The Happening

the anomie and self-destruction of the US in the aughts parlayed into the more abstract catastrophes of a looming climate apocalypse, which itself only stands for an even more totalizing and unintelligible rejection of humanity by nature. particularly notable in Shyamalan’s oeuvre for the way it juxtaposes some of his bleakest moments of comedy (“my firearm is my friend!”, Wahlberg begging a plastic fern to spare him) with an increasingly potent motif of desperate touch which always antecedes loss. isolated and dying in the so-called heartland of America, people reduce themselves to guns probing through shuttered windows and parodies of domesticity, barricaded in model homes meant for no one and a false sense of propriety. the moment of catharsis is nothing more than stepping outside and noticing the wind on your skin and trusting that there is meaning in faith. you either feel this cinema in your bones or you don’t feel it at all

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