Film: Interpreting The Tree of Life

In 2011, Terrance Malick dropped The Tree of Life on the world. I don't even remember how I came across this film, but it most likely came up on a movie forum I frequent often. Everybody else was watching this so I had to as well, lest I be considered uncool.

The film is far outside my usual sphere of interests (although my current sphere has been expanding more and more to include more films like this). It lacks a traditional narrative storyline and plot. There's no central conflict at play. No good guys or bad guys. It's literally just a bunch of people doing random stuff. Why would I watch this?

Even back then, I admired what I saw. Aesthetically, the film is as beautiful as they come--to date, there's only a couple that would top The Tree of Life (and those would be the ones directed by Ron Fricke). Photographic composition, use of color light and shadows, fluid camera movement--combined with compelling subjects (nature scenes, space scenes, plus quality performances by Brad Pitt, Jessica Chastain, and the rest of the cast) and beautiful music, the film becomes a transcendent work of art.

Since it's release, audiences everywhere bathed in the cinematic beauty of the film, before pulling their hair out wondering what this is all about. Some dismiss this as pretentious nonsense--all style and no substance. Others have probably written essays just as long as this, and probably with greater attention to detail. So much as already been said about this film, but I doubt everybody views the film in the same exact way. Like our views on life itself, everybody's views on this film will be subjective, and therefore different. So for what it's worth, here's what I've taken away from the film after my most recent viewing (in the brand-new extended cut nonetheless--a whopping three hours. Thank you Criterion Collection). If you've seen the movie and want to know more, hopefully my musings will help you sort out the method to the madness (or Malick-ness?).

WARNING: SPOILERS FOLLOW, AND BECAUSE I MENTION A BUNCH OF OTHER FILMS THERE ARE ALSO SPOILERS FOR EX MACHINA (2015) AND  MULHOLLAND DRIVE (2001).

Roots

To understand the film, there are a few things that should be nailed down. First, what is the Tree of Life? Countless cultures assign cosmic significance to trees--ancient Norse legend believed in one massive tree (Yggdrasil) that connected the nine realms together (and yes, this same thing can be seen in 2011's Thor, reinterpreted as some kind of lightning-tree connecting nine separate planets). What the Tree of Life film harps on will be the Christian/Hebrew interpretation as laid out in Genesis--it was the source of eternal life in the Garden of Eden, but when mankind was cast out we were denied the Tree of Life until the events of Revelations occur.

Regardless of cultural differences and religious interpretations, trees do make for a powerful symbol for a number of reasons. For one thing, they are some of the biggest, most plentiful, and most important plant life on the planet. It takes massive forests to pump oxygen into the Earth and sustain our ecology, and these forests are a beautiful sight. They are also a part of God's creation, and throughout the Tree of Life film there are many shots of tree branches against sunlight. The sun has been a symbol of God for eons (not only for Christans but also in many other cultures). So to show a tree reaching up to the sky (towards the sun), the film asserts that life is naturally drawn towards God. To reinforce this idea, we are shown sunflowers a couple of times (sunflowers are named not only because they look like suns, but because they face the sun as it moves across the sky). Skies and sunlight are shown frequently in the film, asserting God's presence subtly in the majority of scenes. At one point, the mother character points to the sky and says "That's where God lives."

The film begins with this biblical line: "Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth ... when the morning stars sang together?" This comes from the Book of Job, in which God stripped Job of all his wealth and status and made his life utterly miserable. Despite it all Job adhered to his faith to the end and proved the Devil wrong. But when Job questioned why all this misfortune happened, he was humbled by a long retort underscoring the grandeur and majesty of God, His power, and His creation. All of this comes into play and sets the thematic tone for the movie.

The director, Terrence Malick, has only made a handful of films but they share similar styles, tones, and themes. If you've seen The Thin Red Line or The New World, then you should know what to expect out of Tree of Life--all three of these films are long, poetic, beautifully-shot, and they eschew traditional narrative structure. His earlier works (like Badlands or Days of Heaven) offer stronger plotlines, but I'd argue that his later works prove that plot isn't really a necessity. Plot actually seems to hinder Malick's intentions--his films are at their best when they're open-ended and allow viewers to take in the audio/visual sensations and meditate on the scenes freely. This happens because he often uses vignettes that connect ideas visually, not plot or conflict. Combined with character voice and an omniscient camera, he achieves a unique form of poetry.

Branches

The Tree of Life follows the O'Brien family in rural Texas. The mother (Jessica Chastain) narrates a lesson she learned as a child--you can choose two possible paths in life, the path of nature or the path of grace. Nature only wants to please itself and have things its own way. Grace doesn't try to please itself--it can take insults, injury, scorn, and move on.

The mother receives a telegram and expresses grief. Her son R.L. died. After the father (Brad Pitt) receives the news, they both mope around for a while, before the POV shifts to show their other son Jack (Sean Penn) in the city. He seems to work in some kind of architectural or engineering environment, and is surrounded by offices, skyscrapers, and grid-like spaces. He meets and greets a bunch of people, gets in a few fights, crashes a motorcycle, hangs out at a party or two, but otherwise his life is quiet, lonely, and seeming devoid of actual life. Occasional flashbacks reveal glimpses of sunny, happy times in rural Texas as Jake used to hang out with other kids, swimming and playing in the sun.

When the mother asks aloud why her son had to die, the film digresses into a good twenty-minute sequence showcasing all of creation. We see light and gasses pulsing and moving in the gulf of space. As matter and energy coalesce, the Earth forms. Its molten surface cools over eons, until water forms. Single-cell organisms form, multiply, and evolve into multi-cellular life. Sea life forms, and eventually dinosaurs roam the Earth. In one sequence we see a raptor interacting with some herbivore lying on the ground, presumably injured and about to die. You'd expect the raptor to chow down--instead, it plants its foot on the creature, then runs off. Some time later, a meteor hits the Earth. Waves cross the screen, desolate landscapes pass by the screen, and eventually the camera zooms in and settles back on the O'Brien family.

Jack is born and he's just a happy baby with his mommy. Then his brothers are born. Jack becomes a little jealous and has a slight tantrum, but in time they all grow older and do all the things boys do--play, fight, explore, and through their interactions they learn about the world and all its harsh lessons. Their mother just brims with grace--she's always playing with the boys, caressing them, having fun, showing compassion. Their father is stern, strict, and disciplined. As an engineer of some kind, he works for a living, but had to give up his dream of being a musician to make ends meet. Believing it's important to be strong and disciplined in this harsh world, he gives the boys tough love, makes them do chores (especially yardwork), he demands respect and love, and everything is pretty much his way or the highway.

Mr. O'Brien starts to question his own behavior after witnessing a boy drowning at a pool and another boy dying in a house fire. He recounts his own father, who was also a bully, and he lashes out against his mother for putting up with it.

While he's off on a business trip, Jack and a gang of other kids run amok, lashing out all their childish rage by whacking things with sticks, setting off firecrackers (in birds' nests nonetheless), squashing somebody's tomatoes, throwing rocks at an abandoned house, and more. All of this comes to a head when they take a frog and strap it to a bottle rocket. That crossed a line.

Later, Jack trespasses in his neighbor's house and steals a sheer nightgown. Presumably, he's confused and angry by his own feelings of guilt and arousal, and disposes of the gown in the river. Somehow, his mother seems to know something's up as she glares at him when he comes home.

Times continue to be trying for Jack as he struggles to focus in school. He picks fights and lashes out against his mother. Eventually, his father returns home. Some time thereafter, the plant closes and he's forced to move with his family to where the work is.

Towards the end of the film, we're given a bizarre montage that includes the death of the Earth. The sun becomes a red giant, and the world becomes barren. Then the sun becomes a white dwarf. Old man Jack wanders a desert, and at one point he seems to follow his younger self. He and everybody else--his brothers, mother, father, all the other characters in the film--meet at a flat, nondescript landscape with water (well, let's face it, it's the Great Salt Lake standing in for heaven). Everybody just kinda mingles, and there's more surrealist imagery involving doorways and salt flats and such. The mother learns to let go of her dead son.

Eventually, the film snaps back to present-day Jack in the city, still going about his daily business before returning home.

The Way of Grace

The film lays down the pattern of the family dynamics right away--two paths a person can live, and it's quite clear that the mother lives the "way of grace." Through the narration, she describes that "grace doesn't try to please itself. Accepts being slighted, forgotten, disliked. Accepts insults and injuries."

People who are graceful typically are like this. They don't lose their cool when something goes wrong. They don't hold grudges or express hate. It makes me think of more zen-like concepts I've seen in other media (I have no idea how much of it is true to genuine philosophies of the East, but when I think of grace and zen I do think of the lesson from Samurai Champloo that one should be like a fish in the river--literally going with the flow--and this same imagery appears in Kung Fu Panda 2). To go with the flow means letting things roll off.

Mrs. O'Brien hardly ever shows a temper throughout the film. She will be firm with the children when they misbehave, but she doesn't resort to violence or threats. She's always shown nurturing her children--their bodies (via breastfeeding, cooking, healing wounds), minds (teaching, letting the kids explore), and souls (frequently playing, to the point of dancing around most scenes ethereally and making games out of different activities).

At times, Mrs. O'Brien's grace extends to her connection to nature as well. It is her narration that leads to the extended digression into the universe's birth and evolution--all nature scenes. There are other moments--such as when she chases and pets a butterfly--that create a direct connection. Through this, I gathered that Mrs. O'Brien is the film's personification of mother nature. I'd say that nature's relationship with people is the same as hers--nurturing and wonderful, but stern when she needs to be. During Mrs. O'Brien's opening narration, her words might as well echo a promise between the Earth and mankind: "I will be true to you. Whatever comes." Although men have desecrated nature time and again, she has been resilient through the ages and always provided for us.

The Way of Nature

Learning the rules of Fight Club.

The counterpoint to grace: nature. The film characterizes this path by saying "nature only wants to please itself. Get others to please it, too. Likes to lord it over them. To have its own way. It finds reasons to be unhappy when all the world is shining around it, when love is smiling through all things."

Mr. O'Brien embodies the way of nature. He is a stern, no-nonsense man who will discipline his kids (albeit, he's not abusive about it, just stern). He orders his children and wife around, and he doesn't tolerate any push-back. He demands attention and love. Above all, he believes that the world is tough and you have to be tough and demanding so that nobody takes advantage of you. This leads him to teach his kids to fight, to work, and to stop acting like such children.

If the mother is nature, then surely the father represents God. God is a Father to all of us. He demands love too. In the beginning of mankind's history, He directly had a hand in men's affairs, having us till the Earth (which is what Mr. O'Brien has his kids do--mowing the grass and pulling up dirt) and punishing us when we misbehave. Much later in the film, Mr. O'Brien regrets being so hard on the boys--this could correlate to the shift between Old and New Testaments, when God paves a way for forgiveness.

It's easy to see Mr. O'Brien's scowl and presume he's mean and loveless. The film's pretty careful to show that he has a loving side too, it's just shown differently. Mr. O'Brien doesn't play and gallivant like his wife, but he does show affection at certain moments. A father's love.

No Way?

The kids aren't set in any specific way of anything. They can't be, they're still young and learning. All the experiences we see on-screen is their exploration of what each path means and what their consequences are. The struggle between the two paths is what creates the "story" of the movie--it's all about Jack caught in between nature and grace. With the O'Briens representing nature and God, then their children surely represents us--all mankind, struggling to live and grow under the laws of nature and God.

The most compelling pieces of the narrative are the moments in which Jack rubs against the grain of harmony. The most violent and harrowing scenes in this movie are the ones in which Jack (together with a whole gang of kids) rampage through the suburb, seeming to rebel against nature and God. They literally destroy creation--murdering bird eggs, squashing fruits and vegetables, tormenting animals. These aren't scenes of joy and wonder, they're cruel. But these kids aren't doing it because they're evil--they simply don't know any better. After the incident with the frog on a rocket, they become mournful and ashamed. One of them tries to justify their crime by insisting "it was an experiment!" Same could be said for any instance in which scientists or industries use test animals. Or any time societal progress tramples the environment.

Kids fight, just as people wage wars. They play with things they shouldn't, just as people commit crimes of passion. To be human is to be driven by impulses. We also torn between doing what is commanded and our desire for independence. The parents understand this and show compassion, even when discipline and punishment must be delivered. Same happens when mankind sins--God understands and forgives.

These Are the Worlds We Live In

Grace and nature are not only defined by the people, but also by the environments. Most of the film is set in a rural suburb, close to grassy fields, forests, and rivers. The kids spend a lot of screen-time playing natural environments, and they are often worlds of wonder and joy. Not to mention, these places provide and nourish the people around them (houses have their own gardens providing food, the plants give oxygen, rivers give water, and so on).

On the flipside, scenes in the future show cities, with long clean lines and grids composing the insides and outsides of skyscrapers. Any tree shown will be tethered by cables--mankind's attempts to control and hold nature down in an environment of our own making. In a montage, we see a grown-up Jack wandering around, meeting people but never really connecting with them. He has a girlfriend (or many as it seems, the film leaves it rather ambiguous), but they don't talk on-screen. In his wanderings, Jack seems to witness crazy parties, mean people yelling at him and picking fights, and he has a motorcycle accident. It's a place where people get hurt, and the environment itself produces nothing. As an architect, Jack's purpose seems to be in contributing to the city's growth, which in itself is self-serving. It's a place that resides squarely in the path of nature, not grace.

If the film Koyaanisqatsi taught me anything, it's in underscoring the imbalance generated when mankind conquers, destroys, and changes nature to create a man-made world--literally, a life out of balance. In Tree of Life, the contrast between the city (way of nature) and Jack's childhood home (way of grace) shows the same level of imbalance--people aren't happy in the city, they're isolated, lost, and unhappy.

Andrei Tarkovsky illustrated a similar contrast in worlds in 1972's Solaris. The film opened with Chris Kelvin gazing at a river, where reeds gently sway in the currents. Funnily enough, Tree of Life has at least a few shots with underwater reeds swaying in similar patterns. Couldn't tell you if the parallels are intentional or if Malick was inspired by Solaris, but the similarities seem striking. Both movies hint at the ebb and flow of the natural world just by pointing the camera at reeds in water. Both also create contrast between nature and city scenes--Solaris hints at a "life out of balance" theme, but it's a much more open and ambiguous connection.

If Earth is defined by both natural and artificial landscapes, how would a film portray heaven (or the afterlife in any form)? The film's solution is an elegant one: a nondescript landscape, and it doesn't get more nondescript (or otherworldly) than the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah. It works because there's literally nothing there--no plant life or man-made structures. It's a blank slate of a setting where people can be themselves, free and open. And that's what we see--dead people coming together to share their emotions openly and reconciling the unresolved issues of their lives (which we see when Jack seems to chase the younger version of himself, and his mother watches her dead son pass the threshold of a door frame to symbolize letting go and moving on).

The Shadows Don't Know

In ancient times, Plato presented a story to represent the nature of reality. It was the parable of the cave: people are born in a cave and chained in such a way that they can only face the wall. Behind them is a fire, and between them is a raised walkway and a low wall. People pass in front of the fire carrying objects and puppets--the wall makes it so that the prisoners do not see the people moving around, but they do see the shadows of other things moving on the wall. The shadows, along with the echoing sounds, become the only reality the prisoners know. Later on though, one of them will break free, discover the truth, and leave the cave to discover a greater reality. That person would come back with greater knowledge and understanding, and would come to pity the other prisoners.

What am I looking at here?!

Light and shadows are often presented in Tree of Life and could be a reference to Plato's cave story. The film opens and closes with a fuzzy multicolored light (and it appears as a transition shot at a few other spots). We don't know what this light is, and the film doesn't explain it. It is shapeless and can't be described in concrete detail. Only three-dimensional objects can be described or shown as solid, shapely things. This light? It could be multi-dimensional. Some scientific theories suggest there could be as many as eleven dimensions beyond our own. If there was any entity or object in eleventh-dimensional space, we would never be able to perceive it in full--we are limited to our fourth-dimensional space. Just as the prisoners in the cave could only see shadows.

If our universe is the same as a shadow, then a greater reality lies beyond our own little "cave." It could be a reality where heaven and God are real. It's this reality that seems to be shown when the Earth dies.

If something from a greater dimension passes through ours, we might witness some odd phenomenon, but could never hope to understand it. This model is probably best seen in the example where you have two-dimensional space with two-dimensional creatures. If you pass a sphere through that world, the creatures would only see a circle growing bigger then growing smaller. They would never be able to perceive or understand the dimension of height, so they simply see a circle and are confused.

When Jack is a baby, he looks up at the ceiling and sees light reflecting through glass--it appears on the wall as a shapeless form, no different than the shifting light seen at the film's opening. If God makes His presence known in our universe, this could be one of those hints that He is among us. Like a sphere passing through paper, He could leave behind phenomenon that we see as merely shapeless light or shapes. Jack sees a light on a wall, unaware of the glass producing the effect. We see our universe, unaware of the whole mechanism God uses to substantiate it.

Look, mom's hands.

Within the same montage, Mrs. O'Brien does a trippy thing with a mirror--she stands behind the mirror and waves her arms around on both ends. With the angle, all we see is four sets of arms thanks to the reflection. This could also be a hint at the multi-dimensional phenomenon, since we only see part of mom when she does this, and it appears uncanny.

When looking at all the shots with shadows on the ground or walls, I was reminded of 2015's Ex Machina. Its finale had a scene that did something very similar, presumably for the same thematic reason. When the world's first sentient robot broke out of her facility (murdering her captors in the process), we are shown this shot of the ground with shadows of people crossing a grid-like surface. Ex Machina in itself is a story of escaping Plato's cave. Tree of Life asserts that we are all still prisoners in Plato's cave. But perhaps we can all break free of the prison upon death.

One of these shadows is not human! *GASP*

Blue is the Warmest Plot Device

One interesting observation I have regards a certain cinematic manner in which Tree of Life bookends the majority of the film. In between the present-day scenes with Sean Penn, the camera focuses on a single candle lit in a blue glass container. He lights it, starts reminiscing, and the camera moves in on it before the flashbacks start. When it all ends, the film returns to Jack and the candle. It's as if, for the whole time we see his childhood, it's the candle that takes us back in time.

You know what? One other movie did this same thing with another blue item: 2001's Mulholland Drive. A whole bunch of strange occurrences happen in that film, before the character takes a blue key and inserts it into a blue box. The camera then moves into the box's black opening, and the rest of the movie occurs in an alternate reality. Tree of Life pretty much accomplishes the same with the candle--it literally transports the viewer to an alternate reality, it just happens to be the character's memories (whereas Mulholland Drive transitioned to and from a character's idealized dream).

Seriously, what is it about films and blue objects? It's as if both these films use blue things not only as a colorful motif, but as a vehicle to transport the audience inside the characters' heads.

Another neat thing Tree of Life does on occasion is use underwater wave scenes as transitional shots. It seamlessly transitions from the cataclysmic meteor strike to the modern day, and it washes the whole screen blue.

Leaves

And they're climbing their way to heaven (ooh it makes me wonder...)

There is so much imagery and symbolism packed in this film, chances are I'm not even doing it much justice. So many details can be missed if you blink. With its winding, unconventional narrative, the film is a challenge to one's patience. But for me, it's always been a stimulating and inspiring experience, because everything in the film reflects the cosmos around us. The film's patterns of life and death are the same as what we all experience in a lifetime. It boils our existence down to two simple truths: you can live the path of grace or nature. In our meandering journey to discover which path is actually the best, we all make mistakes and sin along the way. It's all part of the growing experience that will lead us to an inevitable destiny.

The film offers a bold, grand view of the micro and the macro, all of which is meant to humble us before the greater cosmic forces that have shaped our universe and existence. There are still many mysteries and layers that we may never be able to solve, chief among them death and what lies beyond. But perhaps there are clues in our lives. I personally believe that merely living is proof of a higher power, and this film affirms my belief.

But my interpretations aren't the end-all be-all by any means. Chances are that the film will mean many things to many viewers. I can only encourage you to watch the film yourself, take it all in, and make your own conclusion. What I've posted here is everything I've observed and reflected on. As with everything in this life, there's more to it than just a two-dimensional image with sound.

Video Game Review: Shadow of the Tomb Raider (2018)

In five years, we've seen two video games that pitted Lara Croft against the turbulence of nature, the terrors of mythic creatures and curses resurrected, and a sinister organization hellbent on unleashing the powers of ancient relics. To say nothing of a traumatic past full of loss and pain. The third game in the rebooted Tomb Raider series pits Lara against all these same things, but within a story that offers one last growth spurt for the character.

Set in Central America, Lara Croft unwittingly unleashes the Mayan apocalypse when she raids a tomb and steals a special dagger. Amidst terrible catastrophes, Trinity heads Lara off and combs through the jungles in search of other pieces that will empower them to reshape the world in their image. From the Peruvian jungles to the lost city of Paititi, you get the chance to guide Lara to her destiny as a world-saving adventurer.

The story's pretty nice, and I admire that this game progresses Lara' character further away from the grim, no-nonsense tone of the last two games by giving her a little more life. At certain moments, she learns to laugh, to joke, to be amiable, and eventually become the cheeky thrillseeker we all know and love from previous media. The transformation is bittersweet as we see Lara face her past even more and gradually reconcile with it. That's not to say the game is all cheery and goofy though--this is still an intense experience full of brutal disaster, gritty violence, and vengeance.

Like previous games, you are given semi-free reign over a number of maps, each populated with artifacts, caches, challenges, tombs, crypts, and other secrets waiting to be uncovered. It's quite inviting for exploration, except the game will find ways to curb you towards the main story path--going so far as turning the camera and character in the direction the game wants you to go. I lost count of the number of times I wanted to go one way but found Lara walking another because the game forces the action forward. As the game goes on, it becomes a little frustrating in how directional it becomes--at many key points, you will be stripped of your weapons, gear, and clothing, depowering you just when you need to be empowered. Even outside of the storyline, most areas limit the costumes and weapons you can use--it's almost pointless to customize yourself.

What I think hurts the game the most is how small-scale it actually is. While the 2013 game offered an island that felt really huge and seemed to touch every era of history, the maps in Shadow are quite few and not that big. The vast majority of collectables are shoved on the Hidden City map (yep, the one area where you can't change your clothes that much and can't use weapons). Once I completed the sweep, I couldn't help but to wonder "is this really it?" Thanks to glitches, collecting all the things didn't even unlock a trophy. Bloody hell.

There are other glitches that holds this back from being a perfectly enjoyable adventure. Run across some areas, and the game will pause with this "waiting for streaming" message. I don't even know what that means (I'm assuming the game had to catch up with the player). I lost count of the number of times I did a certain move correctly, but still had to watch Lara die gruesomely because her hand was off by a hair or something failed to connect. Also had one cut scene happen where Lara talked to herself (pretty sure another NPC was supposed to be there, but wasn't).

What is satisfying is the amount of climbing and puzzling you get to do. There are a reasonable number of tombs and crypts that offers clever challenges, but aren't too taxing. Story and side quests take you through some well-designed areas, all ordained with sharp and detailed graphics and textures (and on the PS4, HDR really brings the color out vividly). Some areas seemed really dark and hard-to-see, making some accidental deaths even more likely.

What isn't satisfying is the combat. It's very sparse for one thing--the last two games seemed relentless (but ultimately rewarding). In Shadow, you're given just a handful of moments to shoot or stalk enemies. Stealth seems to take the front seat this time, and it is quite empowering to watch a mud-smeared Lara hide in the walls, picking off soldiers one-by-one with a knife. If a gunfight does break out, Lara seems much more vulnerable than usual, and when she's swamped by melee fighters she seems quite weak against them. The last games were not nearly this difficult, even though there is far less fighting.

Despite my laundry list of gripes, the game is a smooth play thanks to its intuitive control scheme, cinematic style, and phenomenal level design. The game brings the jungles, the ruins, and the lost civilizations to life exquisitely. All the detail pumped into the legends and artifacts are admirable, and the story is a satisfying arc (which I assume concludes the new games' saga as a trilogy, but I certainly welcome more).

If you're a longtime franchise fan, or a fan of the last two games, then this one will be enjoyable for you all the same. Casual gamers may find this frustrating and glitchy. I'd argue it's too short, condensed, and limiting. As a casual franchise fan, I found the game admirable for its story, which shows the shadow lifting away from Lara and evolving her into the place she needs to be for future adventures.

4/5

Film Review: The Tree of Life (2011)

You! Yes, you, the sentient being (presumably a human) reading this here review. I have a question for you: why are you interested in films? I mean, you're here reading this, so you must have seen or heard about this Tree of Life film and wanted to know more, right? By doing so, I assume that you are someone who watches films regularly. Is it for the thrill of action, adventure, and big-scale effects? Is it for the deep exploration of characters (via the art of script-writing and performances)? Is it for the photographic art, and the chance to see something you might not see anywhere else?

The Tree of Life--oh boy, this is a tough one, because a lot of the conventions you see in other films do not apply here. It has no plot for one thing--literally, nothing strings the scenes together, it just runs as one long stream of consciousness, constantly shifting from past to future, from reality to artistic representations of alternate realities (presumably, the afterlife, and the birth and death of the universe). It's not so much driven by conflict as it is by ideas and emotions. Characters don't speak so much as they softly express, pray, and question existence. If you're watching this film, you're doing it for the experience. It's not a film to watch for storytelling, conflicts, and certainly not for adventure. This is probably one of the purest art films you'll find--a photo album in motion, with poetic voices and a gentle tone, which lets you freely meditate on its meaning.

Its meaning? Well, this is a film about literally everything. Life. Death. God. Human beings. Family. Relationships. Crime and punishment. Childhood and adulthood. Love and hate. Nature and the man-made world. Religion. Law. Order. Chaos. The here and now. The far and away. The beginning. The end.

Lost already? It is a huge amount of ground to cover, so the film shoves a funnel down a single family's throats and makes them chug this metaphysical cocktail. The film digresses into many montages to illustrate certain points, but it's mostly about one man's life. An everyman named Jack (Sean Penn plays the adult Jack, but for the majority, Hunter McCracken plays the kid Jack). After eons of cosmic forces clashing to create the sun, the Earth, and all life on it, this kid is born into the O'Brien family, sometime in the 60s or so, somewhere in Texas. The father (Brad Pitt) is a guy who lives the way of nature--he's a stern, disciplined man who demands much, bosses everybody around, and firmly believes in strength to overcome the threats life dishes out. The mother (Jessica Chastain) lives the way of grace--she's all touchy-feely, compassionate, forgiving, tender, fun-loving, and is probably the most lovable mom ever filmed. Caught between these two sides, their children live day by day playing, working, learning, and growing.

Captured in exquisite photography (courtesy of cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki), this film stands as one of the most beautiful I've laid eyes on. It is richly ordained in stunning images--everything from entire galaxies to microbes. Even the most innocuous of scenes--the interiors of houses, or the woods--look magnificent. Against these varied backdrops (and set to Alexandre Desplat's exquisite music score), each actor offers nuanced performances and voices that feel genuine. It also helps that the cast becomes relatable, as they go through trials and experiences that we all face and can relate to at some point--things like understanding death, wandering around lost and restless, and being uncertain about what the best way of living really is. The film frequently vocalizes many questions aloud (ultimately aimed at God), inquiring on the meaning of existence and suffering. Though the film leaves the answers so open-ended, it does affirm many truths--especially when compared to the cosmic scale, we see that our lives are brief and small and our impulses fleeting.

The Earth is full of wonder, and it remains the only planet we know of that teems with so much life. Chances are you might find this film boring or pretentious, but there's very few that underscores the majesty of creation the way Terrence Malick's work does. It is art to be studied, appreciated, and reflected upon. You've surely seen many other films that have trivialized life and glorified violence--this film will cleanse your palate nicely and offer a refreshing vision of life and the universe. It might inspire you. It might change your life. Or it might validate what you already know. Either way, you owe it to yourself to experience this.

By the way, this film has two cuts now. The theatrical cut is a no-brainer--two hours, very trim and to-the-point (but still a long watch that requires your full attention). The Criterion Collection released the extended cut that runs for over three hours--like all great extended cuts, this one adds a plethora of new scenes seamlessly, and it flows well. But it is a very long ordeal that will require patience.

4.5/5

Video Game Review: The 7th Guest

You had to have seen this in the 90s to really feel the innovation of this macabre puzzle game. In a time when Doom was still a fresh with its open 3D environments, The 7th Guest CD-ROM was a really slick product in which the 3D looked really refined and vivid. An apt environment to fill a creepy house with macabre cut-scenes, morbid puzzles, and a plot full of madness.

The tale of The 7th Guest is one full of promise. A villainous drifter named Henry Stauf becomes a toymaker whose dolls and puzzles please children all over town, but every child becomes ill and dies. Some time later, Stauf builds this massive house and invites six guests for a night of...well, puzzles apparently. Puzzles that you, the player, need to solve while the drama of the six (and a mysterious seventh) guest unfolds.

Then and now, the game is a head-scratcher. It's been over 20 years since I played this with my best friend in grade school, and we never could reach the finale. There are many I would have never solved were it not for guides (which can now be found easily within just a few keystrokes on Google). There are some I flat-out refuse to solve (come on, it's hard enough doing musical note puzzles on a console game, I did not have the patience to sit through the piano puzzle in this game). But for every puzzle that's darn near impossible, there's one that's easy. Some can be solved on pure intuition or experimentation. Some require some serious thinking and planning. If you want a game that makes you spend long hours trying to figure out how to move chess pieces across the floor, how to spell things in weird places, and figure out basic geometric patterns, then this game will keep you entranced.

Frustrating puzzles here and there makes this a pretty dodgy experience as it is, but what makes the game drag is having to walk room to room to find them and figure out which other room they unlock. Since it's just animated screens taking you from one place to another, you have no choice but to sit and watch the hallways slowly glide by until you make the next click. There are shortcuts, but you're more likely to click on them by accident and wind up in another part of the house you don't want to be in. It's rather droll if the macabre atmosphere doesn't keep you on your toes.

It did unsettle me as a kid in the 90s. The house is just plain creepy, with all its dark hallways and ghosts and moving paintings and such. It took me some time to realize you can't really die in the game, so all the macabre happenings are just flat images you passively watch. The game tries its best to scare the pants off you--there are frequent screams, lots of gimmicky 3D effects, skeletons playing pianos, occult imagery and symbolism, and a touch of the gothic. To be fair, the game does some of its scares right--the characters and environments become uncanny to the point where it can creep under the skin. But when the cut-scenes consist of hammy, over-the-top performances (with each actor dressed up in ridiculously campy outfits), the effect is lost entirely. It's about as terrifying as a Halloween spook house you might take your kids to.

I'd also argue that the plot tries to cover too much ground with its scares. I could dig this as a haunted house story, plain and simple. But the game shoves in aspects of the occult and supernatural that feel very disconnected (although the novelization of the game provides more clarity). It is pretty clever how the game offers six characters with individual goals, and each one gets what they want but with diabolical twists. The actual seventh guest is presented as an important stake, but it's hard to really feel much about it. All the characters are as flat and insubstantial as the pixels that illustrate them (save for Stauf, who might be one of the more nuanced video game villains I know of). Once I got to the actual ending, I don't even know what that was I saw.

The 7th Guest is an interesting relic from my own childhood. Back then, I spent hours with my best friend in school exploring the freaky house and solving as many puzzles as we could. It was fresh then. Though it's still playable now (on Steam), some things just don't hold up. Things about the story are fascinating, the music is decent, and the technical quality was really fantastic by 90s standards. It is a bit goofy, highly uneven, and might even be frustrating.

3.5/5

Travel: Beaufort (South Carolina)

It's been a rather long and dry year for me in terms of exploring and seeing the sights. One thing to miss about living in Utah is being surrounded by picturesque mountains and deserts. In Georgia, there's little to see other than trees and urban build-up (at least where I'm currently living). But I was certain there were beautiful sights around--I just had to take the time off to go out and find it.

Looking over Google Maps one day, I looked for a possible place to visit and came across Beaufort SC by chance. I might as well have thrown a dart on a map. It's listed as one of the oldest towns in the state, and I figured it would have some distinctive buildings and history worth exploring. My parents and I drove and stayed there for four nights, and here's everything we found worthwhile.

All About Beaufort

This town rests on an island among the marshes, quite close to some rivers and within driving distance to the Atlantic. It's in between Charleston and Savannah, and is much smaller than both towns. Historically, it is said that Beaufort is where most of American history begins. It was the first to dissent over England's taxation of the colonies, which led to the Revolution. It was also one of the first--if not the first--to join the Confederacy during the Civil War. The town swung hard between wealth and poverty--a volatile combination of historic wars, dealing with pirates, and economic hardships that drove different groups (such as the Carpetbaggers) in and out of the region.

Your typical Antebellum house.

There are communities of old homes all along the riverfront--many in the style of the Antebellum eras and Victorian age. They are all distinctive, colorful, and nestled among strange sprawling trees with Spanish Moss hanging off of them. These streets are quite atmospheric--a horse-drawn tour can carry you around these neighborhoods while a guide describes the history of the area. A few museums in the area shed even more light on the town's significance and struggles throughout the years.

Down Bay Street, you can find most restaurants and shops near the riverfront, and you can't go wrong with any choice. If you ask the locals where to eat, they will even say that all the restaurants are good. You're bound to find some decent seafood at these places--shrimp and grits, crab cakes, lowcountry boil, and more! Placed by the waterfront, most of these places offer a relaxed atmosphere. There are bookstores, gift shops, art galleries, and more. We were even lucky enough to visit a shop that specialized in lavender goods on the second day they were open--how cool is that?

All along the southern side of the island, you can walk by the marina to see numerous boats at rest. A walking path leads to the drawbridge, with a number of bench swings along the way where anybody can stop and take a rest. Located so close to Bay Street, you could grab ice cream nearby, sit, and enjoy the balmy breeze and watch the water.

Beaufort has been used as the shooting locations for films like The Big Chill and Forrest Gump. Incidentally, The Chocolate Tree is one of Tom Hanks' favorite (if not his top favorite) chocolatiers. We visited the place and walked out with quite a haul of truffles, and they were wonderful.

Surrounding Sights

Beaufort is within spitting distance of other islands which offer other things to see--museums, maritime centers, water sports, and other towns.

We drove to Hunting Island one day--it is a state park with a beach. Even though it was overcast and rainy, the water was surprisingly warm and pleasant. Somebody told us that a rainy day on the beach was better than any other day, and I'm inclined to see why. The island also boasts a lighthouse that you can climb. Parts of the island are inaccessible due to storm damage from previous years, but near the lighthouse is a sprawl of fallen trees and driftwood, which is quite distinctive and makes for some eerie-looking pictures. This is one of the possible places where sea turtles nest--we didn't see any on this trip, but we did listen to someone talking about the turtles and efforts to help protect them.

To the west is the area of Port Royal. We drove that way to see a maritime museum, which was free to visit. It contained some tanks to view fish, crabs, and baby alligators, and many displays of photographs and information that painted a picture of the industry of the past.

To the north, there is the ruins of Shelton Church tucked away in the woods. It's pretty much four ruined brick walls and some columns. Makes for great photos, and walking among this ruin gave me as much solidarity as it did visiting the various ruined abbeys and castles in England--only this ruin is buggier and surrounded by Spanish moss. Makes for a good, quick stop on the way home.

In a few hours, it would be feasible to see Charleston or Savannah as well. We opted not to go that far, since we've found enough to do around the local areas without tiring ourselves.

Inspirations

I've come to learn that Beaufort is the home for author Pat Conroy, who wrote The Prince of Tides and The Great Santini. All books I've heard about but haven't read yet. I am compelled to read them (or at least see their film adaptations) to see how they fare. There is a place in the town dedicated to Conroy--an exhibit of some kind--but we did not visit it. Through various adverts and pamphlets, we noticed that there are opportunities around for Southern writers to gather in workshops and panels and such, and often times Conroy will partake in them as well. It's a community in itself--I haven't really found any such community in Augusta, but for a few hours drive a conference here and there should be plausible and worthwhile.

I am interested to check out some Southern writing to see what makes it stand out as its own thing. In one of the bookstores, I picked up The Secret Life of Bees. I have a feeling that books like these will capture a certain something in the region's culture and atmosphere you probably won't find anywhere else.

Personally, this kind of fiction is not what I usually strive for or enjoy--my mind will always bend back towards the realms of science fiction, fantasy, and perhaps horror. Since I've been experimenting a lot with the tropes of cosmic horror, I've taken quite a liking towards the 2018 film Annihilation (itself an adaptation of the Southern Reach trilogy of novels, which I vow to read someday). If you haven't seen the film, it's basically about a meteor hitting a lighthouse and causing a freaky alien force field to expand and mutate the land around it. Unnatural abominations happen. And guess what? I got to take a picture at Hunting Island that pretty much represents this very thing--a lighthouse wreathed in all this dead wood, looking like Lovecraftian tentacles and abominations. That was my inspiration for all these pictures--the driftwood was just a tangle of organic mass, and surrounded by sand and water, it looked somewhat alien in nature. Capture that in black-and-white, do some fixes with Corel, and I created photos from another dimension. It's exactly the kind of environment I can see my own characters in my own cosmic horror adventure traversing through.

At the lighthouse of madness! Could there be an alien beyond this sprawl?

Final Impression

My brief stay in Beaufort offered a relaxing and laid-back respite, just as a vacation in the deep south should. There are nice buildings, food, shopping, and sights to experience. I managed to buy some cool things, take decent photos, learn stuff. The only thing I didn't really do was writing. Regardless, it was a trip worth taking. It shares much in common with Charleston, but is much smaller and there's not nearly as much traffic or crowds. It's a decent destination for a quick getaway or a brief pass-through. I'm not sure if I'm inclined to see it again, but I wouldn't say "no" to seeing/hearing Pat Conroy talk about writing. Or the chance to sit on a swing by the river again. Or the chance to visit Tom Hanks' favorite chocolate store.

Film Review: Loving Vincent (2017)

Love Vincent Van Gogh? Well, here's a film painted entirely in the famous artist's signature style. You read that correctly: the film is painted. Every frame--all 65,000 of them--was brushed by a team of 125 artists. Not even Stan Brakhage could have topped this.

Seeing it in motion is an experience worth beholding. As paintbrush strokes pulsate and swirl around the picture, it illustrates a vibrant world where art and history collide. At times, the film will emulate some of Van Gogh's greatest hits as it breathes life into famous paintings like Starry Night. Famous portraits become characters that walk, talk, and reveal secrets behind Van Gogh's life and death.

In this world, Armand Roulin (Douglas Booth) sets out at the behest of his father to find out how Vincent Van Gogh committed suicide. What follows is a bit of an mystery plot, as Armand follows leads, interviews people, and pieces together what might have happened.

As secrets unravel and more questions are brought up, a portrait of Van Gogh's life emerges. Flashbacks offer rich depth to his past struggles, and his passion for art takes the thematic stage. Van Gogh never stopped pursuing it--he pushed for greater perfection, even at the expense of his mind and body. Whether physically tormented by locals or emotionally accosted by family, he embraced the spirit of art and refused to compromise. These are passions all artists can look up to and draw inspiration from, and these are the truths that the film makes clear as it goes on. Even for a guy like me, who has minimal knowledge of his work and life, it's an inspiration.

The only reason I don't grade this film higher is because of the script. Something about it comes off as stiff, and I realize it's because the dialogue is so explicit and on-the-nose that it doesn't give distinctive voices to the characters. As a result, they dryly meander scene-to-scene, spouting exposition with less subtlety or personality. Even though Van Gogh is the centerpiece, he's not the POV character--I really couldn't tell you much of Armand or the other people he comes across, other than holy cow they look just like the paintings of themselves.

Van Gogh fans will probably enjoy the story and themes all the same, and it remains a remarkable work of art thanks to the painstaking effort that went into the animation. I wouldn't fault the acting--physical or vocal--either. As a film, it's phenomenal.

In the same vein as Waltz With Bashir, this is a film to be admired for its incredible animation and subject matter, but it comes off as rather dry. It's still a must-see because, in the end, this is art imitating art imitating life. Van Gogh's life (and enigmatic death) is so full of torment and suffering that it bleeds into his art, and it seeps into this film as well. Vincent deserves some love.

3.5/5