The Village: The Scourge of "Community"

The following review was published originally on cinekklesia on November 17, 2006.

For the past several years, I have been hearing lots of talk about "community." In one sense, this talk stems from those with an ideological predisposition against individualism, geographic mobility, and—to use a term with a negative connotation—atomism. To take an ideological position about community means going beyond a mere acknowledgement of its existence; it means holding up community as a moral good, striving for community with intentionality, and even pursuing public policies that (supposedly) nurture interpersonal bonds.

As with so many discourses in the wider world, the focus on "community" has infiltrated church talk. Christians are, of course, to foster community with other believers, and it seems that some church leaders fear the United States' culture of "rampant individualism" and its negative effect on this basic Biblical principle. As such, it appears that Christian community as an explicit conversation/teaching topic has received a relatively robust airing in the past decade or so.

Yet, we must be wary of community, for as with any concept or institution, it has its dark side. M. Night Shyamalan's The Village (2004) tackles this dark side in the director's own peculiar way, and while this movie can grate heavily on one's nerves, it does raise some interesting questions. Set in a commune during, presumably, the 18th or 19th Century, The Village focuses on how the characters perceive their lives in relation to the outside world. They purposely live isolated, in the middle of a forest, so as to separate themselves from what they perceive as the violent, corrupt "city." In-between the city and their commune live many a dangerous creature, filling the residents with fear and ensuring that the local watchtower remains occupied every night.

After a violent crime is committed within this supposed haven of peace, one of the locals, Lucius Hunt (Joaquin Phoenix), lies in a serious medical state. In the middle of the forest, however, there obviously is no ready access to medication, so Lucius' blind fiancée, Ivy Walker (Bryce Dallas Howard), volunteers to cross the dreaded woodland into the decadent city in order to obtain medicine and save her man. Is it right to send a blind person on such a dangerous task? Will she make it back alive? (Cue melodramatic music here — as I said, The Village easily grates on one's nerves.)

I won't spoil the plot's specifics, but suffice it to say that things are not what they seem (this is, after all, a Shyamalan project). In addition, the town elders—in their near-rabid desire to keep everyone safe and to protect the "integrity" of their community—have failed to disclose some very important facts about the village. (I'm not a fan of Shyamalan, and as I noted, I found this movie far too melodramatic; however, I have to give the director credit for the clever, earth-shattering bomb that he drops at the end.)

The point at which we learn of the elders' deception is the point at which the concept of "community" starts to lose its moral stature. A community that is based on a lie stands on shaky ground: when one part of the edifice starts to come undone, then the overseers have to scramble (tell more lies) in order to make sure that the whole house of cards doesn't fall apart.

One could say that the elders should not be faulted for practicing utilitarian methods in order to protect the people they care about — after all, are they not ultimately serving a moral end? Do not the people under their care benefit? Unfortunately, the elders fail to take into account the reality of sin. Running away from the big, bad city does not mitigate evil — the violent crime committed in their midst should be evidence enough of that.

In addition, despite their attempts to protect the integrity of their community, the elders' deception automatically nullifies that integrity. Their actions remind me of the views of some secular conservatives — those who don't hold religious faith but who believe that religion is a "useful" tool for maintaining social order. Let the common people believe this superstition, goes this line of reasoning, since it encourages them to work hard, respect authority, and eschew crime. In this world, Social Order becomes the highest good, the god to be preserved at all costs. In the world of The Village, Safety is the god, and a little deception goes a long way in making sure that the god sticks around.

Of course, the secular conservative position should offend anyone with actual religious faith, for said position not only belittles faith, but it patronizes the faithful. Along a similar vein, the elders in The Village belittle and patronize the community they supposedly love. The fact that they alone know the secret behind the lie gives them an incredible amount of cognitive power over the other villagers, a power which ultimately demonstrates the elders' lack of respect for their charges' personhood, individuality, and agency. It's as though they taught the story of Santa Claus but never got around to the fact that nobody really lives at the North Pole.

Ultimately, The Village illustrates the problems with communities that are overly intentional. There is something to be said for communities that develop because people share similar beliefs and interests, rather than a desperate attempt to connect with others at all costs. In fact, the more that someone talks about "community," the more suspicious I become. Either the community he/she creates will be an arbitrary, cardboard replica of the real thing (and thus, will be doomed to fail), or he/she will want to isolate me from the rest of the world and make me a slave of a charismatic, yet corrupt, figurehead.

Is community life good? Yes! Is it Biblical? Absolutely! Should we pursue it at all costs and by any means? Our response should be a resounding "NO." Shyamalan's Village should convince us of that.