At long last, we have the newest film from Darren Aronofsky, and what a grand mess it is. For those not in the know, Aronofsky exploded onto the cinephile and film snob scene in 2000 with "Reqiuem for a Dream," a brilliant and harrowing look at four New York drug abusers. Right away, some lavished Aronofsky with the usual hollow compliments, using phrases like "the next" Scorsese, big thing, Messiah, whatever.
And after six years, we arrive at "The Fountain." I’d be happy to report that all of the hype has been realized and then some, but unfortunately, that would make me a liar. His third film certainly isn’t bad, but it is a convoluted, incomprehensible mishmash of time periods, trippy visuals, and themes that would likely be depressing if they weren’t so jumbled.
The plot stares deep into my eyes, daring me to attempt to describe it, and though I feel like shirking from my responsibility, here goes: Thomas (Hugh Jackman) exists in three different time periods; one as a 16th century conquistador, another as a 21st century scientist, and the third as a 26th century spaceman. I only know that 26th century part because the Internet Movie Database and Wikipedia tell me so; the film gives no indication that what we are watching is even supposed to occur outside of Thomas’ mind. He resembles a sort of Buddhist monk, floating towards a nebula in a clear orb populated only by him, a tree, and the ghost (or hallucination, or whatever) of Izzi (Rachel Weisz), his long dead wife. Cutting between each incarnation, the film chronicles Thomas’ quest to conquer death, not so much for himself, but for Izzi.
I can’t get much clearer than that. It’s a surreal, bizarre experience, a rumination on the folly of the quest for eternal life. No serious attempts are made to provide an explanation of the events and images presented to us; they appear, and we must process them to the best of our individual abilities. Fans of traditional or coherent narratives should go to "Casino Royale" instead, because this film quickly becomes an exercise in frustration for even the most open-minded audience member, more reminiscent of a looping video in an art gallery than a big-budget Hollywood multiplex filler. I was frequently reminded of David Lynch’s "Eraserhead," another art film that makes a point of being hard to digest. But while the off the wall weirdness of that 1976 black and white film plays like a beautiful, emotional song, "The Fountain" plays more like the thoughts of a schizophrenic struggling to translate his incoherent babbling into high art.
Incoherent as the film may be, it at least tries to be great, even if it doesn’t succeed. The same day I saw "The Fountain," I watched "Accepted" on DVD, an idiotic comedy of mind-numbing banality. It sharpened my appreciation for the sheer labor and thought put into "The Fountain," which at least gives relevancy a shot. Jackman’s performance injects a sadness into the role that many other actors couldn’t, and the reportedly CGI free special effects are impressive, if not somewhat meaningless.
Immediately after the film ended, I remarked to my editor "Darren Aronofsky thinks really highly of himself." My editor, a striking man of Herculean strength and Jeffersonian brilliance, aptly replied "That, or he thinks really highly of his audience." It was a good point, and one I am unsure of. Either way, I sense an overdose of arrogance; he either Aronofsky assumed that his audience was up to understanding his thoughts, or he reasoned that he was such a wunderkind that he could burn up the studio’s money any way he choose and get a pat on the back for it. Hopefully, Aronofsky’s next outing, assuming there is one, will provide many of the answers that this one was bereft of.
2.5 out of 5
