The Thin Red Line asks that we...glimpse this baffling opera of poems, visions, lost ways and recovered footholds

Rating: 9/10 (20 February 1999)

The swell of negative reviews regarding The Thin Red Line was to be expected. It is not the film that is at fault but the viewers' expectation of what modern filmmaking should be. Moreover, the negative reviews are a symptom of a much larger complex moving virtually unrecognized in the hearts of post-industrial, information-wrangling men and women, because it is so fundamental and abstract. Luckily, we have language to betray this complex, and human behavior, and the ways in which we respond to such works of art as Malick's film to provide a symptomatology of what this complex is like, underneath.
First of all, life is changing shape at a pace that is too fast, like clay breaking apart on a sculpting wheel. Fast is better, right? Mankind isn't sure where it is going, but it takes great confidence in the fact that it is getting there quickly and efficiently. Malick's film does not proceed in accordance with this pace, striking its own boundaries and seeping where it will. It is in fact a truer cadence which his film follows . . . the cadence of dreams. The Thin Red Line not only defies this pace but asks the question, "Man, where wills he and how does he go?" From the lush scenery to the expanding clouds of smoke and cloud cover, Malick's film is sublimely organic and at times seems to have a life of its own, much as life itself. Stripped of a mold, temporarily deprived of the nine-to-five authority of structure, another structure takes over--that of the spirit--the true subject of Malick's film.
Second, men and women have come to expect less and less from movies, as their lives quicken and their attention is drawn out, making them victims rather than apprentices of their dreams . . . dreaming, that annoying stuff that wakes us in terror and confounds our waking selves. Now, modern cinema is sought not as a source of growth but a perpetuation of one's inattention to himself. Men and women want entertainment, not more of that cryptic stuff that addles us and draws us back in, away from the comfort of our worldly structure. Here again, The Thin Red Line defies the outward norm. It teaches as much as it entertains.
Amorphous and lacking prominent personal characterizations, Malick's film assumes the perspective of the detached observer. His film is like a dream, and every person, every blade of grass--in fact every living thing--plays a part in this dream. Part of Malick's genius lies in objectifying the film almost to ambiguity, then challenging the viewer to feel unbiased compassion, not just for its characters, but for everything contained within the four borders of the screen--ultimately the world outside the screen itself! It challenges the viewer to engage in the highest of all practices: a tolerance of judgment and an abolishment of phony, man-made boundaries, at the same time seeking to resurrect those emotional allegiances which would have their way with our petty elitism, our fraternizing, and our contrived disputes; love and compassion forged selflessly if but for a moment in time--one-hundred and seventy of them to be exact.
Third, mankind no longer believes in the usefulness of its dreams, in the wisdom of the self and of the individual. That is to say, dreams make no "sense" in the typical meaning of the word. And once again, it would go against the pace set by organized society to plunge into a realm which exists outside of time, is in no hurry to get where it is going, and appears to have entirely forsaken cause-and-effect. Few would suggest a serious interpretation of those dreamy artifacts, using conventional modes of thinking. But it is exactly this that Malick's Red Line wishes the viewer to do. It would not have him abandon his daily life but welcome it into it, unearthing something heretofore unknown to him and his reason.
Yes, finally, The Thin Red Line asks that we step out of the mainstream, briefly, to glimpse its oftentimes baffling opera of poems, visions, lost ways and recovered footholds. And here is the secret to Malick's film: The Thin Red Line is an example of what one would get if he were to arrange all the routine-shattering moments of day-to-day living according to his desire to find meaning in them, in a way that brought him peace, tolerance and understanding. It is a lucky person who finds himself, despite breakneck scheduling and deadlines, capable of assembling similar operas out of his dreams.
In conclusion, perhaps it is not Malick's pretentiousness that gets people most about his movie, but the pretentiousness of the viewer. At least with Saving Private Ryan humans are cast starring roles. But must we still after all these centuries succumb to the outright self-importance that once made humans believe that their Sun revolved around the Earth? The Thin Red Line is not a bad film; simply, a method of critiquing it does not exist today. Rather it should be judged on its own merits, making use of impressions the viewer gets toward it, months down the line. Could a better film have been made? It is likely, but not until after another twenty years of development, and even then probably by those who have studied Malick's works at length and struggled to perfect those within a similar vein.