Asks important questions

Rating: 8/10 (2 November 2007)

Can happiness be found only through the solitary pursuit of pure knowledge and truth? Or can it be discovered in the simple life of shared experience with others? In Sean Penn's Into the Wild, this appears to be an either/or question. By the time Christopher McCandless discovers he's taken the high solitary road all the way to a dead-end, it's too late; he's killed himself by eating poisonous berries in the Alaska bush. Was his journey a noble one or the indulgence of extended American adolescence? Was he an heroic figure or a romantic naif? In the film, moments of insight are delivered in stark, unmistakable contrast: McCandless' painful family secret is shown as core motivation; his effortless, yet detached wisdom on the road is appreciated by his companions but deemed by him to be less worthy than his high ideals; and the death of his final prey ends up being pointless, its carcass scavenged by a bald eagle. The film brings us right to the threshold of considering these questions with depth. Then it ends.
With Into the Wild, Penn has made some rather confident directorial choices. As bookends to the core journey, son and father gaze directly into the camera, reminding us that their stories are being told for an audience. Penn presents a three-tiered time line that, through the juxtaposition of stories, resonates with layered meaning. And, as McCandless' final mentor, Hal Holbrook's portrayal of earnest, vulnerable love is unparalleled.
At the same time, the repeated use of fast- and slow-motion scenes seems unnecessarily self-conscious, the voice-over is presented without reflective pause, and the music is underutilized; it is grafted on top of the film rather than integrated with syncopation or finesse. Quotes are sprinkled throughout, as if to say, "hey, this guy really read a lot!" So ... is this the doomed journey of a hero? the tragedy of a wasted life? the shaming of 1960s parental norms? a cautionary tale of cultural alienation? Echoes of Voltaire (Candide), Maugham (The Razor's Edge), Hesse (Narcissus and Goldmund) abound.
In the end, I hope that Penn (and Krakauer) are suggesting that the rejection of 20th-century American culture is not a destination, but simply a stopping point on a path to bring that insight back into loving lives with others, as teacher, as companion, as friend.
If he'd lived, where would Christopher McCandless be today? Would we care about his story?