Unless you love, your life will flash by. Terrence Malick’s The Tree Of Life
In a manner befitting the recent spate of mainstream blockbusters said to be “critic-proof” it is entirely appropriate that Terrence Malick’s latest effort is something of a similar affair. An examination of the relationship between a father and son set to the backdrop of the whole existence itself, The Tree Of Life will no doubt attract an audience based on the merits of its director alone, and will most likely not be pulling in the Saturday evening popcorn fetishists. Likewise with it’s intended audience. That isn’t to say that The Tree Of Life is predictable, or unoriginal, or anything of the sort, its not, but this particular filmmakers style is so very specific that the film cannot help but be an altogether “different” beast to what a mainstream cinema audience expects in 2011.
It’s almost unreviewable too. Which is precisely what this isn’t. These are but a couple of thoughts on the film.
Many will no doubt find it hugely appropriate that this film was released in a Summer said to be lacking in the blockbuster department. Hope Lies at 24 Frames Per Second had predicted (incorrectly) that Malick’s latest film would be marketed as an “arthouse blockbuster” of sorts, the presence of its lead star combined with certain story line aspects befitting of the same audience that a film like 2001: A Space Odyssey would have attracted in 1968. Kubrick’s space opera is an appropriate base point, with Malick’s “tone poem”/cosmic prayer somewhat reminiscent of that particular earlier film.
The Tree Of Life opens with a wrenching moment. Memory and flashback are intertwined as we follow Jessica Chastain’s Mrs. O’Brien as she discovers that her 19 year-old son, known only as R.L, has died in service. Relaying the news to her husband, an almost unrecognisable Brad Pitt, via telephone, the camera falls to the ground with Pitt’s Mr. O’Brien, collapsing in time with the man’s reaction. This action sets the tone for the film, with Malick laying out the complexities of Pitt’s character right from the off. The audience ought never to forget, that in spite of how harsh a man he will be portrayed, Mr. O’Brien was introduced on his knees, in pain over the death of his son. The action of kneeling itself has several connotations within society, the most obvious being with that of the church. Kneeling as one prays is as ordinary an activity as eating or shaving for a man of God, so for such an action to be spun on its head in this way is somewhat epochal.
In turn, we follow the usual tropes that come with death. Feelings of regret, guilt and anger consume the family, with repurcussions that last well in to the adult life of R.L’s older brother, Jack. That Malick chooses to present this tale of death prior to the story of life is significant, with the filmmaker in turn presenting his own interpretation of the puzzle that he is presenting to his audience. The most thorough reading of the film, as we see it at least, concerns a man (Mr. O’Brien) who has to reject his faith in order to realise what it is that matters. Rather than defining himself by what he does in life (works hard, goes to church on Sundays), he must look to his immediate circle (his family) in order to appreciate what life is. In turn, his son Jack must recognise his father’s path in order to understand his own fate.
Faith is key, if not in some kind of higher order then in ones self. . “He was in Gods hands the whole time” remarks one character, enveloped in grief, and seemingly breaking away from any previous attachments to a God in one foul swoop. In spite of all of the glorious imagery contained within the picture, it is the wedding band that provides the key visual prop, noticeable in almost every scene that features a human participant. Perhaps the definitive physical symbol of faith, it is this personal conviction that overtakes the ecclesiastical (and if that’s not enough, the inclusion of dinosaurs and the ice age surely dispels creationism in Malick’s film). The film is a response to Godlessness. The realisation that there is more to life than blind faith strikes our protagonist, and only then is he returned to clear thinking. (Also, the complete lack of religious iconography from the ‘future’ timeline is worth noting, and lends credence to the original summation that in order for Jack to reach contentment he must understand his fathers actions.)
The Tree Of Life is notable for being Malick’s first work set in the modern world. Having previously tackled the colonisation of the Americas, industrial Chicago, the Battle of Mount Austen and 1950’s South Dakota, Malick finally turns his hand to the contemporary world. While these moments are brief, we do get an idea of just how the filmmaker sees the modern world. Appropriately our protagonist is a ‘world builder’ of sorts himself, with the grown up Jack a successful architect, operating within a state-of-the-art office works constructed from glass and steel, in an unnamed city. This sleek, post-modern landscape is wholly the opposite to the world presented elsewhere in the movie. As with much of Malick’s work nature is the most prominent element of the film, with clouds, waves and movement in general being the most prominent visual cues, outside of the eponymous tree that feature throughout. In a manner no different to Days Of Heaven, Malick counters imagery of the natural world with machinery, with Mr. O’Brien’s blaring factory workplace being the most striking example. There’s also a wonderful use of an air conditioning unit at one point too, the artificially created airflow making for the perfect antithesis to the free-wheeling outside world.
The films most divisive moment comes in the form of a thirty-minute long cosmos set piece. Providing the kind of immersion that the gimmicky likes of 3D could only dream of, this cosmic episode saw several people abandon ship during our screening. We see the Earth’s conception, from big bang through to the ice age and beyond, via dinosaurs, evolution and the forming of the land. It’s beautiful, provocative and even disconcerting, such is the scale of events unfolding. The events of the family O’Brien are wholly put in to perspective, before our expectations are once again dispatched.
While the premise and the above discussion might not lead one to assume that this might not be the case (thanks to the dark subject matter), The Tree Of Life is a joyful, beautiful experience. It’s ground in the glory of living. The aforementioned cosmic set-piece ends with the birth of Jack, and we then trace his own personal evolution. He’s taught to walk. He meets his brother for the first time, the one destined to die within two decades of this moment taking place. We see him take part in Halloween festivities, and bask in the fog created by a mosquito-targeting gang of pest controllers. Life lessons are learnt, and it’s staggering. Throughout all of this, the focus of the piece remains anchored to the family unit. To reel out an often-tread line, The Tree Of Life is a story of epic vision told on an intimate level. In spite of this, we never learn the Christian name of either Mr or Mrs. O’Brien, nor do we learn what R.L stands for.
The suburbs of Waco, Texas are a world without fences. The familiar white picket fences of grand Americana are nowhere to be seen around the O’Brien household, reflecting not only the later environment of the modern world, but also the optimism of the time. Physical boundaries, within reason, are unnecessary, in turn bouncing off of the intellectual ones placed on the boys by their father.
Speaking of which, Brad Pitt’s turn as the complex, contradictory patriarch of the O’Brien family is amongst the very best of his admirable career. A strong, loving father, and thinly veiled counterpart to Job (of the Old Testament), Mr. O’Brien projects a strict outer image, that adapts to and reflects the conditions surrounding him. Jessica Chastain, a relative unknown is remarkable as the family matriarch, as complex as she is different to her male counterpart. The character of Jack, portrayed by Penn in the later timeline but more prominently by Hunter McCracken in the 1950’s strand is the through-line of the picture, dictating that any actor portraying such a figure will have quite the task on their hands. Both men succeed.
In keeping with the intimacy of the central storyline, it is in the details that the film is most effective. As the story progresses, and the temperament of Mr. O’Brien becomes increasingly unpredictable note the manner in which the fine china plates and bowls are locked away on display instead of utilised by a family liable to throw a piece of said crockery at one another. The children look like figures from a Norman Rockwell painting, in their cotton T-shirts and slightly askew facial features. The darkness at night of the newly suburban US West reveals the dark heart of 50s Americana. Recalling Malick’s own Badlands, this darkness is only revealed, incidentally, when Mr. O’Brien leaves the family for his around-the-world business trip. The figure of authority may be gone, leaving the family to metaphorically breathe, but so is the protective chassis of the family unit. When left to their own devices chaos reigns. While undoubtedly a unique cinematic experience, The Tree Of Life can’t help but remind of a number of other pictures. Tarkovsky’s The Mirror is probably the most notable comparison, with both films fusing autobiography with heavily stylised presentation of memory to great effect.
Emmanuel Lubezki, the South American cinematographer whose work amazed in 2007’s Children Of Men, and has worked with Sean Penn previously on the severely underrated The Assassination Of Richard Nixon places his trademark freefalling camera at the centre of attention, always seeking out the most important detail. One particular sequence, in which Mrs. O’Brien recalls the time she once flew in an aeroplane, portrays many of Lubezki’s intricacies, as does the film’s most physically volatile moment, with his unflinching camera gliding around a house in turmoil as Mr and Mrs. O’Brien argue.
The audible aspect of any Malick film is defined by two things; The first is beautiful music, and the second is his usual reliance on internal monologue as spoken narrative. On the score front Alexandre Desplat provides original music, which is accompanied by a soundtrack made up of classical pieces, reflecting the musical aspirations of a couple of characters. As with the two films that precede The Tree Of Life within the Malick oeuvre, The Thin Red Line and The New World, multiple characters deliver monologues, lending to the rather unique feel of Malick’s work. Technically breaking the first rule in the screenwriting rulebook, Malick’s use of narration could prove somewhat alien to the casual viewer. Instead of relying on narrative though, Malick uses it to its greatest strength, in turn defining the ultimate tone of the film.
Ultimately The Tree Of Life is a fascinating exploration of life and death. Everything converges in the films closing chapter, as the afterlife, for want of a better term takes centre stage, and, again for want of a better term, everything comes together. Up there with the most essential works of the modern American cinema, The Tree Of Life is heavily indispensable viewing.
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Nice review, I would just add that the dinosaurs may throw out the “young earth” theory (I.e. World was made in 6 days) as part of the film’s worldview, it definitely doesn’t rule out the idea of a creator God.
The opening line is a verse from Job saying “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?” A passage in which God addresses Job saying that he is God and he is sovereign. The main gist of the passage is that God is the creator and sustainer of the world – using a verse from this passage at the beginning like that, as well as depicting the foundations of the earth being laid, suggests that there is perhaps more faith to the film than your interpretation of Godlessness would suggest.
Great review.
I quite agree that there are numerous theories one can attribute to this film, theories which will keep film analysts arguing for days. I suspect Malick would rather there was no definitive answer but that he’d enjoy the audience engaging in a debate.
That being said, i’d like to proffer my own little hypothesis.. What we witness is the director’s attempt to reconcile “Faith” with “Religion” – The 30minute cosmic birth sequence states uncategorically that we take evolution and darwinism as scientific fact, but what is left more vague is what forces guided those cosmic powers to that one point – potentially leaving room for a benevolent theistic power.
Putting the universe under the microscope we find the family – of bacterial importance to the infinite plane of existence, but still a part all the same.. In this family we find the 2 most powerful colluding & conflicting forces in the universe – The Patriarchal God, ruling his family with aggression and an iron fist, and the The Matriarchal Nature or Grace enchanting the same family & helping them to appreciate simple pleasures such as running in long grass or a spray of water.
I’d argue that Malick is showing us that God and Grace (a good definition of what “Grace” really means in a spiritual context is here http://j.mp/oigdGB ) are not mutually exclusive concepts, in fact it’s almost that one cannot exist without the other. It’s a tricky line to walk – Hard line Christians will dismiss this film because it rejects Creationism, but partisan atheists could just as easily reject the film because it entertains the notion of a omnipotent overseer. That being said, there is an awful lot of religious iconography in the film, again repeating the theme of Man v Nature – the stark, dehumanising, oversized cathedrals of power in the city, the gargantuan church organ that looms over the father so ominously, or conversely the babbling brooks of live-giving water, the gentle sways of suburban trees dancing in the wind, just as the mother dances around the house…
Personally speaking, I have rejected organised religion for over 2 decades now, but like anybody, inevitably have questions of spirituality or of a higher purpose – Tree Of Life has ably vocalised this tension between the 2 in a way that seems impossible to convey. Perhaps it is because there is no argument, just memories, facts & emotions that you cannot argue with it, you can only choose to engage or shut down, walk out and go see Zookeeper next door.
As for the final act – my initial thoughts were that suddenly it re-framed the whole prior 2hrs as “a man’s life flashing before his eyes at the moment of death.” I suspect the beach-set sequences will be the most hotly debated section of the film, but essentially it speaks for itself and what it represents – trying it to reconcile it as a proveable, solid realm of existence is going to be futile for anyone, it’s what it represents that is most important… After all that sequence has played out, Mother Earth / Grace / Nature / Gaia, call her what you will, relinquishes her guiding hand, and returns her offspring to the elemental forces of the Father.
read into that what you will, dismiss it if you like, whatever.
Wow, thanks for that. You make some great points.
I approached the film from the perspective of someone who grew up as a Catholic, and who attended Catholic school ’til 16. My mother quit the church when I was 5 years old, after my younger brother died, but my father still considers himself to be a Catholic. I was given the choice to quit the church at 16, when I left Catholic education, and chose to do so.
Great review, I enjoyed the movie when I saw it a few weeks ago.
Orangewarrior says it very well – and what fun to have something as juicy as this up for discussion.
As another lapsed Catholic I could give you a whole riff about movies and ritual and shrines and the holy communion of the silver screen but that’s for another time! Still, it does inevitably punctuate the experience of watching a film like this.
I didn’t see it as a Christian film or a “There is no God” film so much as a piece of outrageous visual poetry on the sheer mystery of life, and within that, the human need to believe in something bigger than ourselves (be it God or Science or even Art) in order to make sense of the world.
About realising how small and helpless we are against the elements – the Big Bang, those enormous dizzy-making buildings, or just caterpillars eating the cabbages – and how in the end, like all those last phone-calls apparently made to loved ones from people trapped in the Twin Towers, the only real meaning we know for sure is our bodily experience, our contact with nature and our human relationships – our ability to feel and love.
The closing scene on the beach felt like a deliberately ironic reflection of what we like to think might happen in the afterlife or at the moment of death – even so, I had tears pouring down my face at its beauty, which is why I loved this film, because it just has a power beyond all the intellectual chatter and deconstruction you can throw at it.
It also reminded me of Tim Burton’s Big Fish where the dying Albert Finney character sees everyone he has ever had meaningful contact with waving him on as he is carried back to the water. (That made me cry, too).
The thing that really struck me about the film was its physicality – the constant big sensuous close-ups of dirt under sleeping children’s fingernails, bare feet in wet grass, prickly buzz-cut hair on boys’ necks, sun on warm skin and the impulse to touch and hold, to fight, to make your mark, to connect your life force with another person or thing.
The way people touch each other, in Tree of Life, even when it’s in anger or violence, was the most powerful thing for me. I can’t remember seeing touch used in a film so strongly. The power of touch is immense – it’s what people who live alone or have been bereaved always say they miss most, and like so many things about this film, is something that goes way beyond words.
As well as making me want to run home and hug my family and just bloody get on the phone and tell people I love them, it made me think about beauty and all the other films I love and how cinema can just take you places you can’t explain.
I thought of Tarkovsky’s Mirror too, and also the slowness and physicality of Robert Bresson (all those dirty toes in Lancelot du Lac) and Children of Men – the brilliant thing was that it reminded me of so many things buried deep in memory, the way your life’s random memories are supposed to surface on the moment of death, and it just gave me a joyous feeling to feel connected, not just to life and all my loved ones, but to all those films and everything I love about cinema itself.
Great review, but I seem to disagree with you and most other commenters. Despite not disliking the film, I felt the complete opposite of joy, or the wonder of how things are connected.
It made me feel the opposite: cold, disconnected; like all these characters were always on a different plane of existence to each other. There was very little room for happiness between either soul numbingly passivity in the mother, or the self-destructive resentment towards the world displayed by the father. This was set up early on when the mother explained that there was a choice in life between ‘grace’ and ‘nature’. Her description of nature sounded akin to some kind of Lacanian lack, or that hole in the human heart that cannot be filled. Her opposite to this, ‘grace’ sounded to me like being completely passive and emotionless, letting things pass you by. A point Jack pulled her up on later: “you let him walk all over you”. The film leaves no other options apart from these. No option to love, just ignore things or destroy yourself.
For poor little Jack, This situation, plus the death of a brother he seemed to always have to struggle to love (through the same natural impulse toward resentment his father had imbued within him) left him with no possibility of fulfilment and therefore had drifted his way through life, trying to gain the approval of his father (hence, him being some kind of big shot money making man in a massive skyscraper). Something he ultimately fails at as we can tell from his brief phone conversation with his father. Add to this the feeling of complete individual insignificance induced by the creation of the universe scene and I was left feeling cold and numb inside.
As I said above, I don’t think this by any means makes this a bad film. If anything, I think it is more than successful at creating an empty numbness felt after the loss of a loved one, therefore the film has achieved something quite powerful.
I just can’t consider it joyful in any way.
Twitter: @destroyapathy
This is a good analysis by Mike, I can see how the film can be interpreted each way from what is said (I’ve yet to see it). Mike’s point is similar to a joke I put on twitter, how TTOL reminds me of young Alvy in Annie Hall, dragged to the doctor for not doing his homework and adopting an attitude of ennui: “The universe is expanding,” he says. Mother snaps “What is that your business?”
Thank you for an intelligent and insightful review.
There is much that I could venture to say about the film and certain discussed aspects of it, but I would just like to comment on the interweaving of the natural and the spiritual.
(I’m not sure this is the same distinction as that between Nature and Grace, which parallels Simone Weil’s distinction between Gravity and Grace.)
Malick has that capacity to show something of the light (to use a word) inherent in the natural world, and in this film, inherent in the life of people. The unique and the universal seem to fuse at times.
This light (or flame, in Malick’s iconography) may not be personal at all…. which raises the question whether human concerns (i.e. fundamentally human loves) have any meaning in the scheme of things.
To place the lost son as (always) in God’s hands is not, in my view, to accept a simple religious end to Job’s question.
(I interpret Job’s question to be not about Job, or indeed even about human suffering, but about the significance of any human concerns. Even love itself.)
Placing the son in God’s hands is an act of faith that what we care about and what we love does have meaning and reality (a “mode of vision” as Iris Murdoch calls it) , even if love and virtue is our own human creation, and even if at the end of time we pass even as the dinosaurs.
Malick was probably purposefully ambiguous, but the most coherent assumption is that RL committed suicide. Malick was born in 1943 and spent most of his childhood in Waco, Texas. The childhood scenes of the movie take place in Waco. Malick had two younger brothers. One of them killed himself while studying classical guitar in Spain. Remember that RL in the movie plays guitar. The death of a son at the prime of his life is tragic, but how much more inconsolable it is in the case of suicide. I forgot the exact words, but in a brief scene a devastated and self-blaming Mr. O’Brien (Brad Pitt) laments how severe he was to RL. Another level of pain is added to this sad scene when we realize that RL probably died by his own hand.
I didn’t know this about Malick and hadn’t considered the idea of suicide, thanks for the insight.
That’s a really interesting interpretation, and one that I hadn’t considered. I assumed that he had died in Vietnam since the telegram looked like the sort of official document that the U.S. Army would send out to inform family members of a death, and since RL was 19, which would place his death in the mid- to late-60s (not to mention that, as Paul Hardcastle once told us, the average age of death for a U.S. soldier in Vietnam was 19) suggested that was the reason why. In that context, I thought that the father’s reaction about treating his son so severely were more the general lamentations of a man realising that he could have treated his son better whilst he was alive.
My guess (and this is only a guess) is that Malick’s own view is that his film should stand on its own and that since he’s addressing universal issues it should be irrelevant to viewers whether certain elements in his work are autobiographical. To a great extent I agree with such a view. And yet our own particular experiences affect how we approach the universal, so it’s only natural that we as viewers find it significant whether this or that part of the movie seems to have an autobiographical aspect. For example, Malick grew up in the town depicted in the movie. In the movie, Mr. O’Brien (Brad Pitt) had several patents. Malick’s father registered several patents on his name. And we also know that Malick had a musical guitar-playing younger brother who killed himself.
The death of a 19-year-old son (and brother) is tragic, but for the loved ones the particular circumstances of the death has a tremendous impact on how they grieve and on how they come to terms with such a loss. So it’s interesting to me that Malick chose not the specify the cause of RL’s death (I also assumed that most likely he was killed in Vietnam.)
I basically agree with Mike. I felt no connection with the characters. The “wrenching” moment at the start was nothing of the sort, because we had barely an idea of what had happened to whom. It left another layer of coldness to the film knowing that one of the sons (although, never sure which one other than not being Jack) was going to die later.
I disagree. It wasn’t “cold”, but instead relied on our gut emotional instinct to address and relate to the scenario. Granted, it might have been ambiguous, but the subtlety with which the death of the child was recognised worked in its favour, and I’m fairly sure that we could all understand what was going on. Do we really need everything spelling out for us in order to relate to a moment? Can we not simply recognise the actions of the performances and the decisions of the filmmaker?
Well now, I’m not saying it needs to be spelled out, of course. Allow me some credit… But to have this happen so early on, before we know anyone or anything reduced the impact greatly. Compare and contrast with the opening scene of Blue (Kieslowski, not Jarman). Now *that* was gut-wrenching.
Was the brother’s death supposed to have the gut-wrenching impact at the beginning? I dont think so. The reaction of the other characters was more important than the death itself. I dont think that Malick was trying to get the audience to care about that character like a movie-of-the-week tragedy. The brother’s death gains weight over time, especially when you realize that it is the boy who looks the most like the father. The oldest brother thinks hard about killing his dad, and the brother dies instead. You cant appreciate that until later in the movie.
Good review, but I just found this film too indulgent and in the end it lack what really good films should have: a strong central narrative. It’s all very good to have great images and a deep message, but somehow the film has to engage its audience too!!
I wanted to like it and I do recognise its strengths, but on the whole I thought it actually failed in being moving, which is what it should have been.
http://wp.me/p19wJ2-lX (My review)
I found the middle section of the film (the boys growing up), was strong and engaging. But yes, I can appreciate why some might not have felt the same way! Thanks for the comment, nice site you have there.