Unbreakable ★★★★½

Shyamalan using the back of a seat in an unbroken take as a physical gutter(comic)/cut(film) for a shot reverse shot then underscoring the subjectivity that's breaking the world apart and piecing it together a la sequential media is formal playful goodness, and everything else is the director's sadness pushed to a sort of limit and delivered with a whisper (still with formal playfulness intact). Because piecing two or more images together means traversing that refused space (the negated image) with a leap of faith, and Unbreakable is resoundingly doubtful when it comes to faith- it drips with the kind of melancholy that only comes with a lifetime of failure, but everyone in it knows they can sink even lower. Hence the apprehension- these people are too scared to look away lest the world's disappeared when they look back. Everything super in it is dark matter: the opening scene so intimate, the realisation that you've brought this poor innocent thing into the world that won't be able to cope, the pinpointing of a bad dream endured alone as the moment the world falls apart, it's so small but it ripples out to the infinite.

Significant directors of horror remove humanity from their films so as to throw the audience into cold water (making them more susceptible to scares and loneliness)- Unbreakable embodies the director's ability to chill and terrify while including so much humanity that the viewer can't help but weep throughout (fear intact, fear made worse). Creepy, clammy, and that rare frightening that gets into your bones.

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