The Tree of Life

In our world of hyperactivity and over-stimulation, Terrence Malick’s serene, determined The Tree of Life is a welcome cinematic respite. More than providing a calming and thoughtful place of refuge from the vociferous crap that fills the cinemas these days, Malick’s movie needles reflection as to our relationships with one another and our relationships with the natural world.

The Tree of Life is not a linear film, but it is surprisingly straightforward. Anyone who has ever grown up will find a thread of meaning, with Malick’s rich visuals unlocking a broad world of streets, kids at play and no less than the source and supposition of our universe.

There is little point in discussing The Tree of Life in terms of singular plot, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t details or stories being told. Malick focuses his lens on Mr. O’Brien (Brad Pitt) and Mrs. O’Brien (Jessica Chastain). They live in the mid-1960s in a neighbourhood in Waco, but it doesn’t matter. They have children, three boys, and raise them in typical suburban contrast.

Malick frames the story of the lives of the O’Briens in the larger context of the universe being born, presenting dazzling images of origin, destruction and birth. There are dinosaurs that lead to sprawling neighbourhoods. There are bacteria and there are boys causing trouble, breaking windows. One of the boys grows up (Sean Penn), aimless in what passes for adult life.

The Tree of Life is a mesmerizing experience. It is not pabulum, but it doesn’t force itself on the audience either. Like the work of Stanley Kubrick, Malick’s picture requires attention and contemplation while still serving as an astounding visual piece of art. Moments of breathtaking beauty are offset by traditional domestic situations, instantly recognizable and yet dreamlike in presentation.

The O’Briens really could be any family in the world. The father insists on being called things like “sir” and “father,” imparting firm naturalistic stoutness on his children. Mr. O’Brien clearly loves his children, raising them to be “tough.” He doesn’t want them to repeat his regrets; he wants them to subjugate rather than be subjugated.

The mother is “grace,” representing quiet composure in the face of the world’s needs. She is the “soft place to fall” for the boys and a sounding board for her husband. Romantic love seems departed, but Mrs. O’Brien is a nurturing expression in the lives of the O’Brien males. She is hopeful, confident, beautiful.

Also in the branches of The Tree of Life is a distinctly transcendent component, one that feels delicate and far-reaching at the same time. Malick’s derivation is based on science and religion (or it could be), clarifying the ground we come from and return to in one sweeping vision. The remoteness of Penn’s Jack, wandering as he does through caves and warrens of buildings and the innards of them, is contrasted against the earnest hardiness of his rearing.

It’s easy to dismiss The Tree of Life as “slow” or “pretentious.” It’s not hard to discard a film of this degree, especially in these days where art is offered through the sieve of focus groups with schemes of pleasing audiences and doing little else. Malick’s picture is a challenge, a welcome one, and it presents an indispensable, intoxicating experience that pulls inside as much as it provokes outside.

Trailer: