Sink or Swim

Soon they were alone outside the elevator.

Cook told Night he could still make the movie at Disney, even if the executives didn't understand it. He said, ''Prove us wrong, Night. Just make the movie for us. We'll give you $60 million and say, 'Do what you want with it.' We won't touch it. We'll see you at the premiere.''

''I can't do that,'' Night answered. Spend a year of his life trying to prove them wrong? No. What a waste of energy. Their lack of faith in Lady in the Water would infect the whole project.

''C'mon.''

''I want to thank you for six great years and four great movies,'' Night said.

An elevator came, and they rode down together in silence. There were no hugs and there were no Hollywood loveyas. The three Disney people walked together past the doorman and out of the hotel and into a waiting car. As they left, Night was crying. He was crying because he liked them as people and he knew he would not see them again, not as his partners. He was crying because he was scared, because there was a big part of him that did want to simply get along with everybody, to do something safe, to be successful. He was crying because he knew they could be right. He was crying because in rejecting that script, they were rejecting him.

Rather than throwing his script away or putting it on the open market, Shyamalan asked Zimmer to take the movie to Warner Bros., whose entertainment president, Alan Horn, quickly agreed to make Lady in the Water. Bryce Dallas Howard was still set to play the title role, but the movie had yet to sign its male lead.

After the meeting at Alan Horn's house, Night was desperate to reach Paul Giamatti, but could not find him. Not in his apartment in Brooklyn, not on his cell phone. When he finally did reach him, all Paul said was that he hadn't read the script yet.

Night's heart sank. Reading the script wasn't a major time commitment. You could do it in 90 minutes, less if you liked it a lot or not at all. But he buried his disappointment and summoned his inner salesman.

''Listen, dude, I wrote this role for you, man,'' Night said. ''I really want you to do it, and so does everybody at Warner Bros. I gave them all sorts of opportunities to tell me they didn't want you, and they said, 'No, we think he's great. We want him.''' Paul said some noncommittal thing and the conversation was over.

A week passed, Night had still not heard back. No news was bad news.

One day in that period, I was at the farm for lunch. I mentioned that I had seen The Upside of Anger, with Joan Allen and Kevin Costner.

''How's he look?''

''You know, he's got a little paunch. He's losing his hair. He looks kind of beat up. He looks good.''

''I've always liked him,'' Night said. ''I met him once. He punched me in the arm and said, 'I know you.' I liked that. Very endearing... Life's caught up with him. He doesn't have that invincibility anymore. Damn! Jose [Rodriguez, an associate producer on Lady], don't tell them anything's up, but call Costner's guy and see what his availability is.''

Twenty minutes later, Jose had an answer for Night. ''He's got an independent movie that has him tied up for the first two weeks in August, and then he's available after that.''

Suddenly, the man who hears voices was hearing voices.

Maybe it's not Paul. Maybe it's Costner. Costner has warmth. Costner grabbed my elbow. Cleveland Heep has to have warmth. Paul hasn't even read the script. Does that mean anything? My God — is there someone I can talk to beside myself?

He asked Paula to get Sam Mercer, Night's producing partner, on the phone.

Night's first words to him were, ''I'm starting to have second thoughts about Paul.''

It was startling. What about, Listen, dude, I wrote this role for you, man? His decisiveness had been overwhelming. The voices were loud and clear. They were telling him that he didn't need Tom Cruise or even Tom Hanks. Night wanted the guy with the meager beard who played the writer in Sideways. And now that actor didn't seem to want Night. The traffic wasn't moving two ways, like it was supposed to. As Night was flooring it toward Giamatti, Giamatti should have been coming straight at him. And he wasn't. He was...nowhere.

Night couldn't see the reality, that Paul Giamatti was an actor in demand with a lot going on. Night wasn't accustomed to dealing with real-world intrusions. You were supposed to get sucked up into Night's world and to hell with everything else. But that wasn't happening.

''What do you think about Costner?'' Night asked Sam Mercer.

It wasn't common for Night to ask Sam creative questions. But he needed someone to turn to, and Sam was there. ''Is Costner too graceful for this role? You believe Paul as a building super. But this is a super who is not a super, you know? Waiting like this for an answer from Paul, it makes me wonder. Maybe he just doesn't want to do it.''

Night went outside, collar up against the wind, alone with about the biggest casting question of his career.

One of the things Sam did for Night was have the conversations Night didn't want to have or didn't know how to have. He protected Night from some of the harsher realities of moviemaking: negotiating with union bosses, landlords, agents, managers. Sam was a fixer. He could say, to anyone, ''Are you in or are you out?'' He didn't brag to Night about his methods. He did the opposite. He protected Night from them.

Several days after Night had asked Sam about Kevin Costner, Night got a call from Paul Giamatti.

''Dude, I am so Lady,'' Giamatti said. This was in March, five months before shooting was supposed to begin, an eon in moviemaking.

''Stop it,'' Night said playfully.

''I'm telling ya — I am.''

Night didn't need to ask Paul what had taken him so long. The thing was, he was in. And for a moment Night was healed.

Excerpted from 'The Man Who Heard Voices: Or, How M. Night Shyamalan Risked His Career on a Fairy Tale' by Michael Bamberger, to be published on July 20 by Gotham Books, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Copyright Michael Bamberger, 2006