Signs is definitely a movie that created such a feeling. M. Night Shyamalan's latest work reaffirms that he is a highly talented and creative filmmaker who nonetheless pushes his talents in new directions with each film. For all the reports of his extreme confidence ("cocky" was the word applied to him in an August 2002 Newsweek article), Shyamalan seems like he's constantly testing his limits. Whether it was in bringing the subtle haunted ghost tale back to popular attention (The Sixth Sense), reinventing the very myth of superheroes (Unbreakable), or, here, in turning a possible alien invasion of Earth into a stumbling quest to regain lost faith, Shyamalan isn't a filmmaker who wants to play it safe.

And Signs is another indication of his growing control over the medium. I'd imagine most people will view this as a return to Shyamalan's popular form after the more esoteric Unbreakable, and they'd be right, in a way. Signs goes for popular success with the same fervor as Unbreakable examined its fascinating singular vision. However, I don't mean that as an insult; quite the opposite. How wonderful it is for a movie to succeed not only on the popular and financial fronts (I write this hours after the film's $60 million opening weekend was announced) but also on the intellectual and emotional fronts.

Although there are echoes of War of the Worlds and Independence Day in Signs, Shyamalan finds a new approach by turning the plots of those films inside out. Instead of seeing the alien arrivals in large-scale, we experience it through the lives of one family who happen to be involved, courtesy of the crop circles on their land. We may see events around the world as they're unfolding--but only on the Hess family's television. We deal with things on their--and our--level. Things like overcoming loss. Like keeping a family together through terrifying times. Like dealing with an uncertain and dangerous future we may not even live to see.

These are complex issues, and they're brought to the fore by the actors. Mel Gibson delivers a fine performance made all the more impressive when one realizes how realistic his dialogue was in its very contradictory nature. It isn't every actor who can deliver a speech about hope and faith while indicating to the audience that his character wants to believe the words coming out of his mouth--but can't. Rory Culkin and Abigail Breslin continue Shyamalan's track record of good-to-great child actors, and I will freely admit that I was impressed by Joaquin Phoenix, whom I didn't much care for prior to now.

Like Shyamalan's other films, Signs is about holding on to hope in hard times. About looking into yourself and looking to those around you, and not only surviving, but improving. It's not for nothing that Signs is actually hilarious at parts; what better method do we have than humor for keeping fear at bay? And when Shyamalan truly lays into the audience's emotions, he doesn't do so in the way we're used to. The finale is a notable example of this--it is a complex mixture of anger, fear, triumph, and pure, visceral exhilaration. Even as he redefines what the audience should expect from a movie like this, he's reinventing what we should expect from him.