Paul Giamatti stars as Cleveland Heep, a sad sack maintenance
man who works at The Cove, an apartment complex with a colorful assortment of
residents. Speaking with a stutter, Heep is an instantly sympathetic sort of man
who always tries to do the right thing. On an evening when the nation is on the
brink of war, Heep is keeping watch over the complex’s swimming pool. Apparently,
somebody has been sneaking into the pool after the 7 pm closing time and taking
a swim. When Heep does catch somebody in the act of illicitly swimming, in his
haste to catch them, he trips and falls into the water, which proves to be a
near-fatal incident when he slips underwater in an unconscious state.
When he wakes up, Heep finds himself back in his caretaker’s cottage, with his
rescuer sitting on the sofa across from him. It’s a young woman, who’s naked
save for the fact that she’s wearing one of Heep’s shirts. Her name is Story,
and she turns out to be a Narf, or a sea nymph, from the Blue World. She has
come to our world to seek out the one person who will change our world for the
good. Her mission is to give him a good, tingly feeling about himself. No, she’s
not a high-priced call girl, but a sea nymph who has come to participate in the
Great Awakening of Man--if she doesn't get killed and eaten by the scrunt that's
stalking her. Mmmm, ok....
I wanted to like this one, I really did. Paul Giamatti turns in his usual
terrific performance, and Bryce Dallas Howard, who was so good in
The Village, is appropriately otherworldly as Story, yet she doesn’t really do
anything here but sit around and look concerned. The film’s plot was reportedly
a bedtime story that writer/director M. Night Shyamalan told his children. Yet
perhaps some stories are so personal that they should remain private, shared
only between loved ones. Maybe some stories are simply better told to children
in the quietness of a bedroom at night; rather than be translated to the big
screen, where--despite the efforts of a marvelous cast and crew--it comes across
as nothing more than the confused babble of a tale that feels like it was made
up in a heated rush as it goes along.
And what’s with this trend of film directors who think they can act? M. Night
Shyamalan is a talented writer/director, and he can be forgiven for this major
misfire, but what prompted him to cast himself in the role of the guy whose book
changes the world? It’s one thing when directors like Hitchcock give themselves
little cameos in their films, but to play a major supporting part in a cast that
consists of such acting talent as Paul Giamatti, Jeffrey Wright, Bob Babalan and
Mary Beth Hurt? Next to these acting heavyweights, Shyamalan looks woefully
inexperienced. Better if he’d stick to working his cinematic magic behind the
camera and let real thespians handle the acting chores. --SF
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