domingo, 15 de janeiro de 2012

Vishnevetsky sobre Tree of Life.






" ...Looking at just this first reel of the film, it becomes obvious that if The Tree of Life is set anywhere, it isn’t in Waco or in Penn’s memory, but in a constructed collective dream-state, in a sub-conscious with no conscious, where the disparate memories of individuals, animals and the landscape itself are repurposed like B-roll footage. Repurposed, it should be said, by Terrence Malick, the film’s invisible protagonist, a reclusive Old Testament God who molds characters in His own image so that they can suffer and then marvel at the beauty of His creation.
(...) For all of its pretensions of fleeting-moment intuitiveness, Malick’s style is thoroughly artificial. The camera trains itself on stray rays of light passing over costumed actors while carefully-picked and rehearsed extras (The Tree of Life has got to have the most finely-choreographed background action of any film made in the last decade) and vintage cars go about their business. Malick has never directed a film that wasn’t a period piece, and even in The Tree of Life’s modern episodes, he seems to be constructing a facsimile of modern life—choked up with cellphones, elevators, glass and steel—more than filming the reality around him. He is a realist in the old Bazinian sense, in that he constructs an unbroken, heightened reality within the frame; as much as his style prizes chance and the uncontrollable forces of nature—clouds, water, sunlight—it relies even more heavily on careful production design and research.
The Tree of Life is arranged into movements, the significance of which is only occasionally obvious (as in the "birth of the universe" movement), but for the most part is so obscure that it borders on arbitrariness. And yet the one thing that is always clear is that these parts are definitely arranged according to some logic; the film resembles an ancient artifact whose purpose can never be fully understood.



(...) Malick's intersubjective epic—set in inner, not outer, space—is a creation myth in the guise of a crypto-autobiography. It toes pop Brakhage territory, explores Finnegans Wake, Jr. territory and—most importantly—travels further into Malick territory than any other film, and in the process becomes an odd objet d'art: inscrutable, composed of enigmatic variations, full of suggestive themes that probably only its director fully understands.
Instead of looking for the universal in the specific (which Malick's supporters tend to portray him as doing), it hoists its specifics up on supports of old-fashioned universality (which is what Malick—a romantic, a man of the 19th century—really does).
(...) With The Tree of Life, it becomes clear that when Malick has sought to express human smallness—placing his characters within landscapes and historical periods that operate independently of them—it's always been his own, an overpowering smallness that he imposes on to his characters and sets.
(...) It's an apocalypse. Malick has constructed a universe of his own from memory; he even goes as far as to show its creation, giving all of the animals the capacity to do violence and imbuing all of the humans with remorse. And since this universe exists only for the purposes of The Tree of Life, as the movie ends, it must too. "
IGNATIY VISHNEVETSKY in The Tree of Life- A Malickiad, Mubi Notebook, 26 Maio 2011

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