The New World
Moderator: drizzle
The New World
You knew this was coming. I haven't been this hyped for a film since The Thin Red Line. We'll start this out with some stills, since this will undoubtably contain some of the best cinematography of the year:
Then you have the haters, like Variety's Todd Mccarthy. Malick hater's usually privledge narrarative over visual grandeur and the ability to create a mood, so they don't realize that Malick's films, like life, are a catalog of fleeting moments and don't add up to a conventially thrilling narrative (like life itself):
THE NEW WORLD
"The New World" is just Malick's fourth film in a career that began 32 years ago with "Badlands." No one else's films look like his, and, Disney to the side, no filmmaker has ever chosen to take a serious look at the initial English incursion onto American soil, a period invariably encrusted by starch and must in history books.
Malick brings palpably alive the physical manifestations of the British presence in Virginia, beginning in 1607. Stirringly beginning with the opening strains of Wagner's "Das Rheingold," written to evoke a river's swirling and the emanation of life from it, the film presents without preamble the arrival of three British ships like a cascading wave upon the shore.
Without a clue what to expect, the Englishmen remain cautiously reserved as the naturals scamper about, hoot, talk and even sniff and touch them before retreating back into the sylvan wilds. Sequence has a freshly charged, even humorous aspect that holds considerable promise.
White contingent is led by Captain Newport (Christopher Plummer) who, as he strides upon the land, summarily releases Captain John Smith (Colin Farrell) from his death sentence (for unexplained "mutinous remarks") and appoints him to lead an expedition to the natives' compound. Along the way, the other men are killed while Smith is captured, only to spared at the last minute by Pocahontas (Q'orianka Kilcher), the teenage daughter of the Powhatan tribal king (August Schellenberg).
The months that follow constitute the heart of the matter for Malick. In each of his films, but especially in "Days of Heaven" and the early section of "The Thin Red Line," the director has excelled at evoking nature in its pure state, from the sensual swaying of grass and wheat in the former to the intoxicating qualities of the tropics in the latter. Here, there is an Adam-and-Eve-like quality to the playful, sensual but not precisely carnal frolicking of Pocahontas (Kilcher was 14 when pic was shot) and the Englishman twice her age who falls under the spell of a culture so very different from his own.
Although the storyline has been fictionalized, at least in regard to the romance between the leading characters, the filmmakers have gone to great lengths to achieve authenticity on the production side. Lensing along the Chickahominy River very close to the original Jamestown settlement, Malick, production designer Jack Fisk, costume designer Jacqueline West and all other hands have fashioned a convincing version of indigenous American life 400 years ago that has a gratifyingly hand-tooled feel. When Fort James is first seen, its ugliness truly resembles a scar upon the land.
But the film's impact begins and, disappointingly, ends with these tactile, impressionistic effects. Minimalizing dialogue in favor of mostly unilluminating voice-over narration from Smith, Pocahontas and, later, newly arrived Englishman John Rolfe, screenwriter Malick (who first penned the script 25 years ago) can't get inside the heads of any of his characters and fails to establish a connection for the audience.
While Kilcher's girl/woman charm, poised naivete and intriguing unfamiliarity lend Pocahontas a considerable fascination, Smith remains grievously underwritten for a leading role. One hasn't a clue what drives him, what he might have left behind in England, whether or not he's a trustworthy character (or narrator) with a good heart. Under the circumstances, Farrell can't do much more than interact in an agreeably spontaneous way with his leading lady. Thesps in lesser roles register hardly at all.
Pocahontas is said to have been one of many children of the king, but there is no attempt to delineate the native group's family or power structure, or this tribe's relationship with its neighbors. Explicit exposition may not be Malick's thing, but the lack of moorings has the predictable effect of leaving the viewer adrift in what shapes up as the director's most literal, albeit not overly didactic, depiction of the despoiling of Eden.
Before long, pic falls into an ill-formed midsection marked by muddled action, abrupt transitions and a lulling torpor. With Newport having sailed back to England for more supplies and manpower, the English settlement languishes but revives upon Smith's return. Once Powhatan figures out that the Brits plan to stay, he prepares for battle with them. He's foiled, however, by his favorite daughter, who warns Smith, leading to her exile from the tribe and adoption by the English.
Just as Smith's embrace of native ways made for unusual moments, so does Pocahontas' slow Anglicanization stir modest interest, although in a sadder way, with her natural manner literally constricted by the European clothes she wears. Told Smith is dead, she at lengthmarries tobacco grower Rolfe (Christian Bale), who later takes her to his homeland.
This development momentarily proves stimulating, as Malick is wonderfully adept at showing England from an innocent's point of view, with its dark wet stone and formal gardens contrasting starkly with the new world's lush land and untamed foliage.
Along with the dramatic shortcomings, pic surprisingly disappoints somewhat on the visual side as well. To be sure, Malick and ace cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki have come up with some arresting, original and mobile images. But the combination of the overwhelmingly dull skies with the decision to film entirely without electric lights serves to drain a lot of the color and interest from the frames, especially compared to what the director achieved in "Days of Heaven" and "The Thin Red Line."
In the end, there is also a feeling of pictorial repetition of what Malick has done before, particularly in the reliance on nature shots; more than once, one is made to recall the old saw about how, if a scene isn't cutting together, you cut to a seagull flying overhead. With this and the heavy narration, one senses a certain artistic treading water, the opposite of what the churning waterborne motifs of "Das Rheingold" are meant to suggest.
The repeated Wagner excerpt remains the dominant musical signpost of the film, much as the Saint-Saens "Carnival of the Animals" extract was for "Days of Heaven." Among other pre-existing music, Mozart plays a leading role, and James Horner's original contributions to the score are discreet and dramatic.
THE NEW WORLD
"The New World" is just Malick's fourth film in a career that began 32 years ago with "Badlands." No one else's films look like his, and, Disney to the side, no filmmaker has ever chosen to take a serious look at the initial English incursion onto American soil, a period invariably encrusted by starch and must in history books.
Malick brings palpably alive the physical manifestations of the British presence in Virginia, beginning in 1607. Stirringly beginning with the opening strains of Wagner's "Das Rheingold," written to evoke a river's swirling and the emanation of life from it, the film presents without preamble the arrival of three British ships like a cascading wave upon the shore.
Without a clue what to expect, the Englishmen remain cautiously reserved as the naturals scamper about, hoot, talk and even sniff and touch them before retreating back into the sylvan wilds. Sequence has a freshly charged, even humorous aspect that holds considerable promise.
White contingent is led by Captain Newport (Christopher Plummer) who, as he strides upon the land, summarily releases Captain John Smith (Colin Farrell) from his death sentence (for unexplained "mutinous remarks") and appoints him to lead an expedition to the natives' compound. Along the way, the other men are killed while Smith is captured, only to spared at the last minute by Pocahontas (Q'orianka Kilcher), the teenage daughter of the Powhatan tribal king (August Schellenberg).
The months that follow constitute the heart of the matter for Malick. In each of his films, but especially in "Days of Heaven" and the early section of "The Thin Red Line," the director has excelled at evoking nature in its pure state, from the sensual swaying of grass and wheat in the former to the intoxicating qualities of the tropics in the latter. Here, there is an Adam-and-Eve-like quality to the playful, sensual but not precisely carnal frolicking of Pocahontas (Kilcher was 14 when pic was shot) and the Englishman twice her age who falls under the spell of a culture so very different from his own.
Although the storyline has been fictionalized, at least in regard to the romance between the leading characters, the filmmakers have gone to great lengths to achieve authenticity on the production side. Lensing along the Chickahominy River very close to the original Jamestown settlement, Malick, production designer Jack Fisk, costume designer Jacqueline West and all other hands have fashioned a convincing version of indigenous American life 400 years ago that has a gratifyingly hand-tooled feel. When Fort James is first seen, its ugliness truly resembles a scar upon the land.
But the film's impact begins and, disappointingly, ends with these tactile, impressionistic effects. Minimalizing dialogue in favor of mostly unilluminating voice-over narration from Smith, Pocahontas and, later, newly arrived Englishman John Rolfe, screenwriter Malick (who first penned the script 25 years ago) can't get inside the heads of any of his characters and fails to establish a connection for the audience.
While Kilcher's girl/woman charm, poised naivete and intriguing unfamiliarity lend Pocahontas a considerable fascination, Smith remains grievously underwritten for a leading role. One hasn't a clue what drives him, what he might have left behind in England, whether or not he's a trustworthy character (or narrator) with a good heart. Under the circumstances, Farrell can't do much more than interact in an agreeably spontaneous way with his leading lady. Thesps in lesser roles register hardly at all.
Pocahontas is said to have been one of many children of the king, but there is no attempt to delineate the native group's family or power structure, or this tribe's relationship with its neighbors. Explicit exposition may not be Malick's thing, but the lack of moorings has the predictable effect of leaving the viewer adrift in what shapes up as the director's most literal, albeit not overly didactic, depiction of the despoiling of Eden.
Before long, pic falls into an ill-formed midsection marked by muddled action, abrupt transitions and a lulling torpor. With Newport having sailed back to England for more supplies and manpower, the English settlement languishes but revives upon Smith's return. Once Powhatan figures out that the Brits plan to stay, he prepares for battle with them. He's foiled, however, by his favorite daughter, who warns Smith, leading to her exile from the tribe and adoption by the English.
Just as Smith's embrace of native ways made for unusual moments, so does Pocahontas' slow Anglicanization stir modest interest, although in a sadder way, with her natural manner literally constricted by the European clothes she wears. Told Smith is dead, she at lengthmarries tobacco grower Rolfe (Christian Bale), who later takes her to his homeland.
This development momentarily proves stimulating, as Malick is wonderfully adept at showing England from an innocent's point of view, with its dark wet stone and formal gardens contrasting starkly with the new world's lush land and untamed foliage.
Along with the dramatic shortcomings, pic surprisingly disappoints somewhat on the visual side as well. To be sure, Malick and ace cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki have come up with some arresting, original and mobile images. But the combination of the overwhelmingly dull skies with the decision to film entirely without electric lights serves to drain a lot of the color and interest from the frames, especially compared to what the director achieved in "Days of Heaven" and "The Thin Red Line."
In the end, there is also a feeling of pictorial repetition of what Malick has done before, particularly in the reliance on nature shots; more than once, one is made to recall the old saw about how, if a scene isn't cutting together, you cut to a seagull flying overhead. With this and the heavy narration, one senses a certain artistic treading water, the opposite of what the churning waterborne motifs of "Das Rheingold" are meant to suggest.
The repeated Wagner excerpt remains the dominant musical signpost of the film, much as the Saint-Saens "Carnival of the Animals" extract was for "Days of Heaven." Among other pre-existing music, Mozart plays a leading role, and James Horner's original contributions to the score are discreet and dramatic.
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blastmaster
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Malick's trying to get a message across in a more straight-forward, sensual way than a traditional storyline. Bitching at his films for not having great narratives is like bitching at Bob Dylan for not having a great voice.blastmaster wrote:This movie looks so great visually. Very anticipated. Word to Malick's films not being the best "stories", but getting other things accomplished.
Both of those reviews make me angry. I hate movie reviews in general, but both of those make me want to snipe.
And yeah, even I agree that the first review was a little too much.
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Funk Docta Bombay
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I am Rele hyped for this.
but your comment about Malick "making film high art" is about as misguided and insulting as people saying that Black Star and Common "made rap into real music". just shows ignorance about the artform and about the wide variety of filmmakers making this kind of stuff not to mention it denigrates purely narrative film as "less than high art" when it can certainly be that.
not that I ever cared about the distinctions between high art, pop art and anything else. if it's good it's good.
(except if you were sarcastic, I don't want to read anything detailed about films before I see them thus I didn't read any of those articles.)
but your comment about Malick "making film high art" is about as misguided and insulting as people saying that Black Star and Common "made rap into real music". just shows ignorance about the artform and about the wide variety of filmmakers making this kind of stuff not to mention it denigrates purely narrative film as "less than high art" when it can certainly be that.
not that I ever cared about the distinctions between high art, pop art and anything else. if it's good it's good.
(except if you were sarcastic, I don't want to read anything detailed about films before I see them thus I didn't read any of those articles.)
I was summarizing what the dude said in his review.Funk Docta Bombay wrote:I am Rele hyped for this.
but your comment about Malick "making film high art" is about as misguided and insulting as people saying that Black Star and Common "made rap into real music". just shows ignorance about the artform and about the wide variety of filmmakers making this kind of stuff not to mention it denigrates purely narrative film as "less than high art" when it can certainly be that.
However, I do think that Malick (and some other directors, Todd Haynes did it in "Safe," "Hero" does it to some degree as well) frees film from its narrative restraints and makes it a primarily visual, aural experience that relays its message visually and aurally - the narrarative is a mere formality. Malick's films (except Badlands) are something that you could get something out of even if you didn't know what the people were saying - which is a rare talent.
"High art," as I see it, is art where the artist doesn't need to verbally explain what they're trying to get across (via lyrics, narrative, etc.) for the viewer / listener to get what they're trying to say. Malick is one of the few filmmakers that comes close to doing just that.
Last edited by Icesickle on Wed Dec 21, 2005 4:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Funk Docta Bombay
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I love those films, but it's not really "better" art in and of itself is what I'm saying. the same way that painting isn't necessarily a higher art than litterature. Or poetry being higher art than prose. It is extremely difficult to make a film like that though though imo (I've seen tons of bad attempts, particularly from film students) so if difficulty is a criterium then I can't disagree with you. although funniest part is it seems to come very naturally to people who do it best.
but yeah, peace to all the visual-poetic filmmakers
Terrence Mallick
Alain Resnais
Andrei Tarkovsky
Wong Kar-Wai
Hou Hsiao Hsien
forgetting a ton, too tired to really think of all of em.
but yeah, peace to all the visual-poetic filmmakers
Terrence Mallick
Alain Resnais
Andrei Tarkovsky
Wong Kar-Wai
Hou Hsiao Hsien
forgetting a ton, too tired to really think of all of em.
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StormShadow
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Oh yeah, I'm not saying it's better either...just a lot more difficult to do. There's a dearth of American directors (Haynes did it in "Safe," Julie Dash did it in "Daughters of the Dust," and David Gordon Green does it [but he bites Malick]) that attempt to do what Malick does.Funk Docta Bombay wrote:I love those films, but it's not really "better" art in and of itself is what I'm saying. the same way that painting isn't necessarily a higher art than litterature. Or poetry being higher art than prose. It is extremely difficult to make a film like that though though imo (I've seen tons of bad attempts, particularly from film students) so if difficulty is a criterium then I can't disagree with you. although funniest part is it seems to come very naturally to people who do it best.
but yeah, peace to all the visual-poetic filmmakers
Terrence Mallick
Alain Resnais
Andrei Tarkovsky
Wong Kar-Wai
Hou Hsiao Hsien
forgetting a ton, too tired to really think of all of em.
Props to Wai, who I like too, but I don't think he's touching Malick. Haven't seen any films by the other directors you mentioned - that's my bad.
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Funk Docta Bombay
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I won't defend WKW cuz he's my personal favorite director of all time, but suffice to say I recommend watching all of his films until you can quote the cantonese. but that's me 
The dearth of that kind of filmmaking in the US is mainly because Hollywood doesn't believe it will sell. Frankly I wouldn't bet the farm on it selling myself since it's pretty difficult shit. but thankfully a lot of countries give funding to art-filmmakers.
Resnais is a french director from the late 50's early 60's and was one of the first modernists. his stuff is a trip, very loopy and plays with time a lot. A Year in Marienbad tends to drive people insane though.
Tarkovsky is a heavy motherfucker but his shit is pure poetry. Again not something light hearted (nothing Soviet ever is) but definitely something to check out if you're into unorthodox uses of film-form as an art. I'd recommend Stalker which is perhaps his most accessible imo. relatively speaking.
Hou Hsiao Hsien is a Taiwanese director who doesn't have much work available in the states. The french love him and he was vote most important filmmaker to emerge in the 80's by the NY times back then. Extremely slow paced distanced filmmaking. His new shit easier and more interesting imo whereas his older work was very cultural/Taiwanese even if it got a ton of critical praise.
The dearth of that kind of filmmaking in the US is mainly because Hollywood doesn't believe it will sell. Frankly I wouldn't bet the farm on it selling myself since it's pretty difficult shit. but thankfully a lot of countries give funding to art-filmmakers.
Resnais is a french director from the late 50's early 60's and was one of the first modernists. his stuff is a trip, very loopy and plays with time a lot. A Year in Marienbad tends to drive people insane though.
Tarkovsky is a heavy motherfucker but his shit is pure poetry. Again not something light hearted (nothing Soviet ever is) but definitely something to check out if you're into unorthodox uses of film-form as an art. I'd recommend Stalker which is perhaps his most accessible imo. relatively speaking.
Hou Hsiao Hsien is a Taiwanese director who doesn't have much work available in the states. The french love him and he was vote most important filmmaker to emerge in the 80's by the NY times back then. Extremely slow paced distanced filmmaking. His new shit easier and more interesting imo whereas his older work was very cultural/Taiwanese even if it got a ton of critical praise.
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Patches O'Houlihan
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pennsylvania jones
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TheEnglishProfessorGuy
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StormShadow
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As good as I expected. Might be Malick's best film...the only thing holding it back is that Colin Farell isn't on Q'Orianka Kilcher, Christopher Plummer, or Christian Bale's level.
Q'Orianka Kilcher's is the truth; definate lock for a best actress nomination. James Horner's score is one of the best film scores I've ever heard. There's something to what Zeitz said in that review about it being a filmic symphony...the linking of the visuals to the musical themes is genius.
And Malick's direction and screenplay are flawless, save for a few corny lines here and there and a few omitted shots (SPOILER: ......he should of showed the kid at the end, maybe even had a virtuoso shot of the Virginia shores reflecting in the kids eyes).
Anyone who says this year hasn't been a good year for movies is on crack. Cronenburg, Spielburg, and Malick have all come with some of the best films they've ever done.
Q'Orianka Kilcher's is the truth; definate lock for a best actress nomination. James Horner's score is one of the best film scores I've ever heard. There's something to what Zeitz said in that review about it being a filmic symphony...the linking of the visuals to the musical themes is genius.
And Malick's direction and screenplay are flawless, save for a few corny lines here and there and a few omitted shots (SPOILER: ......he should of showed the kid at the end, maybe even had a virtuoso shot of the Virginia shores reflecting in the kids eyes).
Anyone who says this year hasn't been a good year for movies is on crack. Cronenburg, Spielburg, and Malick have all come with some of the best films they've ever done.
I too was pleased with the results, pleased enough to see it twice already. I'll probably end up seeing it again soon.
There really isn't that much to speak ill of in the film, other than the pacing in certain spots. Not that it was going too slow, but too fast, especially when the english are adjusting to the natives. when that one englishman shoots that native in the back, it seems a little abupt, and you don't sense that much of a distrust between them at that point. There were also spots towards the end that seemed very rushed.
Photography, dialogue, acting, score, all top notch. Kilcher was a definite highlight. She fit that role to a T. It was also good to see John Savage in this too, as short as it was. Same with Ben Chaplin, who was great in The Thin Red Line, but I was disappointed with his screen time. He didn't even say anything! but i know Malick is notorious for cutting people out completely.
Appearantly Malicks next film is gonna be The Tree of Life, starring Farrel once again. I know nothing other than that, but atleast we won't have to wait too long, but you never know.
There really isn't that much to speak ill of in the film, other than the pacing in certain spots. Not that it was going too slow, but too fast, especially when the english are adjusting to the natives. when that one englishman shoots that native in the back, it seems a little abupt, and you don't sense that much of a distrust between them at that point. There were also spots towards the end that seemed very rushed.
Photography, dialogue, acting, score, all top notch. Kilcher was a definite highlight. She fit that role to a T. It was also good to see John Savage in this too, as short as it was. Same with Ben Chaplin, who was great in The Thin Red Line, but I was disappointed with his screen time. He didn't even say anything! but i know Malick is notorious for cutting people out completely.
Appearantly Malicks next film is gonna be The Tree of Life, starring Farrel once again. I know nothing other than that, but atleast we won't have to wait too long, but you never know.
the last five minutes of this film was the most breathtaking artistic experience i have ever had. as a whole i thought malick has done better-not too much is done that he hasn't done already and not necessarily more effective than previous efforts-- but the last five minutes were absolutely incredible.
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RacquetballGangsta
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One of the few times I've ever wholly agreed with Ebert:
http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbc ... 20006/1023
This is one movie where Malick haters don't have that much of a reason to bitch about his nature shots or his lack of dialogue, because it fits the subject matter and story: the English discovering a new land and marvelling at a foreign habitat necessitates all those nature shot "diversions" (which also work as visual metaphors a lot of the time) and the lack of dialogue and emphasis on physical language is entirely appropriate considering each culture didn't know the others language.
The ending is
breathtaking, but the "time capsule" scene in this film is when John Smith comes back from being with the Powatans and the Jamestown gates open. The film doesn't sugarcoat the Indians - it doesn't shy away from their brutality and occassional "savagery" - but it's just as evenhanded in the portrayal of the moral and spiritual degeneracy of the settlers. That's what makes it a bravora shot - Smith going back into Jamestown (Malick, who doesn't get enough credit for his dialogue, has some brutal irony - "savages can't come in here sir"), to a civilization that is even more "savage" than the one he was just sent away from.
http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbc ... 20006/1023
This is one movie where Malick haters don't have that much of a reason to bitch about his nature shots or his lack of dialogue, because it fits the subject matter and story: the English discovering a new land and marvelling at a foreign habitat necessitates all those nature shot "diversions" (which also work as visual metaphors a lot of the time) and the lack of dialogue and emphasis on physical language is entirely appropriate considering each culture didn't know the others language.
The ending is
breathtaking, but the "time capsule" scene in this film is when John Smith comes back from being with the Powatans and the Jamestown gates open. The film doesn't sugarcoat the Indians - it doesn't shy away from their brutality and occassional "savagery" - but it's just as evenhanded in the portrayal of the moral and spiritual degeneracy of the settlers. That's what makes it a bravora shot - Smith going back into Jamestown (Malick, who doesn't get enough credit for his dialogue, has some brutal irony - "savages can't come in here sir"), to a civilization that is even more "savage" than the one he was just sent away from.
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TheEnglishProfessorGuy
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Rachel Hobozal
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Pretty perceptive review:
Film Freak Central's Walter Chaw wrote:Terrence Malick opens The New World with "come spirit, help us," invoking the muse before embarking on a spoken history part rapturous, part hallucinogenic, all speculative, reverent, and sanctified hearsay. Malick is the post-modern American epic poet of the division ploughed through the middle of America, telling our history with one voice, painting it in golden shades of romance and poesy. It's the only viable approach to the Captain John Smith/Pocahontas story in a minefield of debris strewn by not only our Western genre tradition, but also our newer guilt at how American Indians have been (and continue to be) portrayed in our culture: the most bestial, savage notions of the Natural have come around to their personification as an unsullied, Edenic embodiment of an impossibly harmonious nature. It's an organic progression from bigotry to paternalism, and Malick charts these dangerous waters with the audacity of an artist well and truly in the centre of his craft. He makes the doomed love between Smith and the much younger Pocahontas function as a metaphor for the decimation of the Native American population--and in so doing suggests the possibility that all human interaction can be analyzed along the lines of love and misunderstanding. Routinely described as inscrutable or remote, Malick's The New World presents history as something as simple as two people who come together, fall in love, and betray one another because their cultures are too different, too intolerant, to coexist with one another. It's history as a progression of human tragedy.
The picture debates two natures: not English vs. Indian--though that's also of some interest--but rather the thornier conflict between our faith-based at odds with our experiential (scientific) natures as stereotyped onto these respective cultures. Amazingly reductive to say that the picture is racist (again, see King Kong), more accurate to see it as a response to decades of racial deconstruction and reconstitution in political and intellectual circles of discourse--an attempt to return the conversation to something so simple as why we begin to believe what we do and, conversely, how we begin to lose faith. In that sense, The New World, without sacrificing the idea that it uses its doomed love affair as the blueprint for human experience in a mortal world, implies that the new world of its title is one we enter when we leave the unchallenged beliefs of our childhood behind, swallowed bit-by-bit by serpents bearing fruits of experience and knowledge.
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bringinoutbangerz
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Heres a cool review I read, thought Icesickle would dig it:
The New World
Directed by Terrence Malick
A-
Reviewed by Sean Burns
Opens, Fri., Jan. 20
If you tried drawing a line through Terrence Malick's four films-Badlands, Days of Heaven, The Thin Red Line and The New World-you'd probably find your pen drifting upward toward the cosmos. Released sporadically over the past 32 years, the reclusive filmmaker-turned-philosophy-teacher-turned-back-into-filmmaker's pictures veer away from conventional narrative storytelling and further into a kind of dreamy, uniquely personal sort of abstract expressionism.
Malick always seems to be making up his own cinematic language as he goes along, and never more so than in The New World, a mostly ecstatic, occasionally infuriating account of Virginia's Jamestown colony in 1607. Colin Farrell stars as Capt. John Smith, while mesmerizing newcomer Q'Orianka Kilcher plays Pocahontas (interestingly, she's never referred to by name). It's an oft-told tale made strikingly original by the filmmaker's daring approach-a drifting, almost painterly eye-of-God perspective that subverts and discards narrative conventions to a point where The New World tells its story with pictures and music instead of words.
Split roughly down the middle into two mirroring segments, The New World first follows Smith's arrival in America-an alien landscape of verdant greens captured brilliantly by Emmanuel Lubezki's staggering
natural-light cinematography-and his introduction to the Powhatan tribe, a sequence as weirdly terrifying as anything you'll find in a science-fiction movie. After the inevitable bloody conflict, The New World's second, more contemplative half chronicles Pocahontas' assimilation into proper English society.
Malick carefully arranges these seemingly disparate sequences so they rhyme both visually and metaphorically. There are dueling baptisms, foreign customs to be learned, and finally an audience with the king that's shot with the same baroque, scarifying gusto as Smith's initial violent encounter with the Powhatan. It's a movie about the thrill of discovery-and the shock of the new.
Wagner's prelude to Das Rheingold recurs often on the soundtrack, swirling magnificently as Lubezki's restless roving camera circles the characters. Malick edits his scenes with nervous, disorienting jump-cuts, the rhythms quickening in time to the music until suddenly halted by abrupt slams into a black screen and silence. The visual sensibility is so sophisticated, with so little use for dialogue, that whenever exposition is required to further the story, it usually arrives as a stray line or two that feels like an interruption-plunked in like title cards in silent movies.
The version of The New World opening this weekend runs 15 minutes shorter than the two-and-a-half-hour edit screened for critics and Academy Award voters last month. Sadly, most of the alterations were made to the film's astonishingly weird opening reels, sacrificing some of Malick's poetry for a more prosaic narrative clarity. (I wish he'd instead excised some of the redundant scenes of Smith and Pocahontas playing footsie-literally-in the woods.)
But this is still a marvelous achievement. The New World demands to be seen on the largest screen possible and discussed and debated for days afterward. Terrence Malick movies don't come along very often. Savor this one.
The New World
Directed by Terrence Malick
A-
Reviewed by Sean Burns
Opens, Fri., Jan. 20
If you tried drawing a line through Terrence Malick's four films-Badlands, Days of Heaven, The Thin Red Line and The New World-you'd probably find your pen drifting upward toward the cosmos. Released sporadically over the past 32 years, the reclusive filmmaker-turned-philosophy-teacher-turned-back-into-filmmaker's pictures veer away from conventional narrative storytelling and further into a kind of dreamy, uniquely personal sort of abstract expressionism.
Malick always seems to be making up his own cinematic language as he goes along, and never more so than in The New World, a mostly ecstatic, occasionally infuriating account of Virginia's Jamestown colony in 1607. Colin Farrell stars as Capt. John Smith, while mesmerizing newcomer Q'Orianka Kilcher plays Pocahontas (interestingly, she's never referred to by name). It's an oft-told tale made strikingly original by the filmmaker's daring approach-a drifting, almost painterly eye-of-God perspective that subverts and discards narrative conventions to a point where The New World tells its story with pictures and music instead of words.
Split roughly down the middle into two mirroring segments, The New World first follows Smith's arrival in America-an alien landscape of verdant greens captured brilliantly by Emmanuel Lubezki's staggering
natural-light cinematography-and his introduction to the Powhatan tribe, a sequence as weirdly terrifying as anything you'll find in a science-fiction movie. After the inevitable bloody conflict, The New World's second, more contemplative half chronicles Pocahontas' assimilation into proper English society.
Malick carefully arranges these seemingly disparate sequences so they rhyme both visually and metaphorically. There are dueling baptisms, foreign customs to be learned, and finally an audience with the king that's shot with the same baroque, scarifying gusto as Smith's initial violent encounter with the Powhatan. It's a movie about the thrill of discovery-and the shock of the new.
Wagner's prelude to Das Rheingold recurs often on the soundtrack, swirling magnificently as Lubezki's restless roving camera circles the characters. Malick edits his scenes with nervous, disorienting jump-cuts, the rhythms quickening in time to the music until suddenly halted by abrupt slams into a black screen and silence. The visual sensibility is so sophisticated, with so little use for dialogue, that whenever exposition is required to further the story, it usually arrives as a stray line or two that feels like an interruption-plunked in like title cards in silent movies.
The version of The New World opening this weekend runs 15 minutes shorter than the two-and-a-half-hour edit screened for critics and Academy Award voters last month. Sadly, most of the alterations were made to the film's astonishingly weird opening reels, sacrificing some of Malick's poetry for a more prosaic narrative clarity. (I wish he'd instead excised some of the redundant scenes of Smith and Pocahontas playing footsie-literally-in the woods.)
But this is still a marvelous achievement. The New World demands to be seen on the largest screen possible and discussed and debated for days afterward. Terrence Malick movies don't come along very often. Savor this one.