Lady in the Water - The Atlanta Journal-Constitution movie review

'Lady in the Water': A convoluted catastrophe

By ELEANOR RINGEL GILLESPIE
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

Nobody, not even the most jaded movie reviewer, wants to report that M. Night Shyamalan has, yet again, failed to live up to the promise of his extraordinary 1999 film, "The Sixth Sense."

But "Lady in the Water" isn't just another disappointment. It's a jaw-dropping catastrophe -- a picture so wrong-headedly intoxicated with itself you view it through an embarrassed haze.

Warner Bros. Pictures

'Lady in the Water'

The verdict: A washout.

Director: M. Night Shyamalan
Starring: Paul Giamatti, Bryce Dallas Howard, Freddy Rodriguez, Jeffrey Wright, Bob Balaban
Run time: 1 hour, 50 minutes.
Release date: July 21, 2006
Rating: PG-13 for some frightening sequences.
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This mortifying excuse for a fantasy film began as a bedtime story for Shyamalan's two young daughters. One imagines it was intended to put them to sleep. Unfortunately, with its slow pace and pretentiously convoluted storyline, it has somewhat of the same effect on an audience.

The movie takes place in a slightly dilapidated apartment complex, tended to by hang-dog handyman, Cleveland Heep (Paul Giamatti). Cleveland keeps hearing after-hours splashing in the pool. Daryl Hannah? Ariel? Flipper?

Nope, it's a narf (played with pale-faced determination by Bryce Dallas Howard).

A what?

A narf (Shyamalan has the same tin ear for names as George Lucas) is a sea nymph from another world who must return home before she's torn apart by scrunts, wolf-like creatures with grassy knolls on their backs and infrared eyes. Cleveland instantly figures out he and his assorted tenants are a part of her story (oh, her name is, wince, Story). And when he explains this to them, not one of them so much as asks Cleveland a single question. Like: Have you forgotten to take your meds today?

One of Shyamalan's themes is a kind of we-are-the-world message of brotherhood and pulling together. To that end, the complex is a United Nations microcosm of races, colors, creeds and nationalities. The cat lady with the Southern drawl. The annoyingly supercilious film critic (Bob Balaban, funny). A quintet of giggly Hispanic sisters in all shapes and sizes. An Indian brother and sister (played by Shyamalan and beautiful Sarita Choudhury). An elderly Jewish couple. The young Asian woman with a Britney wardrobe and a traditional mom who helpfully knows all about narfs and scrunks and ... oh, you don't really want to hear any more.

Frankly, if Jimmy Stewart had seen this bunch out of his rear window, he would've pulled the drapes.

Giamatti deserves some sort of Good-Sport-of-the-Year Award for pouring his goofy charm, his sadsack intensity and his innate likability into this nonsense. His co-star Howard gets off easier. All she has to do is shiver and look somewhat water-logged.

Actually, everything about "Lady in the Water" is all wet, from Shyamalan's utter failure to establish a credible mythology to the stereotyped characters to the leaden dialogue. (From the prologue's narration: "Once man and those in the water were linked. They inspired us ... But man did not listen very well.")

The filmmaker seems to have lost his gift for storytelling. The plot piles up on top of itself, like a breathless child making up a story at the dinner table. Or Jon Lovitz on the old "Saturday Night Live" -- "So, so, then, there's, like, one narf out of oh, a thousand narfs and this narf, um, is a really powerful narf. A madame narf. Yeah, that's the ticket."

At different times, several characters report that being in the narf's presence gives them a strange sensation. Like, pins and needles, they say. Come to think of it, I felt it too. My butt had gone to sleep.