THE SIXTH SENSE

We were used to a lot of action and noise in the 1990s. The Michael Bay’s and Roland Emmerich’s ruled the roost back then, so much so, that when M. Night Shyamalan came onto the scene it was disquieting in a different way. Thoughtful, focussed, interesting. It forced you to become involved with the characters and their tragedies. I remember seeing the poster for it the first time and honestly expecting to see something like End of Days where Willis would have to save the kid from the Devil. Instead, The Sixth Sense ushered in an era of ‘elevated horror’ that we’re still thriving in today (The Babadook, Hereditary, The VVitch, Relic).

Watching it again (ironically the sixth time for me) was an emotional experience. There is a lot of pain that sits front and center in its two hours — with Cole, his mother, Malcolm, his wife. Not to mention the supporting cast: an unrecognizable Donny Wahlberg as the haunted kid in the beginning; Mischa Barton’s sick specter and her wounded father (what a sequence that was, watching him realize his wife is slowly poisoning the children). It reminded me an okay movie will entertain you despite its faults, a good movie will entertain you with something to say or relate to, but a great movie goes the distance by having some kind of soul in it.

The Sixth Sense is full of soul. Brimming over with it — so much so that for two decades, every Shyamalan release still has “from the writer/director of The Sixth Sense” attached to its marketing. But let’s not get into The Lady in the Water or The Happening, or even the horrible, horrible misstep that was Glass. He’s earned his place in the pantheon of great movies with THE SIXTH SENSE. Revisit it; you won’t be sorry.