Tone management is everything here. The performances all have an odd stilted quality that really fits the film’s overall implacable mood: less a thriller and more a dreamy, forlorn tragedy. The Shyamalan twist is... quite a lot to swallow, but it gels emotionally; a fitting conclusion for a town whose existence feels like a mirage from the outset.
“Life is the ultimate unreliable narrator.”
First act is a hoot; not since The Book of Henry have foolhardy confidence, pseudo-profound platitudes, and nonsensical narrative twists intersected so immaculately. Then, it keeps on going for another hour-and-a-half in a stunningly boring “we’re all connected” story that feels like Iñárritu directed a Hallmark movie.