You either love the meditative, transcendental cinematic poetry of Terrence Malick, or you’re bored stiff by his work, waiting in the hopes that a sad clown will walk into the frame and deliver a profanity-fueled spiel and break someone’s neck just to interrupt the beautiful, beautiful monotony. Malick’s films are like the floating bag in American Beauty, only infinitely better and actually meaningful, but whether you like him largely depends on how much meaning you can extract from that goddamn floating bag.
His latest, Tree of Life, has been delayed for eons, but below is finally our very first look at what to expect. That is: Brad Pitt; pretty imagery; a baby’s foot (awwww!); lots of whispers; Sean Penn, luscious scenery, and the sort of film that kind of bores you until the epiphany washes over you and you give in to the Malick.
Go ahead, give into it.