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The
Fountain
I am not a philosophy major, nor a psychologist nor a film
major. Therefore, I don't quite feel qualified to review
The Fountain, as it is quite complex.
When
I try to think about parts of the movie, my mind starts
circling around the scene, trying to find hidden meanings,
and ends up stuck in neutral, utterly lost. But still, you
deserve to see me try to talk about it. What the hell, I'll
give it a shot.
The
Fountain is three parallel stories, set in vastly different
time periods. The first shows us Queen Isabel and her conquistador,
Tomas, attempting a glorious quest for eternal life in the
jungles of the New World. In the second, we watch Tommy
and his quest for a cure for his wife Izzie's tumor, to
extend her life. And in the third story, we see Tom Creo,
astronaut, floating through space, in an attempt to reach
a place where life will be eternal, and he will be reborn.
Darren
Aronofsky's latest film is definitely a twist of the mind,
taking place in what seems to be three different time periods,
with possibly three different sets of people, but arguably
two. There are three different stories, though again, the
last two could be one continuous story line, and there are
three different endings, though the end of one is possibly
the beginning of another. The entire movie flows like this,
and it's tumbled in on itself, in a crazy jumble of metaphor
and meaning.
Now,
the tumbling isn't exactly graceful. It's jarring at times,
though whether it's meant to be, this is arguable. There
are scenes where a sudden change clarifies the continuing
story, but there are times, when it's just painful to watch.
And
it's not a sudden jar. A scene where Tom Creo is flashing
back to a living Izzie (arguing that perhaps Tom is Tommy)
makes your mind flinch, because Tom Creo just looks out
of place in Tommy's very cluttered office. And scenes in
the Mayan jungles of the New World seem to fit like odd
puzzle pieces into the more modern stories, perfectly shaped,
but oddly colored. It's a bit of trick to be conscious of
all the stories at once, and easy to lose track of what's
going on.
Actors
are very much the last thing on my mind during this movie.
While I recognize Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weitz, they aren't
the focus of this film. This is one film where truly, the
convoluted story is the centerpiece, and while it's told
by pretty (and sexy, per a steamy bath scene) people, their
looks don't matter as much as the lives they're portraying.
Aronofsky
shoves us in those lives. He uses full face shots brutally,
until I was fairly uncomfortable staring Jackman dead in
the face, from the shoulders up, reacting to something I
can't see. This doesn't really fit with the movie very well,
and just seems like an odd "I'm being artistic"
choice.
The
one thing I will affirm with as much strength as I can:
this is a very pretty film. While an ugly film is rare these
days, this has something about it that makes it stand out
compared to other pretty films. Towards the end, when we
see a blooming nebula surrounding Tom Creo, it's a beautiful,
flowing thing, ethereal and powerful, and rich with color,
though stark at the same time.
Aronofsky
achieved what he was striving for: a timelessness about
the film, so that it didn't look like it was made in 2006,
it just looked like it was made. Chemical reactions instead
of from scratch computer graphics acheived that agelessness,
and possibly added another aspect
to the idea of eternal life in the film.
It's
incredibly hard to judge this film. If you don't try to
analyze its insane amount of metaphor and deeper meanings,
you're left with a jumbled ball of film reel, that makes
little to no sense. But once you start analyzing the symbolism,
you end up stuck, though I'm pretty sure film professors
all over the world are rubbing their hands together with
glee at the fodder this movie is providing for their film
classes. It's not a film for the general public; nor will
the general public like it. But that's okay, as those who
do like it, and get it, will think it's one of the greatest
films of all time.
This
is not an approachable film, beckoning you with a friendly
smile. Nor is this an angry film, holding a gun to your
head. The Fountain is a film that turns its back on you,
but looks wistfully over its shoulder, while quietly whispering
enigmatic poems.
Yes,
it's that cryptic. It redefines the artistic film, and in
some ways, is very pretentious of Aronofsky. But just an
open mind, and a quiet afternoon afterward, and you'll really
start pondering life itself. And start feeling very mortal.
Rating:
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