“Look at a movie that a lot of people love, and you will find something profound, however silly the film may seem,” esteemed critic Roger Ebert wrote recently in a memoir. He’s not crazy. He knows, like everyone else, that at times the only thing profound about the majority of Hollywood releases in the past few years is their silliness. But Ebert is more right than even he thinks.
In our Christian lives, and especially within the JBU bubble, it is easy to fall into the trap of seeing films and filmmakers as spiritually bankrupt. Movies become collections of swear words and sex scenes to be skipped over. But in our eagerness to filter out the bad, we don’t even stop to notice what is “pure and holy.” So often, I find, secular filmmakers have beautiful things to teach us about our own faith. We just have to learn to take the rest with a grain of salt and make certain that our motivations for watching films with questionable content remain pure.
Yes, it is certainly true that as Christians we are called to discernment. We are told in 2 Corinthians 10:5 to “take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” But we also know that God has poured out his grace on all creation, and that even those who do not believe can experience some aspects of his revelation.
Of all the movies released this summer, not one was more full of revelation than Terrence Malick’s “The Tree of Life.” Though slightly overlong and somewhat rambling, it is nevertheless a spectacular artistic achievement – a visually seamless saga of light, color, and music.
It is also a prayer, filled to the brim with whispered questions. The majority of the non-linear narrative focuses on a young boy named Jack in 50s era Texas, and his struggle to choose between the proverbial “way of nature,” signified by his cold, driven father (Brad Pitt) and the “way of grace,” represented by his warm and forgiving mother (Jessica Chastain). In several flash-forwards, we see that Jack has grown into a broken man (Sean Penn) who is still unable to reconcile the teachings of his parents. “Where are you?” he asks. “Why should I be good? Are you watching me? I want to know what you are.”
What does Jack call to, lying in his bed at night? He doesn’t know, and the movie is his lifelong search for the answer. So, too, is it Malick’s; he wrestles with questions of why good and evil exist, and why creation should be so full of grace but marred by imperfect nature. He comes so very, very close to an answer.
The central motifs of grace and nature (read: fallenness) are intertwined and appear repeatedly throughout the film. We are shown grace in the glory of Earth’s formation in a breathtaking montage that is visual poetry in its finest form: waves undulate, tree canopies swirl in the wind, life appears and thrives. Most startlingly, a carnivorous dinosaur pauses over his helpless prey. The desire to follow its nature is evident – but at the last moment, it walks away. Grace. Jack runs through the woods with his friends; dances; revels in his strength and youth. Grace. Jack is taught by his father to fight, and nature starts to break through into his life. He becomes angry, is manipulated by his mischievous buddies. Nature. He mocks his brother; ruins his painting. Nature.
Malick clearly sees and understands that grace, not nature, was the intended state of creation. The Earth came into being with grace, and was filled with grace – but nature crept in, and contaminated what was meant to be good and just. His most powerful statement, however, is made by his decision to continue suggesting the existence of grace after the world, and Jack’s life, have begun to deteriorate. The trees still swirl. The wind still blows. Even Jack’s father is filled with joy and awe at the sound of a symphony. Grace, Malick decides, cannot be defeated or wiped away. It is the sign of a greater presence, and a greater purpose.
This presence is never named in the film. But Malick does draw a conclusion: “Help each other. Love everyone. Every leaf. Every ray of light. Forgive.”
We, of course, know the name of the presence Malick senses but cannot quite describe. I was left breathless by the clarity with which he, a non-Christian, saw and portrayed the power and the character of God. And I was reminded of the central command of our faith: restore, and practice, grace. His film is deeply spiritual. Some movies, by other directors and writers, are not as much. But revelation can be seen in all, sometimes clearly, and sometimes less so. Even a story simply told well reflects the ultimate authorship of God. We need only learn to read between the lines.
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