I saw The Tree of Life yesterday, and I do indeed think it's a masterpiece, which is not to say it isn't also flawed. While most of the effects of the creation sequence were impressive enough (the volcanic explosions looked amazing, the dinosaurs more serviceable), I admired the boundless ambition of that section more than I really loved it. What resonated for me was the family plotline set in 50's Waco that dominates the vast majority of the running time. I can't say my childhood resembled the nuclear family dynamics and idyllic weather patterns depicted here, yet I can't think of too many other films that nail how we remember childhood like this one does, starting from when we are most vulnerable, to the rambunctiousness of boyhood, to when we first learn important lessons about compassion, death, sex, violence, etc. Malick's frequently ground-level camera captures a child's fascination with both these harsh and gentle snapshots of life (keeping things from getting maudlin), as well as fantastic shots like the low-angle one of the kids throwing a baseball sky high (maybe subconsciously aiming for heaven, for all they know at the time). The film feels more like a series of these impressions rather than a progression of scenes, but the dramatic conflict between the young Sean Penn character and his parents and younger brother hardly suffers for it. Brad Pitt gives his best performance that I've seen here, successfully embodying the larger-than-life father figure while scrubbed of any movie star aura; and the kid who plays the young Jack proves fully up to the challenge.
I can't say I was as impressed by the modern-day scenes with Sean Penn, even though Malick makes the skyscrapers of Houston look almost mythical. Mostly Penn just walks around looking bummed, and we could stand to learn more about how he changes from the child we see at the end of the 50s to the depressed adult, even considering the traumatic event he's dealing with. Like plenty of others, I will also apparently never not cringe at some of Malick’s post-Thin Red Line voiceovers (I wish they were still as idiosyncratic as those in Badlands and Days of Heaven). Then there’s the ending, which I’m still unsure about, but which I suspect will be even more misread by those already suspicious of the film’s “Christian” overtones. Still, for all the flaws this mostly lived up to the overwhelming experience it was hyped as, and is filled with an uncommon amount of images and themes that will stick with me. The comparatively paltry obsessions and ambitions of the current “indie” cinema (the preceding trailer for THE ART OF GETTING BY being exhibit A) look almost disgraceful in comparison.
