Friday, November 24, 2006
Review: The Fountain
Darren Aronofsky, the New York based filmmaker behind Pi and Requiem for a Dream, has now, after a six year break, emerged with The Fountain, a science fiction poem that uses the feelings and emotions of love between man and woman as ciphers to explore the often terrifying ideas and concepts of life, death, and the meaning behind them. The result is a work of cinema that not only deftly plays with the language of film, but one that challenges us to confront our own ideas of the finality of existence. Most importantly however, The Fountain allows us to revel in a possible glimpse of the absolute beauty inherent in something as unknown as death like only the magic and wonder of celluloid can provide.
I'm not going to break the "plot" of this film down for you. Sorry. There are, I'm sure, lots and lots of reviews on the internet that'll do that. What I do want to do is sort of just talk about the concepts, the themes, and the filmmaking on display here. For what it's worth, explaining the plot would be somewhat inconsequential since The Fountain is not concerned with narrative in the traditional sense. It's about sensory experience, metaphor, and again, poetry.
As I mentioned already, "love" is used a cipher to explore the concept of death in the film. Which is a brilliant way to go about it. With the exception of the love for a child or perhaps the love of family, there is nothing in a man's life as significant or important as the love for a woman. For me, a person who's deeply involved in both an emotional and spiritual sense to a very special woman, The Fountain touches on a key fear that plagues someone like me. The fear of losing that person. I've often wondered how a man can deal with the passing of a spouse. My grandfather, just last year to the day, lost his wife, my grandmother, to cancer. And for me, it's been a year of discovery in terms of emotion. Sadness. Joy. Fear. Acceptance. I, of course, can't help but correlate it to my own life. Like Hugh Jackman's character Tommy, I would go through hell and back if it meant finding a means to keep my loved one by my side for eternity. But The Fountain wants us to explore that even further. Is everlasting life really what we want? Is it what we need? "Death is a disease" is something that Tommy says, and it, along with the desperate desire to have his wife in his life forever, is the basis for why he does what he does. His refusal to allow the inevitable to come as a result of his wife (Rachel Weisz) Izzi's terminal disease is often frustrating because you want so much for Tommy to just be at peace. But of course, being in his shoe's changes the dynamic entirely, and one can't help but understand and empathize with the overwhelming human need to have hope. Hope for life to somehow find a way and to be spared the grief of loss. Or even the fear of what is beyond our existence and understanding.
The Fountain is an utterly moving piece. Not only because of the heavy themes it's touching on, but even more simply because of the visual grandeur on display in what's undoubtedly a film of complete and total intimacy. And isn't that so relatable? What would seem as the most insignificant moments of our lives in the eyes of others are to us the cornerstones of our existence, who we are, or who we want to be. For us, these moments are larger than life. And in memory, are peppered with all the beauty and grace our imaginations can muster. Aronofsky plays many of Tommy and Izzi's moments in this way. Moments that are visually connected throughout all three of the film's storylines in ways that are so subtle yet so wonderfully poetic. The specifics, I can't really get into without getting spoilery. I apologize. But, it's the feeling of transcendence one has when experiencing such moments that it'd probably be futile to explain anyway. As I said earlier, The Fountain is a film about sensory experience and metaphor.
I regret not having seen The Constant Gardner for two reasons. One (and unrelated to The Fountain), it was directed by Fernando Meirelles of City of God fame, among my very favorite films of all time. The second reason, it featured Rachel Weisz in what was apparently a career best performance. Well, I would certainly say that Darren Aronofsky has directed his real-life wife to what's probably another career best here in The Fountain as the character of Izzi/Isabel. Weisz is tasked with the job of being a woman who simultaneously accepts the inevitability of her condition while always carrying a hint of deep fear for her own end. It sounds contradictory, but I know for a fact that it's the same feelings my own grandmother felt during her final days. There's a moment when you come to realize that control is an illusion of our inherent human nature to have hope. But once that need to control is finally released like a caged bird, there's a feeling of existential calm, understanding, and freedom. That's what Weisz delivers in her performance. And the impact of which is felt throughout the various storylines of the film. It's simply a wonderfully touching and heartbreaking performance.
As for Hugh Jackman, he fairs equally well if not even better since he has to demonstrate the extremes of human emotion and masculine fragility as well as everything in between. With his character Tommy, you have the embodiment of a determined man, committed to the love that's his wife, and the search for eliminating death. Jackman plays Tommy so determined sometimes that he often feels like a child that simply won't come to terms with the truth or with reality. Stubbornness, I guess would be the word. It's what he learns because of that though which makes his character so compelling and layered. The parts where Jackman is Tomas the Spanish conquistador, the role is played more matter of factly, though still very well. There's the air of nobility and duty in those sections, which are in fact, present when he's Tommy in today's time, only with that modern twist. It's a nice touch. But it's the scenes in the future, out the in the vastness of outer space, where Jackman, coupled with the awe inspiring special effects, dramatic sound design, and artful photography, is something else entirely. He plays his character as both sort of a Buddha-like man, but one that ultimately has gone for hundreds of years without ever really changing. His focus is the same. His determination the same. His hope the same. He lives on, both blessed and haunted by the memories of his life. And it's not until the end is near where we see a wonderful revelation in Jackman's eyes where he finally sees death for what it truly is. A stunning performance that's so, so moving.
And I have to say at least just a little bit about Clint Mansell (with the aid of Kronos Quartet and Mogwai) and his wonderfully evocative score. There's a particular rhythm that the film follows, both in its editing and its scoring. And since so much of the film is about that sensory experience, it's an absolutely beautiful marriage of sight and sound. The music is haunting, but never dreary or entirely sad. It's certainly melancholic, but it's filled with a sense of wonder and awe for the unknown. It plays so romantically as well, which jibes so perfectly with the story that's being told between Tommy and Izzi. It's a simple (there are only a few motifs and one or two central themes) yet wonderfully intimate and very elegant soundtrack, one that really enhances the raw emotional experience of the film.
I'm now about to go into some very spoilery material. So if you haven't seen the film yet, go ahead and skip over to the last paragraph of my review. For those who have seen it, this is my interpretation of the finale...
I believe so very strongly that the future scenes featuring Tommy traveling through space are to be taken literally. The denouement shows a scene at Izzi's grave that some have interpreted as Tommy "being at peace" with her passing, and thus, confusing them as to why then would Tommy literally move through time and space to save his wife if he really is "at peace" with her death. Well, the thing is, I personally don't think he's at peace at all. Tommy simply accepts (and I do think there's a strong distinction between "accepting" and "being at peace" with something) that this here in the now, at her grave, her death is what it is, but that by planting a seedling (From the Tree of Life? I think yes, but it's ultimately inconsequential), birth is given to a whole new hope. The ending of the film is literally and metaphorically a new beginning. That Izzi will be reborn and that Tommy will once again have a chance to save her.
I think by taking the future scenes literally, it profoundly strengthens the idea of how important hope and love is to humanity. And in the context of a love story (which The Fountain fully is), it's the most romantic of notions that a man would struggle for lifetimes beyond lifetimes to save his love, and in essence, the very reason for living. But I think it also illustrates that hope can delude us so much from truth and reality, and that sometimes, that reality really does offer what we ultimately want and need, just not in the way we as humanity can understand or comprehend. It's beyond us. The fact is that Tommy ultimately does live forever with Izzi, but in a celestial way. Not living like we know it in our perception of reality, but among the heavens and among the stars.
Death is a touchy subject. We're so used to films that deal out death with little to no consideration of what it actually is, what it means, or what it does to us. And that's fine. Not every film can (or should) consider those things. But when cinema comes along like The Fountain, it's a blessing. I don't mean that to sound hyperbolic, but the truth is that real art makes you reconsider the ideas of our own lives. Love, hope, and mortality... it's all touched upon here in The Fountain. And it does so in a way that's unconventional, not for the sake of non conventionalism, but to be lyrical. To be poetic. In the best ways that literature can evoke, Aronofsky has used The Fountain as a means to experiment with the different avenues of what can be told cinematically and, more importantly, how it can be told. The Fountain is one of this year's masterpieces. It challenges us to think and to perhaps reevaluate life itself and what it means to each of us... its purpose and humanity's place in it. But above all, The Fountain, like so many great works of cinema, shows that there is beauty, wonder, and love to be found in even the darkest of places. That is such a beautiful thought. A thought I think we can all hope to embrace.
9.8 stars out of 10
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