The New World

It is twenty past one in the morning and I have just finished watching The New World. This, if you don't know, is a movie from the stunningly un-prolific Terrence Malik. Since 1969 he's directed five movies. Sure, they're all great works of art, but if it were a race, he'd be trailing behind the tortoise. Still, it means that anything from him is an event and 1998-2005 is a shorter hiatus than the twenty years between Days of Heaven and The Thin Red Line.

So, to The New World, starring as it does Colin Farrell. Yes, Oliver Stone's fuckwit Alexander. Yes, the one who killed a bloke with some playing cards in Daredevil. Yes, the bloke in SWAT. I like to think of him as a great slice of acting potential currently screwed up by chemical intake and tabloid nonsense. Still, the acting potential is what singles him out above Errol Flynn, so whatever... The New World. It's Captain Smith and Pocahontas but without the fucking Disney songs and cute racoony thing. I did like that racoon. Best actor in the entire film.

Let me get this clear: I don't really care if Pocahontas and John Smith were really lovers. I think that ceased being the point in about 1616. It doesn't matter anymore, and thanks to a complete lack of anything regarding such trivial things as her point of view, we'll never know. I don't care if they were the greatest lovers since Antony & Cleopatra or if they were hardly acquaintances... it's not the point because they are in The New World and it's that telling of it that I currently care about. Let's leave the personal history for another day.

What I care about is that this ridiculously long film still had me after six and a half years' watching it (it felt like it after the seven thousandth shot of bubbling streams/gently wafting grasses/trees/insert nature here) and if I was eager to get to the end it wasn't through wanting to get on with my life as is so usually the case... but because I couldn't bear to wait to find out what happened. Let me rephrase: I knew the story well enough and so wanted to know how it happened.

The early time spent in the Powhatan camp was so beautiful it was the kind of thing that makes you believe in God, makes you want to laugh cry and just quietly die. I know that Colin Farrell is an acquired taste (just like Malick, in fact) and sure, there were a few more 'Deep Penetrating Stare' moments than were strictly necessary... but I just don't care. I believed utterly that she loved him... I believed utterly that  he wanted to be in love with her and may have even managed it. It has been so long since I have watched a film and thought "yeah, I'll buy that." 

It might be that I'm overly cynical (me? Never.) but I find it harder and harder to believe in love on screen lately. It's either Unbearably Smug Rich People in romcoms set in New York or it's Unbearably Smug Upper Middle Class Teens With Nothing Real To Angst About. I never believe that they'll live happily ever after. Just the other day I switched on the movie channels and caught the tail end of A Cinderella Story, which I have been unfortunate enough to see in a cinema (there was literally NOTHING else on and we had two hours we had to kill)... and I just remember the very real sense of thinking: "What the fuck was the point in all this? They'll go off to college and find other people to scuff about with." Or in Chad Michael Murray's case, perhaps his local kindergarten.... Again, seriously: who buys love in movies anymore? Even in that Anne Hathaway thing, where it's a fairytale I still couldn't buy it. Brokeback Mountain was much the same last week- the only difference, and I mean the only difference between this and every other Angsty Romantic Drama is that the couple in question were Strapping Cowboys and not Sarah Jessica Parker/Sandra Bullock/Julia Roberts/ Reese Withersnore/Jennifers Garner/Lopez and Hugh Grant/Matthew McConaheyisthatabongoinyourpocketorareyoujustnakedtoseeme/Brad Pitt/Orlando Bloom.

That's right- the last one I remember was Elizabethtown, in which I found it hard to believe or crucially, give a shit. I'd say it's just the film (probably) but it's just the latest in a long list of discarded love stories. I didn't even get sucked in by Mr and Mrs Smith, and that was playing out in reality as well, go figure.

I'm getting off the point, as per scuffing usual. Where was I? Aha. Now, it's no secret that I am of such a cynical persuasion that I carry health warnings. However, The New World has finally delivered what Hollywood is always promising- those 'Once in a lifetime! Once in a Generation!' great loves. Ironic but hardly surprising it should come from Terrence 'Couldn't Be Less Hollywood If He Tried' Malick instead of Reiner/Allen/Hallstrom/Lee. 

Also, it's funny that Cold Mountain felt like every minute was actually two days in the company of Bernard Manning but The New World only dragged occasionally. Funny how Minghella failed (spectacularly, which if you've suffered through The English Impatient, is hardly a surprise) where another triumphs (more or less).

Sure, not everyone's gonna like this movie, but I did. Moreover and more importantly, I was convinced by it. It didn't beat us over the head with the Wrongs Done By The White People... largely because it didn't need to- I can see them bright as day. The script was a bit dodgy in parts, but it didn't really matter in a film where it was about the way people looked at each other, the way they touched each other. It was beautiful. The actress playing Pocahontas was beautiful without being unrealistically so, not to mention thoughtful, intelligent and restrained. Take that, LiLo.

And, because I was dicking about looking for Diet Coke at the start, I got a bit of a shock when Christian Bale turned up for the last third. He's one of the few actors I can think of who has been on my Sod Off List (largely due to the ridiculously boring American Psycho more than anything although Reign of Fire didn't help) and then made it onto the Will Watch List (largely due to Batman Begins). Nice contrast to John Smith there with this honourable man who does adore her but... it's always different, isn't it? The first flames usually burn brightest. And with the end, so the crushing, bittersweet disappointment of receiving the ending I knew the story had.

Oh by the way, if you watch it, the big Tudor palace is Hatfield House, some ten minutes from here where I had my first job doing table laying and washing up courtesy of a friend's mum who worked there. It's beautiful and was also used for Lara Croft's house in Tomb Raider. I of course, was not made aware of this going on at Hatfield until afterwards. Typical.

What is my point? Something to do with The New World being an amazing film. It's truly the kind of film that, if it's your kind of thing, gives you an actual physical internal reaction. My stomach tensed around the time John Smith got strung up by his feet and didn't relax again until the credits rolled. It's slow. I mean, it's really slow. It makes Gone With The Wind look like a music video on MTV Base. It's quiet and isn't for the people who think Hilary Duff deserves an Oscar or think charisma vacuum Paul Walker actually deserves to work in film. But, if you believe that film can be beautiful, if you believe that sometimes, very occasionally something can actually come close to replicating real love on the screen... then you might like it.

If you liked the Disney version because of the nice songs and the cute racoon thing, you may be in for a shock.

I believed it. I believed them... and given that previously Colin Farrell's best work may be the psychotic Bullseye in Daredevil (the only good thing in it, incidentally), that's saying something. It made me believe in love for however brief a time, made me remember what it was like to believe that sometimes two people can forget the rest of the world completely, even when that world is tearing itself apart. It made me remember what it's like to stand in scenes of great natural beauty and feel the breeze on my face and the grass under my feet. It made me, very briefly, think that love might be something I'd like, although I would settle for nothing less than true love. It did for love what The Thin Red Line did for war.

I'd make a wish that Malick would make more films... but I think the fact he doesn't is what makes him so special. I've only seen the first little bit of Badlands and I did see The Thin Red Line but it remains a strange half-memory in my head... The New World will probably remain in my brain for a long time. It's been so long since I actually took out a DVD quivering from the experience of watching somethig so beautiful.

Or... it might just be that Colin Farrell had long hair in it. I don't think I've ever been that trivial, but you never can tell.

The New World

It is twenty past one in the morning and I have just finished watching The New World. This, if you don't know, is a movie from the stunningly un-prolific Terrence Malik. Since 1969 he's directed five movies. Sure, they're all great works of art, but if it were a race, he'd be trailing behind the tortoise. Still, it means that anything from him is an event and 1998-2005 is a shorter hiatus than the twenty years between Days of Heaven and The Thin Red Line.

So, to The New World, starring as it does Colin Farrell. Yes, Oliver Stone's fuckwit Alexander. Yes, the one who killed a bloke with some playing cards in Daredevil. Yes, the bloke in SWAT. I like to think of him as a great slice of acting potential currently screwed up by chemical intake and tabloid nonsense. Still, the acting potential is what singles him out above Errol Flynn, so whatever... The New World. It's Captain Smith and Pocahontas but without the fucking Disney songs and cute racoony thing. I did like that racoon. Best actor in the entire film.

Let me get this clear: I don't really care if Pocahontas and John Smith were really lovers. I think that ceased being the point in about 1616. It doesn't matter anymore, and thanks to a complete lack of anything regarding such trivial things as her point of view, we'll never know. I don't care if they were the greatest lovers since Antony & Cleopatra or if they were hardly acquaintances... it's not the point because they are in The New World and it's that telling of it that I currently care about. Let's leave the personal history for another day.

What I care about is that this ridiculously long film still had me after six and a half years' watching it (it felt like it after the seven thousandth shot of bubbling streams/gently wafting grasses/trees/insert nature here) and if I was eager to get to the end it wasn't through wanting to get on with my life as is so usually the case... but because I couldn't bear to wait to find out what happened. Let me rephrase: I knew the story well enough and so wanted to know how it happened.

The early time spent in the Powhatan camp was so beautiful it was the kind of thing that makes you believe in God, makes you want to laugh cry and just quietly die. I know that Colin Farrell is an acquired taste (just like Malick, in fact) and sure, there were a few more 'Deep Penetrating Stare' moments than were strictly necessary... but I just don't care. I believed utterly that she loved him... I believed utterly that  he wanted to be in love with her and may have even managed it. It has been so long since I have watched a film and thought "yeah, I'll buy that." 

It might be that I'm overly cynical (me? Never.) but I find it harder and harder to believe in love on screen lately. It's either Unbearably Smug Rich People in romcoms set in New York or it's Unbearably Smug Upper Middle Class Teens With Nothing Real To Angst About. I never believe that they'll live happily ever after. Just the other day I switched on the movie channels and caught the tail end of A Cinderella Story, which I have been unfortunate enough to see in a cinema (there was literally NOTHING else on and we had two hours we had to kill)... and I just remember the very real sense of thinking: "What the fuck was the point in all this? They'll go off to college and find other people to scuff about with." Or in Chad Michael Murray's case, perhaps his local kindergarten.... Again, seriously: who buys love in movies anymore? Even in that Anne Hathaway thing, where it's a fairytale I still couldn't buy it. Brokeback Mountain was much the same last week- the only difference, and I mean the only difference between this and every other Angsty Romantic Drama is that the couple in question were Strapping Cowboys and not Sarah Jessica Parker/Sandra Bullock/Julia Roberts/ Reese Withersnore/Jennifers Garner/Lopez and Hugh Grant/Matthew McConaheyisthatabongoinyourpocketorareyoujustnakedtoseeme/Brad Pitt/Orlando Bloom.

That's right- the last one I remember was Elizabethtown, in which I found it hard to believe or crucially, give a shit. I'd say it's just the film (probably) but it's just the latest in a long list of discarded love stories. I didn't even get sucked in by Mr and Mrs Smith, and that was playing out in reality as well, go figure.

I'm getting off the point, as per scuffing usual. Where was I? Aha. Now, it's no secret that I am of such a cynical persuasion that I carry health warnings. However, The New World has finally delivered what Hollywood is always promising- those 'Once in a lifetime! Once in a Generation!' great loves. Ironic but hardly surprising it should come from Terrence 'Couldn't Be Less Hollywood If He Tried' Malick instead of Reiner/Allen/Hallstrom/Lee. 

Also, it's funny that Cold Mountain felt like every minute was actually two days in the company of Bernard Manning but The New World only dragged occasionally. Funny how Minghella failed (spectacularly, which if you've suffered through The English Impatient, is hardly a surprise) where another triumphs (more or less).

Sure, not everyone's gonna like this movie, but I did. Moreover and more importantly, I was convinced by it. It didn't beat us over the head with the Wrongs Done By The White People... largely because it didn't need to- I can see them bright as day. The script was a bit dodgy in parts, but it didn't really matter in a film where it was about the way people looked at each other, the way they touched each other. It was beautiful. The actress playing Pocahontas was beautiful without being unrealistically so, not to mention thoughtful, intelligent and restrained. Take that, LiLo.

And, because I was dicking about looking for Diet Coke at the start, I got a bit of a shock when Christian Bale turned up for the last third. He's one of the few actors I can think of who has been on my Sod Off List (largely due to the ridiculously boring American Psycho more than anything although Reign of Fire didn't help) and then made it onto the Will Watch List (largely due to Batman Begins). Nice contrast to John Smith there with this honourable man who does adore her but... it's always different, isn't it? The first flames usually burn brightest. And with the end, so the crushing, bittersweet disappointment of receiving the ending I knew the story had.

Oh by the way, if you watch it, the big Tudor palace is Hatfield House, some ten minutes from here where I had my first job doing table laying and washing up courtesy of a friend's mum who worked there. It's beautiful and was also used for Lara Croft's house in Tomb Raider. I of course, was not made aware of this going on at Hatfield until afterwards. Typical.

What is my point? Something to do with The New World being an amazing film. It's truly the kind of film that, if it's your kind of thing, gives you an actual physical internal reaction. My stomach tensed around the time John Smith got strung up by his feet and didn't relax again until the credits rolled. It's slow. I mean, it's really slow. It makes Gone With The Wind look like a music video on MTV Base. It's quiet and isn't for the people who think Hilary Duff deserves an Oscar or think charisma vacuum Paul Walker actually deserves to work in film. But, if you believe that film can be beautiful, if you believe that sometimes, very occasionally something can actually come close to replicating real love on the screen... then you might like it.

If you liked the Disney version because of the nice songs and the cute racoon thing, you may be in for a shock.

I believed it. I believed them... and given that previously Colin Farrell's best work may be the psychotic Bullseye in Daredevil (the only good thing in it, incidentally), that's saying something. It made me believe in love for however brief a time, made me remember what it was like to believe that sometimes two people can forget the rest of the world completely, even when that world is tearing itself apart. It made me remember what it's like to stand in scenes of great natural beauty and feel the breeze on my face and the grass under my feet. It made me, very briefly, think that love might be something I'd like, although I would settle for nothing less than true love. It did for love what The Thin Red Line did for war.

I'd make a wish that Malick would make more films... but I think the fact he doesn't is what makes him so special. I've only seen the first little bit of Badlands and I did see The Thin Red Line but it remains a strange half-memory in my head... The New World will probably remain in my brain for a long time. It's been so long since I actually took out a DVD quivering from the experience of watching somethig so beautiful.

Or... it might just be that Colin Farrell had long hair in it. I don't think I've ever been that trivial, but you never can tell.