A Concert, A Killer, and... A Missed Opportunity: M. Night Shyamalan’s Trap

Let me start with a confession: I watched Trap (2024) not for the suspense, not for the thriller, not even for Josh Hartnett—it was for the concert scene, because, in just a few weeks, I’ll be attending my first-ever large-scale concert in Bangkok. Yes, the first in my life. Hard to believe, right? I’ve been to a live house, but never a massive arena with over 10,000 fans. Naturally, I’ve been doing all the prep: scouring for concert tips, buying glow sticks and banners, and basically trying to ensure the experience is as epic as I’ve built it up in my head.

So when I heard Trap featured a visually stunning concert as part of its narrative, I couldn’t resist. And visually, the concert didn’t disappoint. Lady Raven’s (Saleka Shyalaman) performance scenes are easily the film’s highlight, with dazzling lighting and the kind of crowd energy that gave me goosebumps. For a moment, I could even picture myself there, screaming and waving my glow stick like a true fangirl.

But then the concert ended—or rather, the rest of the film began. That’s where things fall apart.

Trap wastes no time revealing its big twist: Cooper Abbott (Josh Hartnett), the seemingly mild-mannered dad escorting his teenage daughter to the concert, is actually the notorious Butcher, the very killer the authorities are trying to catch. Except it’s not much of a twist. Manoj Nelliyattu “M. Night” Shyamalan (father of Saleka Shyalaman) has planted so many clues from the outset—such as Cooper’s nervous glances in face of an unusually large number of cops, as well as his oddly defensive behavior—that by the time the film officially confirms his identity as the antagonist, you’re already ten steps ahead.

From there, the suspense fizzles out. The film devolves into a sluggish game of cat-and-mouse, with the Butcher trying to outsmart both the police and the crowd while keeping his daughter oblivious to his dark secret. The tension? Thin. The stakes? Just enough to keep you mildly invested. Even the climactic showdown, where Lady Raven gets entangled in the Butcher’s escape plan, feels lifeless. There’s no real sense of urgency or danger. The final shot—a clichéd tease that the Butcher might escape justice yet again—feels more like a shrug than a gut punch.

The idea behind Trap is gold: a serial killer turns a grand concert into his trap—a high-concept premise with room for psychological drama and unexpected twists. It’s fresh, it’s cinematic, and it’s classic of Shyamalan.

But as we’ve seen time and again with his films, the execution is where things fall apart.

Let’s rewind to The Sixth Sense (1999), the film that made him a household name. Its shocking twist worked because the story leading up to it was tightly written, emotionally grounded, and meticulously paced. But somewhere along the way, Shyamalan became a prisoner of his own formula. He began relying so heavily on “big twists” that the rest of his storytelling started to suffer.

Take Signs (2002). It’s got a fascinating setup—aliens invading a small town—but the resolution? Water kills them. Really? Or The Village (2004), where the terrifying 19th-century setting turns out to be a modern-day cosplay experiment. And don’t get me started on The Happening (2008), where killer plants force humans to commit suicide (yes, you read that right). The problem isn’t just the twists themselves; it’s the journey to get there. Shyamalan often struggles with pacing, logic, and character development, resulting in films that feel bloated and aimless.

And with Trap, the ingredients for a great film are all there—killer premise, a visually stunning backdrop, and a compelling lead. But without the narrative tension or emotional depth to back it up, the film ends up feeling like an empty spectacle.

So here’s the thing: Shyamalan’s creative genius is undeniable. He’s got a knack for crafting attention-grabbing concepts that demand to be made into movies. But he desperately needs a strong writing team to help him bridge the gap between idea and execution, someone to tighten his scripts, challenge his instincts, and make sure the middle act doesn’t feel like a slog.

Trap reminded me of why I both love and loathe Shyamalan’s work. He dares to dream big, but too often, those dreams get lost in the weeds of clunky storytelling and uneven pacing. As for me, I’ll stick to real concerts for now—no serial killers, no plot holes, just music, lights, and pure, unfiltered joy.

But hey, if Shyamalan ever makes a concert movie without a murder plot, sign me up—because he really nailed the singing part with his daughter in Trap.