First Father Dies, Is Born Again

Rating: 9/10 (28 November 2006)

We live in an upside down world. I don't know of a better way to put it. A fecal mass film like Bond has met with near universal critical praise, while an unabashedly sincere, heart-felt, courageous film like The Fountain finds itself not only fighting market convention, but the very people who should be in a position to champion creativity and risk.
The Fountain is a masterpiece, and a film the likes of which we haven't been gifted with in years. Aronofsky treats the audience with a respect that seems beyond reason given the parameters the marketing machine of Hollywood generally allows filmmakers to work with. The film isn't concerned with thrilling the audience; it's precise rhythmic and thematic cutting lulls one into a state of contemplation. The film has greater aims than thrills, it aims at holy wonder and awe, that encounter with the luminous that Richard Otto speaks of, an encounter that is overwhelming, all meaningful and beyond words and reason.
We are constantly in touch with the immensity of the cosmos in The Fountain, when gliding through the nebula towards a star on the cusp of going nova, in the quiet of a softly lit bedroom, in an operating room, or in a royal court - everywhere the pattern of stars that enwrap us, illustrating the struggle for life against a vast and empty nothing.
That nothing is what Tommy (Jackman) is grappling with. We are presented with three entwined threads, all dealing in some way with the love between Tommy and Izzy (Isabel in Spain, the Tree of Life in the future, Izzy in the present), and in all three, the incarnation of the ideal love is at risk, and the story of the man is the story of the love, the end of which will snuff out both. But the relationship is subtly out of balance. It's not about love or the end of love; it's about singular, personal mortality. Tommy's inability to cope with Izzy dying, his drive to cure cancer, all of it has little to do with love, and everything to do with the things that portend his own inevitable end. Izzy lives in the moment, is there for him, but his fear keeps him from truly connecting, and so he fails to capitalize on the living woman, and the enjoyment they could share in the time allotted. His love breathes only in a realm of abstractions and ideals. We sense this in Izzy, her need for him, her desperation and fear at facing her death alone.
The rings of an aging tree, the ring of marriage, the rings of stars scattered through space, spiraling forever, The Fountain is tightly packed, and cross-references itself and portions of itself constantly through the cutting, always seeking to elucidate its themes.
And if the point of a film is the search for capturing new images, as Werner Herzog states, then Aronofsky has succeeded admirably - the film is beautifully captured in soft sepia/amber glows and greens, and there's some awe inspiring stuff here, the walk to the tree of life, the final moments of flight towards the dying star (little touches like the small bubble breaking off from the larger one, and leaving a droplet in its wake is particularly effective), and the conquistador Tommy facing down a Mayan priest with a flaming sword.
Certainly ego goes into the making of a movie like this (as it goes into any movie), but despite that, a filmmaker still has to accept the limited market, and the unlikelihood of celebration and acceptance, and thus, it is greater parts sacrifice than career building, and I accept these sacrifices as gifts. There is no reason that anyone seeking to make money should make a film like The Fountain, and yet every so often we're still given these pearls, and that in itself is a miracle.
This is a different kind of film, one that I suspect American audiences in particular, are not ready for.