Only M. Night Shyamalan's worst enemies — assuming he has any — would tell filmgoers very much about "The Village" before they have a chance to see it. Few movies since maybe his own "The Sixth Sense" have so deserved an audience of innocent, unknowing filmgoers.

Far be it for us to spoil things.

It's not that "The Village" is especially shocking or top-heavy with unexpected twists. But it's just so darn original and thought-provoking, you'd like viewers to have their own fresh experiences.

"The Village" tells a tale of a cult of about 50 like-minded folks who live a 19th century lifestyle. Several co-dependent families work, play, worship and court in a manner not unlike the Amish. Their homes are in an isolated, self-supporting community in a meadow surrounded by woods. They have absolutely no contact with the outside world.

The village is run by elders who keep the more rambunctious younger generation at home through reports of fierce creatures in the surrounding woods. The creatures can be heard stirring and growling but seem reluctant to cross into the confines of the village. Are they real? Are they Shyamalan's metaphors for the evils of life in the outside world? Whatever; the humans and the unseen terror have developed a shaky form of co-existence. As the film progresses, certain incidents threaten that co-existence. We won't say more.

Viewers will be reminded of echoes of all sorts of possible source material — from Grimm's fairy tales to sagas about isolated religious groups, like those in "Witness" and "The Crucible." And a few forest scenes even suggest "The Blair Witch Project," but with more substantive purpose behind them.

But this is no mere clone of such earlier works — it stands alone with its own quirky uniqueness and its stirring, dark romanticism.

William Hurt plays the group's patriarch, a low-key idealist with a surprising streak of indecisiveness. Sigourney Weaver is another potent force in the community. The story eventually focuses, though, on a budding romance between a shy but forceful young man (Joaquin Phoenix) and a prescient blind girl. She's played by fabulous newcomer Bryce Dallas Howard, daughter of director Ron Howard, who comes to dominate the picture. Adrien Brody offers key support as the resident fool, whose deranged actions propel the story.

Shyamalan's script and direction are precise and purposeful, and the cinematography of Roger Deakins is evocative and moody (especially one stunning shot of early-morning mist). The tone is further enhanced by James Newton Howard's entrancing music, scored primarily for the solo violin of Grammy-winner Hilary Hahn.

Rated PG-13 for violence, scary moments. Running time: 105 minutes.

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