Babel” tells the interlocked stories of people in four countries across three continents who speak four different languages. The divisions seem enormous, but language itself is among the least of man’s problems when trying to communicate effectively. Language is but a small part of a reservoir of complex causes: Culture, love, marriage, sexuality, legality, survival and distance – both emotional and physical.
Directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu and written by Guillermo Arriaga, “Babel” traces the ripple effect of an individual action throughout the globe. A rifle shot fired by the two children of a Moroccan goatherd strikes a tour bus. Susan (Cate Blanchett), an American tourist, wakes up as the potshot smashes through her shoulder. Her husband Richard (Brad Pitt), drenched in his wife’s blood and unable to maintain calm, frantically tries to secure medical attention – nigh impossible in rural Morocco.
Back in California, Richard and Susan’s two children are cared for by Amelia (Adriana Barraza), an illegal immigrant who slips across the border with the kids unwisely in tow so she can attend her son’s wedding. And in Japan, seemingly unrelated to all of this is Chieko (Rinko Kikuchi), a deaf-mute teenager whose father receives strange attention from the police.
“Babel” is among the rarest of films, one that infuses universal messages into the narrative without a lecture and enthralls without a trace of sensationalism, leaving a haunting imprint that multiplies exponentially after the credits roll. The actors are brimming with nuance, raw nerve and intimacy. Pitt abandons his blockbuster image and gives a frantic, throttling performance, his best to date.
But the film’s standout it Kikuchi’s utterly unforgettable Oscar nominated (and worthy) exhibition. The nonlinear plot weaves in and out of a shifting timeline (observant viewers can catch the resolution to one plot during the opening), but thanks to brilliant writing, ambitious directing and seamless editing, there’s no confusion. Each segment progresses fluidly, the pace never once getting tangled in the labyrinthine thematic web.
It examines the circumstances and ways that wedges are driven between people from all walks of life, whatever their background or status, impeding progress and any true understanding of one another. The bitterly empty noise of those around us and the relentless crush of events and information, as in real life, become overwhelming. Most of the characters have good intentions, but they are lost in the wave of agony that sweeps over the protagonists.
Iñárritu and Arriaga utilize the most universal feeling of all to ultimately tie everyone together: pain. The anguish infused into the characters spills off the screen, creating a palpable sensation of desperation and doom. Virtually ignored by most critics yet key to the screenplay’s structure is perhaps the most dreadful of communication deficiencies, sexual frustration. Simmering beneath the surface of every performance, coiled in the characters like a spring, it’s the worst of wounds, one that can be stifled but not healed. It bubbles to the surface in varying degrees; in one story, we have but a brief, stirring glimpse; in others, the results are shocking.
In the film’s most powerful section, Cheiko, unable to communicate effectively even in her own language and starving for human contact, is pushed to her breaking point and resorts to drastic measures to connect with another. An outsider would label her actions salacious, but we know better; they’re the result of a hopelessly sorrowful, disconnected woman. The consequences are heartbreaking, making for the most devastating scene in a film overflowing with them.
But this devastation is what makes “Babel” really shine. It’s a staggering, genius work that electrifies every part of the vast emotional spectrum, making for a distinctly humanistic experience, exactly as great cinema should. When the Oscar voters check their vote for Best Picture, lets hope that they get the message.
5 out of 5
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