The Tree of Life
This is not a movie review. Nothing so crudely specific, or so elegantly well written. Sure, I might wind up talking about the artistry of the film, and the quality of the acting. And to some extent I’ll talk about how the film made me feel. But mostly this is the product of my motivation, during The Tree of Life, to commit myself to putting this all down in type.
I was bored, at the time. And then, for a second, I panicked that I’d completely lost track of the film. I couldn’t remember what’d happened for the previous ten minutes but no, nothing had been going on. My drift of attention was because there was nothing to hold onto it. The reason that I’d lost track of the narrative was because, for whatever reason, the finer points of the story had temporarily given way to the birth and growth of the entire universe.
Which I can’t say wasn’t impressive.
Somewhere around the start of the second reel, I think, the film’s introduction gives way to what look awfully like images from Hubble but were, the Internet assures me, made by pouring milk through a funnel (among other techniques). These eventually give way to the formation of the Earth and then, in due time, to the creation of life. I couldn’t help feeling at the time that, unless one was a little bit of an astrophysics and biology geek, the scenes wouldn’t be instinctively easy to follow. On the other hand, if you do happen to be au fait with a little cosmological history, the scene was a little redundant (at least at that length).
Incidentally, if you’re wondering how I knew where the changeover to the second reel was, we can thank Brad Pitt for that. Fight Club may be many things, good and bad, but it seems to be fairly educational when it comes to the mechanics of film projection.
I digress. The thing about the extended nature sequence was that yes, while it was a little incongruous and unexpected, it was beautifully done and if I had been expecting it (or if David Attenborough had been doing a voiceover) I would have accepted it gladly. Having realised this (or, perhaps, given up all hope of leaving the cinema alive) I resolved to give the director the benefit of the doubt and, from there on in, enjoyed the film immensely. The problem was not only my preconceptions – the know-it-all viewer in me can see any number of ways in which the scene could have been shortened or broken up, but this would almost certainly come at the cost of making the whole thing less immersive. Perhaps, says my charitable side, the sheer length of the thing, the process of just giving in and letting the film wash over you, was the point. Or perhaps not.
After the film finished, my partner in projection-viewing (the ever-lovely Ms Perera) graced me with the tales of American cinemas’ signs proclaiming that “[This theatre] does not give refunds, even for Tree of Life.” I imagine that Durham Gala have the same policy, albeit less explicitly, as the five people who left during the course of our viewing presumably found out.
If this were a film review then I’d close by saying that yes, it’s oddly paced, but if you give it the benefit of the doubt then The Tree of Life can be something really rather special. But as this is the (slightly expanded) inner monologue of a slightly bored 20-something year-old, sitting in the back of a cinema two weeks ago I’ll give you the broader point too: why wouldn’t you give the film the benefit of the doubt? It is, I fear, horribly pretentious for me to say “try to understand the director’s vision, try to experience the film, try to see what the film is trying to say” but, to put it bluntly, once you’ve paid your money you might as well see the thing in the best possible light. It’s worth the effort and, I’d go so far as to say, worth the price of the ticket. Of course, that recommendation comes with the same get-out clause as the aforementioned cinemas: I offer refunds, and am in no way liable for your lack of enjoyment. I’ll happily take a share of the credit if you like it, though.