We’re All Just a Bunch of David Dunn’s
You’ve got ‘creative’ written all over you and you don’t even know it.
SPOILER ALERT: If you haven’t seen Unbreakable, please be advised that there are spoilers in this essay that are pivotal to the experience of the film.
Unbreakable is hands down one of my favorite films and for so many reasons that I wouldn’t know where to start.
Other than being spearheaded by M. Night Shyamalan, master of I-bet-you-didn’t-see-that-coming plot twists, I caught Unbreakable about a good 14 years after it’s release.
The film ebbs and flows between themes of standing in your power and standing in your own damn way.
The way it waxes and wanes is intrinsic to this human experience, and Shyamalan found a way to interpret those themes by way of a superhero film before the days of the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
He puts our own decisions to either acknowledge our power or deny it because of narratives we’ve weaved together from the past on front street, making us confront our own bullshit.
It is for this very reason, that I’ve concluded that we’re all just a bunch of David Dunn’s.
Confused about our power to be deliberate creators of our lives. Clueless to who we really are and under the assumptions that the very thing that propels us in this lifetime is something to be ashamed of.
Lately, I’ve been hard on myself for not following through on those little creative nudges I get throughout the day.
Neglecting half-finished scripts and abandoning two-page google docs filled with non-succinct ideas for short stories and an iPhone clogged with notes and voice memos on essay ideas…but yet, no finished creative project.
I’ve been showing zero love to my creative life.
But then…I realized, that although I haven’t intentionally created, I’m always creating, whether conscious-Britt knows it or not.
Everything from the kids, the regular ass 9 to 5 gig, my single status (I tell myself this is intentional, but more and more, I realize I may actually be a commitment-phobe), right on down to the relationships I have with my folks, the homies, are all things that I’ve strung together with the power of my mind and a lethal (kidding, not kidding) combination of my childhood experiences, fears, desires and upbringing.
*chef’s kiss*
And every time that I get that urge to sit down at my laptop and type away at one of my many script ideas or grab a paintbrush and go at it with the canvas, only then am I wanting to up the ante by taking the creative process to another level.
Intention is what sets it off.
And in that sense, I’ve had my come to Black Jesus moment, that I’m a whole lot like David Dunn.
No, I haven’t walked away from a train accident that should’ve put me six feet under. But as a creator, I sometimes slip under an amnesia of sorts. I sometimes forget who the fuck I am.
It’s so interesting. We create all the time, and yet we’re oblivious to it unless we’re literally sitting at a table with pastels and paint and pencils sprawled out before us working to produce some form of art. Why the hell is that?
I know you hear it all the time.
The “I’m not at all creative” and the “I don’t have a creative bone in my body,” lines. The divide between creatives and the analytical folks. The beliefs we’ve been spoon fed when in fact a glimpse at our lives would reveal that we’ve created every single thing in it.
To think otherwise is to give your own power away.
Maybe it’s the digital distractions. Or the falling victim to old narratives. A little PTSD here, and a little memory loss, there.
In that way, David Dunn is a metaphor for humans who do not know who they are and who they have the power to be.
As the unscathed sole survivor of a train accident, his invincibility somehow morphs into guilt and clouds his view of himself. Needless to say, survivor’s remorse kicks in heavy for the family man who is burdened by his own resiliency.
So much so, that he can’t see the reason for his own endurance. He walks around with an evident brain fog that barricades him from seeing all the great he could actually do for folks.
He’s your modern day superhero, who is in complete denial that he could ever be a vessel for such power. Even despite every hint of his true self.
Shyamalan permeates the film with clues of Dunn’s strength and power. Even without trying and even through his resistance, Dunn receives downloads about danger that logic couldn’t uphold. These downloads are only manifestations of his extrasensory perception.
The film is purposefully dark and pregnant with symbolism. Dunn’s own security guard uniform is essentially his cape. The dark, mundane green of his seemingly ordinary work poncho/jacket says so much without saying anything in just a few potent scenes, giving us a glimpse of Dunn in his natural state. Helping others is his apparent fate, not succumbing to some train crash.
The way Shyamalan threaded and pieced together Dunn’s bread crumbs back to hisself is artful and delicate.
What M. Night Shyamalan did beautifully, was use the subtle, everyday, routine things about David’s life as cues.
So many categorize Unbreakable as a super hero film, and gahdamnnit, I’m on that band wagon.
Shyamalan dives deeper by toying around with themes of the hero’s internal conflict juxtaposed with the hero’s external conflicts.
Like we’re not talking about surface level “villain attempts to destroy the world, hero obstructs villain after hero gets out of his own way,” type story lines.
We’re talking “man attempts to know himself through finding the hero to his villain” type story line.
In the current age of super hero films, time-tripping back to 2000, it’s easy to see that this film was way ahead of its time, crafting the perfect thriller superhero film that’s not so in your face. It dives into terrain that the Marvel Universe has yet to touch.
The hero-villain element of the storyline has to be a close second to the self-awareness theme. The contrast of Elijah, Sam Jackson’s character, with Dunn was vital to the life of the story.
Elijah’s search for someone on the opposite end of the spectrum of his own fragility led him to Dunn and what seemed like a blossoming friendship. He knew instantly that there was something special about David in his inquiry of his own identity.
But as the viewers discover Elijah’s true motives at the same time as Dunn, we quickly realize an origin story has been born. Elijah’s manipulation tactics were used to understand self. Even the villain is seeking a better understanding of himself.
In these choices of establishing a “ friendship” between the two, it’s almost as if Shyamalan asks of his viewers, just how different is your hero from the villain?
Yes, they are on opposite sides of the spectrum, but they are nonetheless, on the same spectrum.
These are important questions to explore in the age of cancel culture.
However, Unbreakable reigns as a significant superhero film for this culture. It deserves more than one watch as all films do, so I’m advocating for a few rounds of Unbreakable this holiday season, as if you already aren’t overloaded with content.
But hey, no pressure.
From now on though, how about we start giving credit where it’s due?
