Mehnificent

There’s a moment in Abel Ferrara’s “King of New York” when Christopher Walken strolls through a gloomy, blue-lit hallway, hair slicked, cheekbones gleaming, eyes burning with the privilege of a man who’s read the end of the story and knows he’s the only one left standing. Walken gives a performance so electrically odd you half expect the camera to tilt, or for the rest of the movie to collapse into a pile of glittering dust. And at times it almost does, but not for the reasons Ferrara might have intended.

Why is it that M. Night Shyamalan, who once roped us in with dead people whispering in the suburbs and left us breathless with a simple color-red, now insists on leading us into suspense-free rooms where the walls seem made of cardboard and the only thing at stake is your patience? Knock at the Cabin (2023) is his latest parlor trick gone flat—a film that opens the curtain on big, end-of-the-world parables only to serve up a dish that’s tepid, tidy, and quietly deflating.