Tomorrow marks the 35th anniversary of an obstetrician taking it upon himself to sever my umbilical cord and - as a rather rude encore - give my arse a good smack, forcing me to breathe in the heady, disinfectant-tinged aroma of Pilgrim Hospital. Perhaps it was all for the best, though, because without that formative act of aggression WordJam wouldn't exist, and you wouldn't have the pleasure of reading that last sentence. Lucky you, eh?
Birthdays have a funny habit of creeping up on you, especially when they're significant ones. Inevitably, my mind drifts back to the past and the many imponderables brought into existence by the onset of age and maturity. I can't remember the point belching ceased to be amusing, or when I discovered girls were human beings with lives and aspirations of their own as opposed to objects I could project my sticky, adolescent bedtime fantasies onto, but thank God I have otherwise you'd be reading the outpourings of a truly disturbed individual.
In this spirit of existential (possibly narcissistic) self-analysis, I finally got round to seeing Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life this afternoon: a film I've been meaning to watch for some time now but kept putting off because... Well, I dunno. Maybe I'm a bit suspicious when critics say 'X' is the greatest movie ever or, at least, one of the greatest. But then, who doesn't feel like that? (Now worst movie ever is an invitation I can't resist, but that's another story.
To say that I've seen a lot of films over the years is an understatement. I don't pretend to be some great expert on cinema, but I know my stuff. From experimental films to blockbusters, Expressionism to exploitation, I've seem movies I'd rather forget and ones that continue to haunt me with their brilliance. I'm willing to give anything a chance: after all, the joy of film is in discovery - whether it's a different point of view, something you didn't know, or making you look at your own life in a different way. It goes without saying, of course, that The Tree of Life falls into the latter category. At least, that's its intention.
I get what Malick's saying about the miracle of existence, the interconnectedness of all things in relation to our place in the universe, the gulf between our inner and outer lives, the conflict between nature and nurture, and the schism between the everyday and the eternal... I GET IT. The thing is, I can't honestly say he's showing me anything I didn't already know about myself or the world in general. Considering this is the same Terrence Malick who brought us Badlands, Days of Heaven, The Thin Red Line and The New World this is very disappointing. Like Boyhood (which I loath with a venomous glee), it uses visual sleight-of-hand (the roving, restless camera in Tree of Life, time elapse in Richard Linklater's film) as a mask to pass off homilies and cod-psychology as profound philosophical insights. I understand it was met with derisive laughter at its premiere in Cannes. I don't think it's that awful, but no one is ever going to convince me this is a movie worthy of serious attention.
But the critics continue to smother it with praise, almost as an act of penance for letting other, more deserving films slip through their fingers - one such movie being Jeff Nichols' Take Shelter, released the same year as Tree of Life and also starring the wonderful Jessica Chastain as a put-upon housewife trying to hold her family together in the face of conflicted masculinity. As far as I'm concerned, Nichols is in the first rank of American filmmakers working today and Take Shelter, which, despite being a more conventional affair than Tree of Life, manages to be more truthful and profound than Malick's folly could ever wish for.
Anyway, lots more stuff on the way in the next few weeks, and some of it even makes sense. Bear with me, though, as my laptop's just come back from the shop and, due to circumstances beyond my control, I'm having to start some of those pieces again from scratch.
By the way, if you're interested, here's a picture of me as a new-born:
Plucky little chap, wasn't I?
Onwards, folks.
Onwards, folks.
