Lady in the Water (2006) — Review

Between resentment and redemption: A metafictional fantasy or a narcissistic fable by Shyamalan.

Credits: Warner Bros.

In mid-2005, shortly after the commercial success of The Village, M. Night Shyamalan was clashing with Disney over the production of his next film. The script — written by the director himself — was deemed confusing and self-indulgent, and was said to lack the appeal necessary to attract a wide audience. These and other “creative differences” between Shyamalan and the producers eventually led to a break with the studio, opening the door for competitor Warner Bros. to step in and finance the project. This marked the beginning of the film’s production — a moment that sparked growing doubts within the industry and among audiences regarding Shyamalan’s true artistic abilities as a director. Up to that point, he had enjoyed a string of relative hits like Unbreakable (2000), and critical acclaim for The Sixth Sense (1999). But with the release of Lady in the Water, he began to experience the consequences of being typecast by Hollywood — and not in a favorable way.

The film is a modern fantasy based on a bedtime story that Shyamalan originally created for his children, which he later turned into both a screenplay and a children’s book — conveniently released alongside the film as part of the marketing campaign. The protagonist is Cleveland (Paul Giamatti), a superintendent of an apartment complex who, one night, finds a young woman named Story — played by Bryce Dallas Howard — in the building’s pool. After offering her shelter, he discovers that she is a mythical creature who needs help fulfilling her mission before she can return home.

The plot itself is far less compelling than the final result achieved by Shyamalan, thanks to his storytelling skill. The mythology, along with the rules and information of the created universe, is orally relayed by a supporting character — deliberately presented in a convenient and arbitrary manner. The other characters accept the supernatural events without much resistance. At times, it feels like the script is “cheating,” introducing new rules whenever it sees fit to lead us where it wants. In practice, that is indeed the goal of every script; however, the so-called “correct” way is to manipulate the audience in a more natural and almost imperceptible manner. Once again, there’s a clear intention here to break with these conventions — the ones that dictate what is or isn’t acceptable in cinematic storytelling. Shyamalan wants to break with cynicism and, above all, with predictability — something already apparent in his earlier films. But although understanding that ambition may enhance one’s appreciation of the film, it doesn’t necessarily make it good.

Credits: Warner Bros.

The film’s biggest problem lies in its moments of self-awareness, which — although intentional — often express obvious ideas that add little depth to the film and at times even come off as childish. This occurs especially in scenes where characters openly verbalize Shyamalan’s views on film critics and what he perceives as their arrogance in dealing with the work they analyze. This criticism is mostly built around the character of a film critic, who becomes the target of lines such as, “What kind of person would be so arrogant as to presume the intentions of another human being?” In these types of dialogue, the script falters in its intent — embracing a kind of sarcasm that closely resembles the very cynicism Shyamalan claims to reject.

Despite these flaws, the narrative holds the viewer’s attention through the mystery in the plot, reinforced by immersive shot choices — with cameras positioned inside rooms and striking compositions that use reflections and creative framing. This immersion works because, through these choices, the director doesn’t just show the actors’ actions and dialogue, but also emphasizes the environment. The entire film takes place within the apartment complex, gradually building a diegetic space so familiar that, by the end, it feels as if we know which apartment belongs to each character — no matter where the camera is placed.

Credits: Warner Bros.

Another highlight — a shared merit between the director and the actors — lies in the emotional arcs of Cleveland and Story. Both characters are developed with minimal dialogue, but their stories are powerfully conveyed through performance and a script that is attentive to the majority of its characters. While Cleveland has a trauma to overcome, Story carries a responsibility she must accept. They support each other — along with a small team of fellow tenants — in their path toward healing. In addition, there’s a third thematic layer explored through Vick, a character played by Shyamalan himself. He is a writer whose work, according to Story’s predictions — as she also acts as a muse figure for artists — will influence the course of humanity. Casting himself in this role is what opens the film up to accusations of being self-indulgent. And while I don’t believe the idea is strong enough to be fully explored, I also don’t mind him positioning himself as the embodiment of that figure.

As a cinematic whole, Lady in the Water is an ambitious work that aims — and manages — to break away from the conventional norms of early-2000s studio filmmaking, something that becomes more evident in hindsight. The film also attempts to critique film criticism itself — or at least a part of it — but falters in the execution of that commentary. Still, its greatest achievement is, without a doubt, the establishment of a message about rebirth and redemption through art — more specifically, through fantastic storytelling. It reminds us of the transformative power of tales — whether through bedtime stories, a supernatural drama about life after death, or even a fantastical adventure set in the back corridors of an ordinary apartment building.

Rating: 3/5

Z.