Harrumph File #057 02.27.2011_M. Night Sillyman & why his movies suck ass

     Hitchcock, Kubrick, Tarantino.  All names that can bring fear, amazement, and squeamishness to movie audiences worldwide.  Another director also brings these emotions out; except he brings fear to actors who get trapped into one of his on screen monstrosities; amazement to producers who then see that any ‘tard with a camera can make a film; and squeamishness to investors who don’t want to see their millions eaten up by crappy storylines.  Of course, I’m talking about M. Night Sillyman.

     So, where did this clown come from?  Normally we would say something like “a village somewhere is missing its idiot,” but in this case, unfortunately for the rest of the world, a Bengal tiger somewhere missed its evening meal.  Now, of course his films are crappy; we’ll get to that in a minute.  What I want to point out right now is his annoying habit of making a cameo in each of his films.  Is he serious?  He can’t even come up with his own bit; he’s got to copy the master, Alfred Hitchcock?

Maybe not indian-givers, but surely copycats.

     C’mon, Sillyman, can’t you think for yourself?  Make up your own mark to leave for posterity.  You know, have someone in each of your films carry a four-leaf clover, or have a penguin wearing a top hat walk through each of your movies.  The point is, it would be your mark, not just an asterisk on Hitchcock’s Wikepedia page.  What’s next, you gonna move into Hitchcock’s old house, or buy a cemetery plot next to his, or buy his old Studebaker?  *Sigh* Maybe it’s not Sillyman’s fault for being a copycat.  Maybe it’s a cultural thing.  After all, they call India’s film industry “Bollywood.”  Heck, there’s probably even a lame Bollywood sign on the hills overlooking Mumbai (speaking of Mumbai, why did they feel it necessary to change its name from Bombay?  I mean, what’s really the point?) *Sigh* I really didn’t want this to degenerate into a slam on India, that’ll come in a later Harrumph.  Let’s get back on point, shall we?

     So, why do actors cringe when they see Sillyman’s number on the caller I.D.?  Simple; they’re risking their careers every time they step into on of his “M. Night-mares.”  You know, it takes Bruce Willis two hours worth of our misery before he figures out he’s one of the “dead people” the creepy little kid sees.  You’d think he would’ve figured it out a lot sooner during all the one-way conversations he was having.  Lame.

     Hey, if I told you that I had a plan to invade a planet that was covered, oh… let’s say 70% with acid; and the denizens of said planet actually drink this acid and have it piped into their homes and swimming pools; and, acid rains from the sky & acid is present in every living creature that you touch, sometimes perspiring out of the native’s skin; what would you say?  Maybe you’d say something like: “idiot, why don’t we invade the dry planet next door?”  Sometimes some people just don’t see the “signs,” even when they’re right in front of their face.

     I’m going to take my family & friends and buy up some land; gonna build a fence around it; convince the government to block off the airspace overhead; tell our kids there are monsters in the woods to keep them from sneaking away; and live like it’s 1790 in peace & quiet.  Yeah, right.  First of all, the government ain’t gonna close airspace for a few million dollars.  It would cost the airlines much more to go around the blocked off airspace.  Besides, they’re gonna want to fly military and lifeguard aircraft through there too; not to mention the idiot private pilot who just got his license and doesn’t know what he’s doing or where he’s going.  It won’t be the 1790’s very long when a Piper Cub that ran out of gas plops into the middle of your outdoor community dinner, will it?

     Oh, and that wall you built around the perimeter?  You know, the one a blind girl is able to get over near the end of the film?  What’s to prevent a few rambunctious teenagers from climbing over that wall and having a kegger on your 1790’s front lawn?  Or maybe a careless smoker who tosses a lit cigarette into your woods and starts a forest fire?  Is that the point where you explain to your kids what a firebombing helicopter is?  “Oh, it’s just one of King George’s toys… Hey look here, I made a rockin’ chair!”  OMG… lame.

     Finally, his latest “masterpiece,” where plants release biotoxins, causing people to commit suicide enmasse.  With this particular monstrosity Sillyman has lost all remaining credibility.  Plants decide to “teach us a lesson” for polluting the earth.  And, after killing millions, they back off, leaving us to ponder their “warning.”  One of the last scenes shows the main character dropping his kid off for school as if everything’s now all a-ok!  All right, let’s say it really happened.  After seeing all your friends killed by pissed off shrubberies, would you ever let your kid out of your sight again?  Would you live in a house surrounded by beautiful, but vindictive green lawns (and would you ever mow that lawn again just to live in fear of death at the hands of a blade of grass that you just sliced in half?) and stately, but mad-as-hell-at-people trees ready to strike at the drop of a leaf, or would you hole up in a bunker eating canned veggies and chili for the rest of your life?  Of course, the film ends with another biotoxin release in France.  At least the plants do the rest of us a favor by whacking the Frenchies a good one.  If only Sillyman would take up residence in Paris… now that would be a happy ending!  Harrumph…