There are many ways to view "Tree of Life" (Malick, 2011): via trauma theory, via feminist theory, or, as I would like to view it here, as an entry in the current cultural dialogue of (post) postmodernity.
Though it has many hallmarks of postmodernity, including but not limited to, temporal disjunction, referentiality (the father displaying a Brahms LP), and a narrator of questionable reliability, I posit this movie as a statement not of the irony so integral to postmodernity, but as a statement of sincerity; to use a stronger word: a statement of purity.
I have made a similar argument about another, very different movie: "Scott Pilgrim Versus The World." The sincerity of "Scott Pilgrim" is very different from the sincerity of this movie, but I wanted to acknowledge that the above statement about "Tree of Life" follows roughly the same lines as my argument about "Scott Pilgrim."
The sincerity of "Tree of Life" is so overwhelming as to be almost off-putting. For example: at times, the narrator says explicitly what the movie is about. In just about any other movie (Gran Torino, for instance) I find this to be an abuse of film dialogue; film is about showing not telling, and it is the showing that gets Malick off the hook. As the narrator says things like "there is a way of grace and a way of nature," the images are of things that could be both or either: the mother twirling underneath a tree, holding a child. The cryptic sequences of cosmological imagery, of fish, of dinosaurs (no kidding!) all serve a function with regard to the words of the narrator that is (ironically) ironic.
Not ironic in the sense in which I have been using it up to this point; ironic in the formal sense of contrast between image and word; this kind of irony is the kind you learn about in ninth grade English; the formal device that makes sitcoms funny; etc. It is only appropriate that Malick deploys this visual/aural irony in service of what, from my seat, looks to be a very sincere statement about some of my favorite things: the wonder of the world (the "glory," as his characters call it), the meaningfulness of small things and small lives, the power of love between people.
Unless I am grossly misreading this film, Malick seems to be sincerely endorsing these things as (borderline spiritual) values, and his film does a great job of carrying this message across. As I walked out of the theater, the sky over the semi-industrialized lot near the Midtown Cinema had never seemed more meaningful, more beautiful, more indicative of the imperfect miracle of humanity.
It is encouraging to feel these things upon leaving a movie, and it is encouraging to see someone so well-situated in culture (popular, artistically accomplished, critically acclaimed) endorsing something -- anything -- with such bald-faced sincerity. Props, Malick.
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I realize, reading over the above, that it gives you a lot to think about if you've seen the movie, but doesn't really assess whether you should or should not see it (though I'm sure you know which one I would tell you to do). Nonetheless, if you're still not sure about laying out $11 or whatever a movie ticket costs these days (mine was $6, a perk of having a local art house with matinee screenings), let me point you to a review by a film critic whose opinions I usually agree with (and in this case, do, almost point for point).
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