Much of the mythology
surrounding enigmatic filmmaker Terrence Malick stems from the making and
aftermath of his sophomore feature, Days
of Heaven. Following idiosyncratic artistic instincts rather than Hollywood
convention, Malick took nearly three years to craft this moodily poetic work,
which treats its simplistic storyline like an afterthought. During that time,
rumors spread about the director’s offbeat methods: For instance, he dictated that large sections of the film
be shot at dusk, thereby abbreviating many of his shooting days to short bursts of activity. Then, after the film received a mixed critical reception, Malick disappeared
from the Hollywood scene for 20 years. His mysterious withdrawal cast Malick as
an artist too pure for the crass ways of Hollywood, triggering years of
reappraisal and rediscovery.
By the time Malick resumed directing with The Thin Red Line in 1998, Days of Heaven was firmly entrenched
alongside the director’s debut feature, Badlands
(1973), as one of the most respected films of the ’70s. Does it deserve such rarified status? Yes and no. Visually, Days
of Heaven is unparalleled. Malick and cinematographers Nestor Almendros and
Haskell Wexler mimicked turn-of-the-century paintings and photographs to evoke
the supple textures of a Texas wheat farm circa 1916, the movie’s central
location. Malick presents several astoundingly beautiful scenes of workers
wading through fields, their bodies silhouetted against pastel-colored sunsets,
while composer Ennio Morricone’s lilting music evokes a time when life moved at
a more contemplative pace.
Working with frequent collaborator Jack Fisk
(credited here as art director), Malick oversaw the creation of a remarkable focal point, the elegant mansion that sits atop a wheat-covered
hill, and Malick uses this structure as an effective metaphor for man’s tumultuous
relationship with nature: Not only is the house a shelter during weather, it’s
a place where relationships that had previously been allowed to roam freely get
trapped within the conventions of propriety.
The main plot, which never quite
gels because Malick leaves many details unexplained and/or
unexplored, begins in Chicago. Traveling workman Bill (Richard Gere), his
girlfriend Abby (Brooke Adams), and his little sister Linda (Linda Manz) flee Chicago
after Bill kills a supervisor during an argument. Upon reaching Texas, the trio accepts work on the wheat farm, which is owned by a sickly
man identified only as The Farmer (Sam Shepard). For murky narrative reasons,
Bill and Abby pretend to be brother and sister instead of a couple. So, when
The Farmer becomes interested in Abby, Bill encourages the romance—believing
The Farmer is terminally ill, Bill hopes to seize The Farmer’s wealth through
marriage and build a new life for his family. Unfortunately, complications
ensue, leading to heartbreak and tragedy.
Despite the gifts for incisive
storytelling he displayed in Badlands,
Malcik badly fumbles basic narrative elements in Days of Heaven. His characters are ciphers, his pacing is erratic,
and he relies far too heavily on the narration spoken, in character, by Manz.
(A similar device was magical in Badlands,
but here the narration just seems like a desperate attempt to add coherence.)
Thanks to these flaws, the whole movie ends up having the hodgepodge feel of a
student film, albeit one with awe-inspiring cinematography. Nonetheless, Days of Heaven casts a spell, which is a
rare accomplishment.
Days of Heaven: GROOVY
Interminable, even at 90 minutes. But yes, the cinematography is gorgeous, as are Gere, Adams, and Shepard.
ReplyDeleteI've often wondered if the fake brother sister thing is an allusion to the OT story of Abraham pretending his wife is his sister - but if so, I don't get the point. Beautiful movie though - especially the locust sequence - with beautiful music. Sort of stupid, but a real joy to watch.
ReplyDeleteBiblical allusions to the ruination of Eden and The Fall of Man, here lies the seeds of his later full-blown eschatological freak-out, which has pushed him into the realms of self-parody, and is an altogether uniquely tragic circumstance of artistic decline.
ReplyDelete"Badlands" remains, however, one of the greatest films ever made, period.