Didn't have room in my A.V. Club review to mention the part where a cop says "I've been doing this job for 45 years and I've never seen anything *this* crazy." Almost bumped it up half a grade for that old chestnut.
Both relieved and a little disappointed to discover that I wasn’t the only one to see more Shyamalan than Kubrick or Tarkovsky in this imperfect space odyssey. The clunky dialogue and thin characterizations, the undeniable formal pleasures, the secondhand Spielberg family dynamics, the gooey New Age spirituality—all feel like vintage M. Night. And the twisty climax is swing-away-Merrill ridiculous, overpowering any emotional truth with the sheer power of its absurdity.
I’m right down the middle on this one, to…