The Village

By Mark Stokes
8-15-04

We are The Village people

Though M. Night Shyamalan claims not to embrace any particular religion, he increasingly incorporates spirituality into his films.
In The Sixth Sense, he broaches the existence of a supernatural realm; in Unbreakable, it’s the diametrical relationship between good and evil; Signs is about belief in a greater power. In nearly every major religion, these three truths work as ladder rungs that lead to a higher understanding of our relationships with the divine. The Village, following this natural progression of spiritual depth, becomes a warning for the faithful in any of these religious groups.
The film introduces us to a simple, peaceful community of homesteaders who work hard without grumbling, corporately mourn the death of a child and share all their meals on the front lawn, Pilgrim-style. We soon realize that all is not right as two villagers see a pretty red flower, panic and instantly bury it. Apparently, an unknown menace living in the surrounding woods hates that color. This menace also keeps the villagers from entering those woods and making contact with the outside world.
Though The Village seems deeper than Shyamalan’s previous films, his characteristic cinematic edge is dwindling. His systematic shift from suspenseful ghost story to allegorical period piece seems to confine the writer/director, forcing him to focus on only those elements essential to complete the allegory. The Hitchcockian suspense and Shyamalanian twists are still there, but they’re either less dramatic than his previous films or they’ve become too familiar for the audience.
One thing I admire about The Village is Shyamalan’s use of understatement. Through visual subtleties and subdued, proper dialogue reminiscent of Oscar Wilde’s plays, the film creates an intricate story that unobtrusively flows like a delicate stream. In one scene, for instance, Edward (William Hurt) talks to his daughter about romance. In the background, children inconspicuously walk by as if they’re just extras on the set. In the next scene, though, they become our point of focus as they inch closer to the woods. Interestingly enough, this lauded subtlety also becomes a weakness, causing the average viewer to leave the theater thinking, “That’s it?” instead of the intended, “What anguish that man must’ve gone through to put such painstaking detail throughout the film!”
What The Village may lack in pulse-pounding action, it makes up for in content. Rated PG-13, the film has no profanity, no sexuality and minimal violence, yet it still portrays a wide spectrum of believable emotions. Lucius (Joaquin Phoenix) and Ivy (Bryce Dallas Howard, daughter of director Ron Howard) are the center of a touching love story that pushes them beyond fear. Howard’s mesmerizing portrayal of an intuitive blind girl is matched only by Adrien Brody’s portrayal of Noah, her mentally-handicapped admirer.
The main message, though, centers on the oppressiveness of fear and a group’s exploitation of that fear. The villagers’ fear of the unknown makes them perfectly content in their safe little bubble, refusing to interact with the rest of humanity. They have unity and peace, and they see no need to share it with the undeserving outside world.
In the same way, Christians are called to “be in the world but not of it”
(Romans 12), though our motto has become “be a cheap imitation of the world.”
Christian music, film and T-shirts can be good things (assuming that these are done creatively), but too much emphasis on Jabez jogging shoes and Kingdom Kool-Aid can easily lead us further into exclusivity and capitalist Christianity. It seems the more comfortable we become with our church environment (or monster-encircled village), the more difficult it is to leave that environment and be productive in the outside world.
Don’t get me wrong–Christians are definitely called to a higher standard in pursuit of intimacy with God. That intimacy is our very reason for existence (1Corinthians 1:9). Closeness with Christ, however, shouldn’t mean the alienation of the rest of humanity. That is the antithesis of the Great Commission.
Though it’s important to surround ourselves with Christians and “not forsake the gathering of the believers,” (Hebrews 10:25), it’s equally important to “go ye therefore” (Matthew 28:19). To some, these last words of Christ mean we must occasionally descend from our mountaintops, preach hellfire-and-brimstone and expect the vile sinners to beg us to save their souls.
Jesus built genuine relationships. He wasn’t present just during election years or when He felt the world needed to hear His stance on the latest national controversy. It’s been said that “they don’t care what we know until they know that we care.” Jesus lived by this creed.
While He dined with tax collectors, prostitutes and the impoverished, we are called to reach out in love to the homeless, the homosexuals and the disenfranchised. Were Jesus a member of the village, no legion of lurking monsters could keep Him from bolting for those woods. His passion for the sick (as opposed to the healthy [Mark 2:17]), would be too intense to hold him back.
Like the residents of the village, we have not been given a spirit of timidity (2 Timothy 1:7). We’ve just seemed to somehow acquire it. We remain in the cozy township of shallow Christianity, spouting our own language as we devolve into cookie cut-outs of the latest mega-church trend.
Perhaps if we stepped into the unknown forest beyond the walls of the church, what we claim to so heartily believe would actually be challenged. I say it's about time.