The traditional response with a new M Night Shyamalan movie is, “Oh no, what’s the twist ending this time?” But Split is more of a feature-length twist: its chief antagonist has dissociative identity disorder, which means he cycles between two dozen personalities. It’s lurid and warped and more than a little dodgy, but it comes off thanks to the bravura performance – or performances – of James McAvoy, who throws himself into the role – or roles – with an admirable mix of skill and abandon.
We first meet McAvoy as Dennis, a cross-looking neat-freak who abducts three young women from the shopping mall and imprisons them in his labyrinthine underground lair. But next time he visits them, he’s Patricia, a prim English governess. Then he’s Hedwig, a lisping, nine-year-old Kanye West fan, who warns them about “The Beast”, suggesting this psycho wants to chew on more than just scenery.
The traumatised hostages don’t know what to make of him – or them – though the outsider of the group (The Witch’s Anya Taylor-Joy) senses an opportunity. Meanwhile, as Barry, a relatively well-adjusted Brooklyn fashionista, McAvoy is also visiting his therapist, who dishes out pseudo-clinical exposition but shows little concern for what his other personalities might be up to.
Split wants to have its cake and eat it in terms of mental illness, but it’s an unpredictable, suspenseful little tale that comes together surprisingly satisfyingly, thanks to clever plotting and a truly committed performance from McAvoy. Plus a sting in the tail that non-Shyamalanites will find utterly bewildering.
