I watched The Tree of Life last Friday and it has taken me a long time to get round to writing about it. There are some obvious reasons, of course: it's an epic, over-long, puzzling, glorious behemoth of a film. And over ten days later, I am still asking myself the same question: what does it all mean? Or, indeed, did I actually like it? But then those questions, in turn, lead me to the logical next question: do I have to like or enjoy films? Or can there exist some sort of steely appreciation of a clearly astounding and impressive work?
After the Palme d’Or win, the numerous breathless and negative reviews both during and after Cannes, not to mention the cult surrounding its reclusive auteur/director, it is safe to say that my expectations were high. I mean, here was a film that promised to be a metaphysical “masterpiece”: a refection on memory, loss, nature, being and faith. Grander themes it is hard to imagine. It also had Brad Pitt in it. So there I sat, at six o’clock on the day it opened, prepared for delight and awe. I fear, however, that I may have only felt one of those emotions.
The film itself is perplexing and tough to summarize, so idiosyncratic is its vision. In short, we can just about glean that Sean Penn is a late-middle-aged businessman in New York, remembering his childhood in 1950s Texas and the semi-dysfunctional family life that he lived back then. Through alluring shots of the family, their home and the countryside around them, a partially-idealized remembrance is created. A domineering father and an angelic mother raise their three sons in good, strict Christian fashion. Soon after, the film plunges into an amazing 2001: A Space Odyssey/Koyaanisqatsi-esque sequence, of striking visual beauty and impact. Touching on the birth of the universe, dinosaurs, volcanoes, waterfalls and almost every geographical feature known to man, we are treated to recurring images and sheer visual poetry. After that lengthy sequence, the film does return to the closest it ever comes to a narrative, with less choppy editing and more visions of 50s America, counterpointed with Penn’s present-day search for meaning and a long-dead brother.
Given Malick’s academic background in philosophy, we know that we are in the hands of an intelligent man. Though, given the vastness of the canvas, and the range of subjects (and platitudes) covered, the film did not seem to make total sense to me. Of course, having not had a thorough religious foundation, I must admit that the concept of grace[1], amongst others, was slightly foreign to me: just as is the case when reading works such as A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Maybe it’s just me but clement velociraptors, glowing wombs, doorframes in deserts and families fighting doesn’t immediately make sense. For others, sure. But then maybe this eruption of images is meant to be open to interpretation, but somehow I doubt that.
The recurring imagery and motifs à la poetry do get slightly annoying and even boring, no matter how stunning they look, and the birth of the universe sequence and the film itself are certainly too long. Yet, the themes are always of the utmost interest, and for that boldness, Malick should be lauded. No other living director would have had the gall – or the means – to make a film like this. Thus, anyone who speaks of pretentiousness is surely an idiot, as this was no problem at all. For how can one talk of life or death, the universe and creation in a non-narrative or otherwise way without appearing pretentious? For that same reason, the lack of levity is not a problem either. That said, the ending is preposterous and strangely what I expected from the start, despite being surprised by the majority of the movie. Along with the presence of Pitt, perhaps this was just a hint of Hollywood creeping in.
In summary, the film is not without its numerous flaws, but these are almost compensated for by the majesty of its overall vision and some of the most incredible cinematography I have ever seen. Go and see it and make your own mind up; just prepare to be infuriated and inspired in equal measure.
[1] Defined in my copy of Dubliners as “In Roman Catholic theology… a supernatural gift freely given by God to rational creatures to enable them to obtain eternal life.”
