accident. We learn that Phoenix was once a legendary baseball player who lost it all. We learn that the little boy (who has asthma) seems to know how aliens communicate. And we learn that the little girl has a thing about leaving half-empty glasses of water all over the house. Now, from here on in, I have to assume you've seen the movie. If you haven't, maybe you should just skip the rest of this article and go out and buy the DVD. But for those who don't mind a spoiler or two, here's why I think Signs, in the end, indicates something other than what its director intended. The master's near-disaster Shyamalan is a master storyteller. Few filmmakers know how to manipulate a story, wringing from it every last drop of suspense and character. He's brilliant. But inasmuch as this movie is about faith, I was disappointed to learn, simply by watching it, how little faith he had in his audience. To wit, he spends a lot of time showing us why Gibson's faith waned. We see, in multiple flashbacks, the scene of his wife's gruesome death. We also hear him talk about that night, and what his wife's last words were, and why what happened extinguished his belief in God. We see, at the beginning, Phoenix running down the steps of the carriage house -- not the main house -- on his way out to the kids in the field. We learn, many scenes later, about his prowess with a baseball bat. And we learn he still has his famous bat, mounted on the wall. We see, as I mentioned, the son's asthma. And we see, again and again, his sister's inability to finish a freaking glass of water. Before the end of the film, we get it. We get the whole faith thing. We know about the asthma. We're as sick of the water glasses as Gibson himself is. So when the big climactic scene is upon us, when the alien appears in the living room, its creepy gas emitter poised over the asthmatic son's nose, when Gibson is desperate for an idea that will save his family, this is what happens: First, Gibson remembers key bits of information and we see every flash of his memory: his wife's last words (which we have already heard); pieces of a late-night conversation we've already seen, when he and his brother talked about faith; and snips from other earlier scenes, now aligned just so, in case we missed something (which, believe me, we didn't). Second, Gibson tells Phoenix to use his bat to kill the alien -- using his dead wife's exact words -- and Phoenix reaches for the bat, mounted on the wall. Third, Phoenix uses the bat on said alien, causing him to fall, knock into furniture and topple those glasses of water -- and the water, it turns out, burns the alien. (Imagine!) Fourth, Gibson carries the unconscious son outside. And as emotional as it all is, when the kid coughs back to life it's no surprise. Because of course he was fine; he had asthma, so none of the nasty alien gas could get into his lungs. They'd closed up, thankfully. A disturbing lack of faith Now, don't get me wrong. I loved Signs. I can take all its predictability, but what makes me wince is how heavy-handed it is. And that has everything to do with Shyamalan's faith -- or lack of faith -- in his audience. It's as if he didn't think we'd get it, and that made the movie seem terribly arrogant. As if he thinks he's smarter than we are. On top of that, there's the baseball bat. Though I was wrapped up in the action of it all, here's where I dropped out. Here's where Shyamalan lost me. Because the bat, mounted on the wall in the house, makes zero sense. After all, it isn't Gibson's bat; it's Phoenix'. Therefore, it ought to be, logically, in Phoenix' house, not the main house. At the start of the film, a big point is made that Phoenix lives in the carriage house -- but now his bat is in the main house. No. Not possible. Not in the beautifully anal world of M. Night Shyamalan. How can I love a film that clearly has so many things wrong with it? Because there are so many things right with it. The quality of the cast and their acting. The feeling that Shyamalan brings to his filmmaking, an overall quality, a real loving care. A note about the music The thing I loved most about this movie is the score by James Newton Howard. A no-holds-barred nod to Bernard Herrmann, the score is built on a stabbing three-note motif which is used and built upon in every conceivable way. The opening title sequence sets up the film as one with surprises and shocks at every turn. And the last ten minutes, during all those scenes that I find so infuriating, features music that's among the best I heard in 2002. It set up the drama, it turned on itself, it went from violence to highly emotional love. It soared. It's a virtuosic score, one of the year's very best. A first-class DVD The DVD presentation is terrific. Though not the expected two-disc set, the disc is filled with goodies nonetheless. The film looks wonderful -- sharp, with great color balance and great sound. And the extras are on the ball: an hour-long making-of documentary that can be played all at once or by chapter, with focus on the sets, the music, the crop circles and more; a storyboard sequence; deleted scenes and more. Signs, for all its flaws, is the third great film in a row from M. Night Shyamalan. There's no filmmaker in Hollywood who has a voice anywhere close to his. It's a voice that comes from being a film buff as well as a filmmaker. In a moviegoing environment rife with sequels, remakes and one-dimensional films determined to glorify violence, sex, or offensive music, Shyamalan stands among a select few who truly care about entertaining us. Imperfect as the result might be, that's something worth applauding. | February 2003   Tony Buchsbaum is the author of Total Eclipse. At night he works on another novel and a screenplay. Days, he writes advertising copy in Lawrenceville, NJ, where he lives with his wife and sons.	Shyamalan is a master storyteller. Few filmmakers know how to manipulate a story, wringing from it every last drop of suspense and character. He's brilliant.