I’ve been thinking lately about Terrence Malick’s “Tree of Life” which I saw a few month’s back. It’s a grand, ambitious and for thoroughly problematic film. Plus, dinosaurs. A review and comments in the Guardian: (http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2011/jul/07/the-tree-of-life-review?commentpage=all#start-of-comments) sum up well the range of responses and  genuine difficulty people have had in processing what the film represents. Here’s a selection:cinemike“(The Tree of Life) Like faith, requires a leap.”LurcherMan“I conclude that Malick doesn’t do emotional manipulation.”bobs123“The visuals, constantly on the verge of cliche.”circling127“It does something that nothing else is doing, something good. Plus, dinosaurs.”jusquin“This would seem like nonsense or platitudes unless you are deeply embarked on your own personal journey.”lemonhat“I actually felt guilty about my cynicysm towards parts of it as it was so passionate and honest in its feelings.”I’m not going to add my own critique. It’s a great film regardless of whether it actually succeeds in fulfilling anything let alone its own ambitions. The thing that caught me though, and this is reflected in some of the comments above, was my strong desire for the film to convince me, to win me to its emotional argument, and uniquely I felt I was in the hands of an artist with the back catalogue and capacity to do just that. Alas, I too found cynicism rising at certain points and the beach scene at the end was near unwatchable. My response to this cynicism though was genuine disappointment in Malick’s failure as an artist to consistently compel me. It brought home to me the extent to which we yearn to live in the world in a way which allows us to be open, vulnerable and unguarded and how much we need our art to allow us to believe in the possibility of such a world.The painter Francis Bacon towards the end of his life spoke sincerely of longing to paint a sunrise like Claude Monet but lamented that the possibility was simply not open to him. His lack of belief in the possibility of hope simply prevented it. In the Tree of Life, Malick has undertaken a kind of methodical spiritual examination of our grounds for believing in the possibility of hope at all, and while the early results as filtered through his lens are promising, in art like anything else, it’s a let down when someone overpromises and underdelivers.
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I’ve been thinking lately about Terrence Malick’s “Tree of Life” which I saw a few month’s back. It’s a grand, ambitious and for thoroughly problematic film. Plus, dinosaurs. A review and comments in the Guardian: (http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2011/jul/07/the-tree-of-life-review?commentpage=all#start-of-comments) sum up well the range of responses and  genuine difficulty people have had in processing what the film represents.

Here’s a selection:

cinemike
“(The Tree of Life) Like faith, requires a leap.”

LurcherMan
“I conclude that Malick doesn’t do emotional manipulation.”

bobs123
“The visuals, constantly on the verge of cliche.”

circling127
“It does something that nothing else is doing, something good. Plus, dinosaurs.”

jusquin
“This would seem like nonsense or platitudes unless you are deeply embarked on your own personal journey.”

lemonhat
“I actually felt guilty about my cynicysm towards parts of it as it was so passionate and honest in its feelings.”

I’m not going to add my own critique. It’s a great film regardless of whether it actually succeeds in fulfilling anything let alone its own ambitions. The thing that caught me though, and this is reflected in some of the comments above, was my strong desire for the film to convince me, to win me to its emotional argument, and uniquely I felt I was in the hands of an artist with the back catalogue and capacity to do just that.

Alas, I too found cynicism rising at certain points and the beach scene at the end was near unwatchable. My response to this cynicism though was genuine disappointment in Malick’s failure as an artist to consistently compel me. It brought home to me the extent to which we yearn to live in the world in a way which allows us to be open, vulnerable and unguarded and how much we need our art to allow us to believe in the possibility of such a world.

The painter Francis Bacon towards the end of his life spoke sincerely of longing to paint a sunrise like Claude Monet but lamented that the possibility was simply not open to him. His lack of belief in the possibility of hope simply prevented it. In the Tree of Life, Malick has undertaken a kind of methodical spiritual examination of our grounds for believing in the possibility of hope at all, and while the early results as filtered through his lens are promising, in art like anything else, it’s a let down when someone overpromises and underdelivers.

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