Release Year: 2011
Director: Terrence Malick
Runtime: 139 minutes
Answers can lead to questions just as often as, if not more often than, questions lead to answers. Many inquiries about the things that really matter require an answer that is beyond these very things, and yet fragile humans try to entice constructs and ideologies and refinements which attempt to simplify the world and life itself, vainly attempting to answer mysteries within the same scope as the clues. A true admission that we do not know everything, that there is Someone beyond us, that life has a purpose we cannot find by looking exclusively at life itself… such an admission takes honesty. To convey that honesty in a creative way takes vision, which Terrence Malick astoundingly proves in his masterful film The Tree of Life. If Neil Gaiman is right, which I believe he is, in declaring that fiction is “the lie that tells the truth,” then The Tree of Life is undoubtedly one of the most truthful works of fiction I’ve ever encountered.
There is purpose in every color that is included in this film’s artistic palette, which is true for the film emotionally, philosophically, and definitely visually, which I will revisit soon. Without cheap manipulation or overly sentimental storytelling, the characters that are emotionally introduced quickly feel like real people, where the focus is placed more emphatically on their expressions than a pedantic list of characterization. When dialogue does emerge, it does what I love to see in movies: the lines form neither an overly characterizing exposition, nor a vehicle for the writers’ agenda, and instead further the plot with organic realism. When a main character’s mother consoles her early in the film, her words are not meant to solve any problems, inform the viewer drastically of who she is (or who her daughter is), or tell the audience what to think. These tasks are subverted in favor of candidly depicting what kind of conversation would in fact occur, had the events of the plot taken place in real life. The fact is, the undisclosed events do happen everyday, as a part of life, and the grounded genius that brings soul to such scenes permeates the whole film.
Early in the film, as well as throughout it, beautiful spectacles of cinematography grace the scenes, taking the viewer on a unique, quite literally stellar journey. It eventually did not feel like a movie anymore: not to sound corny, but the film eventually resembled the first-person perspective of some kind of angel, seeing things in an objectively beautiful way, reminding the audience of the beauty in God’s creation that is all around us, should we look. Even buildings, which viewers are more than likely to see immediately in their surroundings, glimmer in the incomparably bright sun as products of the mankind fashioned by the same Hands that crafted the wondrous solar system. The work of God is on full display, and it is inescapably showcased in the film’s cinematography.
Such mind-blowing scenes give infinitely, but not unrealistically, more meaning to the small scale of the Texas household depicted through most of the plot. Brad Pitt and Jessica Chastain were unexpectedly one of the most convincing couples I’ve seen on film: their love evident in their conflict just as much as despite it. Jessica portrays a gentle mother whose character seems to clash with her husband’s (and this is an understatement) tough love, yet the uniqueness of their parenting of their three boys begins to complement one another. The sad aspect, among many others, is that the mother’s gentleness does not always seem able to keep up with the severity in her husband’s fatherly discipline. How can gentleness be severe? Malick directly frames the conflict, and indirectly frames the necessity, of either side, and the tension feels real all the way through.
Characterization abounds not just in these people’s relationships with each other, but with their relationship with God. In narration-like candor, their questions are painstakingly addressed to the Divine, and the viewer gets to see for his/herself how everyone asks questions. One may relate to the mother’s emotional turmoil or even to her son Jack’s childishly naïve, but ultimately empathetic inquiries. The Tree of Life gets the audience to think, with the thought being a means, not an end: it leaves an actually meaningful impression that does not begin and end with itself.
The ability to relate to the characters is, as mentioned, not cheap at any point. With entirely realistic events and entirely understandable reactions, the plausibility turns into full-fledged art imitating life. The vast scope of the narrative, technically spanning all of time and space, but with a focus on a regular household, puts emphasis on perspective of the ordinary or even mundane, rather than providing a story of something with which one is unfamiliar. It would sound pretentious if it were not so sincere, and I think the sincerity is this film’s greatest virtue.
I really like the C.S. Lewis quote where he notes, “If you could see humanity spread out in time, as God sees it, it would look like one single growing thing-rather like a very complicated tree. Every individual would appear connected with every other.” This is the poetic nail Terrence Malick hits on the head with this stunning film. With a rare and worthwhile balance of visionary boldness and humble honesty, one sees the beauty of life and heart-wrenching inquiry that penetrates every human being, no matter the time or privilege that may simplify and/or conceal it. Nature and grace battle and coexist in this raw film, and then one is challenged to see the ways they do the same in the real world. The power of love in grace is emphasized in The Tree of Life, and its presence in the simplest, most plain-looking lives in fact reveals its complexity, its intensity… its necessity.
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