Trap (2024) * – Seen at the Cinema

The nepo is in – resulting in an all-time calamitous vanity project. Not only has director M. Night Shyamalan chosen to devote a good 30 minutes of the running time to showcasing his daughter Saleka’s talents as a singer (and for I know she may be the next big thing) but has also decided that this movie would provide an ideal opportunity for her movie debut. On top of that, star Josh Hartnett has opted for a cartoonish portrayal of his character, all goggle eyes, wiggling eyebrows and over-the-top facial expression.

Having bored us to death for well over an hour, the director then opts to let fly with twist after nonsensical twist. Virtually every law enforcement person has uniform emblazoned with FBI, POLICE, or SWAT, but you might as well have branded them all as DUMBASS for all the sense they show. Despite theoretically having some kind of description of the serial killer known as The Butcher (top marks for originality), the cops proceed to pull out of a concert any number of people who bear no resemblance at all to each other.

The set-up, should you be remotely interested, sees Cooper (Josh Hartnett) taking teenage daughter Riley (Ariel Donoghue) to a sold-out concert by latest pop sensation Lady Raven (Saleka Night Shyamalen) only to discover the venue is crawling with cops and FBI hoping to ensnare said killer by the simple device of stopping all of the 3,000 male attendees as they leave unless in one of their random audience selections they happen upon the villain. Cooper is soon alert to the problem and finds clever ways to avoid detection, including convincing Saleka’s uncle (M. Night Shyamalen) whom he couldn’t know from Adam that his daughter has recovered from leukemia, the kind of sob story that will result in Riley being selected to join the singer on stage for one number.

Cooper then manages to nip out the back door by taking Lady Raven hostage. Though, wait for it, it turns out that the FBI have trained her about what to do in the event of such an occurrence, which is some psychobabble about behaving like his mother and telling him to stop being effectively (shades of Life of Brian) such a naughty boy. Turns out, too, his wife Rachel (Alison Pill) has harbored sufficient doubts about her husband that she’s alerted the police that the killer is going to be attending the concert, hence the manhunt, but not done the sensible thing of fully identifying him which, of course, would stop him killing anyone else and save the police the cost of putting a couple of hundred cops on duty at the concert hall (some people!). Nor with a kettle boiling has she the gumption to pour the boiling water over him.

Just when it looks as if clever Lady Raven has outwitted our thug and called on her social media cohort to track down his latest victim, we’re treated to a whole spree of idiotic twists, mostly of the catch-and-escape-catch-and-escape variety.

Mostly, I felt insulted. I’ve been loyal to M. Night Shyamalen over the past quarter of a century, even recently popping back to the cinema to view (and review) his classic The Sixth Sense (1999). After Unbreakable (2000) and Signs (2002), his output became variable, disastrous ventures like The Last Airbender (2010) and After Earth (2013) partly redeemed by Split (2016) and Glass (2019). He’s kept hmself in the game by independent production and low-budgets, his name retaining enough marquee pull to keep his pictures in profit.

But with Trap he’s just showing contempt for his audience.  Will Smith I remember going down a similar route, demanding his offspring have major roles in some of his projects, but the whole nepo business is getting out of hand. Sure, you can’t blame kids for being born to parents who are global superstars nor for believing they are entitled tofollow suit. But Hollywood is littered with kids who were showered with praise or given unfair advantage only to find audiences held their efforts in little regard.

This might well have worked if we’d got to the twists quicker, lopped off a good 20 minutes of concert footage and stuck to the narrative. As it was, by the time we get to anything that could remotely be deemed thrilling, the audience has fallen asleep.  

Josh Hartnett’s all-time worst performance. M. Night Shyamalan’s worst film. Hopefully, all this effort to build up his daughter’s singing career is worth it because I can’t be the only one who feels duped.

Avoid.