It’s fitting that The Tree of Life finds Terrence Malick finally returning to the beginning, travelling back, back, back to the dawn of everything.
Part of the reason I’m drunk on Black Sawn while still struggling to identify its taste has something to do with the film’s hallucination-filled narrative.
Is Darren Aronofsky’s relative nebulousness a reflection of the quality of his films?
Cornillac’s a veritable cretaceous martyr, man. Why can’t I look away?
Is Soderbergh’s film better than Tarkovsky’s, or the other way around?
The Fountain is both impossible to dismiss outright and, unfortunately, equally difficult to take seriously.
The Fountain is a gusher of poetic imagery, extravagant yet controlled.