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
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| 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.
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| What am I looking at here?! |
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.
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| Look, mom's hands. |
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.
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| One of these shadows is not human! *GASP* |
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
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| And they're climbing their way to heaven (ooh it makes me wonder...) |
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.
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