Oh, M. Night Shyamalan

First of all, your name isn't really M. Night Shyamalan. It's M. Nelliyattu Shyamalan. Secondly, your movies make me yell. I have to tell you that I knew half an hour into The Sixth Sense that Bruce Willis was dead. I have to tell you that The Happening caused me to actually curse when I found out that plants, yes, plants, were causing the devastation. I have to tell you that your movies are so beautiful to look at, but your plot twists and outright cheating when it comes to basic story building cause me to become irrational and furious.

I have to tell you that I watched Devil last night, and, while you didn't actually direct this movie, it was definitely a product of your creative process. When the twist came down, I said words that I could never type in this blog. I enjoyed the movie up to the point where you blatantly broke the rules, and then I went psycho all over the living room.

My fury only increased when I tried to access the extras on the DVD, and was met with a notice that these extras are not included on DVDs sold for rental. What? You expect me to buy Devil on Blu-Ray? Are you trying to drive me mad?

M. Night Shyamalan, I realize that you don't know me, but I will be forgoing your movies from now on. While I believe that any piece of art--be it book, movie, painting or what the heck ever--that causes an extreme reaction has some sort of redeeming quality, I have to dismiss that belief when my reaction is one of unrelenting anger at being gypped.

Seriously. I haven't been this pissy since I threw Hannibal by Thomas Harris in the dumpster after finishing it.