Apparently Bruce Willis's character can be broken by water. The title actually refers to a type of shatterproof ruler.

Aside from Bruce Willis's laboriously vapid demeanor and delivery in the film, he and Samuel L. Jackson could not for all of their acting capacity, give the tedious, self important plot much credibility. For a film claiming to be steeped in so much comic lore it takes painful care to avoid a great many things that might make a film inspired by comics interesting, like I dunno, an action sequence or dialogue from the "hero" (and I use that term gently) that doesn't make you wish he were a tragic hero. The film has a train wreck at the very beginning, and that level of catharsis, where movies engender on screen what people say about them is strikingly adept. Probably one of the most painful things written by critics about this film, is that a pretty large sub set of them disliked the film because they thought they needed to understand or appreciate comic methodology to understand this film. There isn't some mystical belief you need to subscribe to to make a comic good in your own mind, they can stand up for themselves. This is not a good exemplar of comics and I want to issue an apology to people that now think this is what comics embody: Lame plots that can become boring excuses for shitty directors to badly tell a story.

God bless you Mel Gibson, you passed on the Da Vinci Code.

I don't know a lot about aliens, and I'm no expert in how foreign societies would reach out to one another, but I think it's safe to say this movie was a piece of shit. My suspension of disbelief has never been so poorly manipulated by a film. M Night Shyamalan who started 2002 by phoning in this mistake of a movie, lets us know he's impervious to criticism, but also that he's impervious to the smell of his own waste by writing off all of his detractors with his special brand of arrogance. Personally I think we all had a valid point when many critics of Signs went, "What the fuck, why would they go to a planet made of water when it kills them?" or "They can fly a spaceship and jump over buildings but they can't work a door knob?", but that didn't worry Mr. Shyamalan at all, because the artist who has tasted success can taste no wrong, we simply must have misunderstood it or something. I'll tell you what I understood: A forgettable story about aliens coupled with bargain-bin theology.

This retard portrayed by Adrien Brody dies justly and as hilariously befitting a retard in the late 1800's.

I'd call him insufferable, but that would insult earth's population of spoiled children and car alarms going off at 3 in the morning. I'm not even sure what happened here, even from an angry onlooker's point of view this film was so rich in plot holes and garbage it was hard to know where to start making fun of it. As boring and predictable as this movie is, and as boiler plate as M Night makes his plots, he didn't even wait for the end to tell you that the monsters in the movie, were not actually monsters, but the elders scaring the people into doing what they wanted, a lesson well taught by almost every major religion on earth. I'm sure the blowhards among us might say, "maybe the elders were the 'monsters' for making the villagers believe that they lived in the late 1800's and were surrounded by blood thirsty rat people". But let me remind you this isn't a film dealing with the adversities of living under those conditions, it's a film about how everything works out for rich people (a view consistent for a man who lives on a 75 acre ranch) if you buy off enough politicians and sacrifice a retard (the highlight of the film) to prove a point. So if that's really the question, then we are being asked to judge a separate culture based solely on it being slightly unorthodox.

108 minutes of contrived, open mouth yawn.

Paul Giamatti petitioned Warner Brothers to get the name changed to: "I regret being in this piece of shit"

A magical spirit has to cross from our world back into her own fantasy while the monsters of her world try and prevent her from doing so, only with the aid of slow moving and rather dim apartment complex tenants can she accomplish this.

If you've ever wondered what a movie directed by someone so full of themselves, that they think anything they leave floating in a toilet is worthy enough to be smeared onto 98 minutes of film, do I have the flick for you. To be fair, its hard to imagine Mr. Shyamalan can be that conceited and self involved as a scriptwriter, but really the only other explanation for the magnitude of this abortion is that it was some kind of dare. How the hell else could you write a whole movie where the characters constantly speak their inner thoughts out loud, and dozens upon dozens of opportunities are taken to obviously explain the plot, and still not have it make much sense.

One bright spot in the movie was that there is a critic character who complains there aren't any original stories anymore, Bob Balaban, played by Mr. Shyamalan himself. To add this type of thing to your movie takes a special breed of pompous. In doing that it tells me three things:

1. M Night can actually hear the opinions of others.
2. Cares enough to respond to his detractors (critics being the bellwethers of that pack) by putting a cheap shot towards them in his latest wallow in his own corpulence.
3. But doesn't care enough to actually make a better film, just tries to point out that he isn't flawed, the ones who are pointing out his flaws are flawed, way to be man, way to be.