Review of To the Wonder (2013) by Poppy C — 10 Mar 2013

I had never walked out of a film in the cinema before. Not when I'd paid for the pleasure of it. In this case, it transpired that I'd paid for pain. From the cliché laden script writing of the opening French over voice, I could tell that I already wasn't into this film. 'Me in him, him in me': It was too dreadful, like a parody of whimsical European cinema. Perhaps it was a parody; perhaps within the next half an hour I'd be sliding off my red seat with hysteria. I doubted it.

Never have I felt such distaste for a character than she played by Olga Kurylenko, whose excessive twirling, sexy snarling and pouncing conjured a prickling, previously unbeknown to me, feminist fury. Her careless treatment of her (clearly frustrated) daughter, her submissive idiocy, and her unattractive habit of acting like a precocious child, despite clearly being over thirty, set my blood boiling.

Ben Affleck's performance is not much better. Throughout the film he speaks little, most practically, due to the unlikelihood that he can deliver lines in French credibly. However, I imagine that the intention was to build up a sense of mystery and to build on his emotional detachment from, well, anything. Forget aloof, Affleck loafs around with a blank expression on his face doing god knows what most of the time, although he appears to spend some hours on a building site, or is it some kind of oilrig?

The camera is constantly in motion, panning in and out and all around dizzyingly, lending a sense of whimsy to the infinite scenes in which the characters tread through wind-strewn fields, obscuring anything that might be too interesting to include in the film. The effect is dissatisfying; I wanted to see something solid as opposed to something alluded to.

I hung on in the hope that Xavier Bardem and Rachel McAdams would bring some relief. They didn't. McAdams as the second girlfriend follows in the footsteps of the first. Quite literally, and through all the same fields too, making it excruciating to watch. By this point, I was getting more and more tense with the pressure of having to make the decision to leave.

Bardem's role as the priest seemed incongruous with the rest of the film other than as a means of drawing attention to the modern morality of the other characters. Were I to hyper-analyse Malick's intentions I might surmise that by portraying a world lacking in simple and true interactions, such as straightforward conversations and sex, one in which the camera flirts with the viewer, he is depicting a clear lack of fulfillment and consummation in life. The action that takes place off screen, as in Greek Tragedy, is suggested but it is this turning world of suggestion with no clear path that is confusing. It is intimated that McAdams and Affleck's characters are fundamentally unsuited because of the disparity between their religious beliefs. Thus, the ideas concealed within the banality of the film are more interesting when viewed in relation to religion.

However, ultimately, Malick gives us unlikable characters about whom I didn't care to find out what happened, and what did happen was essentially boring. By the time the original girlfriend re-appeared I had begun to feel like I was being carried along on a carousel constructed of concrete and I made the decision to get off. What I've come to describe as Malick's cinematic monstrosity has proved to me that a quick look on Rotton Tomatoes before I part with my quids won't do me any harm.

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A few days later, still traumatized by my experience, I confided in a friend who convinced me to give Badlands a watch. It was easy to understand how Malick had become such a lauded name in cinema in light of this previous work.

The cinematography was rich, the themes were challenging and the denouement somehow defied expectation.

I particularly loved that, despite living in tree houses and cars, playing witness to multiple murders and travelling for days on end, Holly keeps up with her beauty regime. She keeps her hair in curlers at night, applies lipstick in the morning and is always perfectly turned out. I saw her pristine appearance as a metaphor for the moral and emotional detachment she exercises in the face of murder and crime.

It was like an American dream from hell, in a good way. More like this please.