KNIGHT OF CUPS
R, 118 mins.
2016, R, 118 mins.
Christian Bale as Rick / Wes Bentley as Barry / Brian Dennehy as Joseph / Isabel Lucas as Isabel / Imogen Poots as Della / Cate Blanchett as Nancy / Teresa Palmer as Karen / Freida Pinto as Helen / Natalie Portman as Elizabeth / Antonio Banderas as Tonio / Armin Mueller-Stahl as Fr. Zeitlinger
Written and directed by Terrence Malick
Terrence Malick is one of our greatest living film directors.
There’s simply no questioning that.
He made, for my money, the
most fiercely ambitious film of the current decade in THE
TREE OF LIFE and his previous track record of masterful efforts
largely speak for themselves. He’s
an auteur of the highest and most esteemed order and one whose very own
enigmatic stature in the industry is part of his films’ timelessly
has happened, though: He’s oddly become more prolific (three films since
2011 after just 4 between 1973 and 2005), which as seemingly fantastic as
that sounds has somehow robbed the filmmaker of his mysteriously iconic
presence as a silver screen artist.
Perhaps both intriguingly and ultimately disappointingly, Malick
has also become a more liberated filmmaker in terms of being more
experimental. On one level,
you have to appreciate his sheer audacity with absconding away from
overused and stale Hollywood storytelling conventions and practices. It could easily be
argued that his work as of late has smirked at traditional three-act plotting
structure and instead have become ethereal tone poems with a dreamlike
aura, filled with a series of free-flowing and disconnected imagery that,
I think, are trying to mimic the ways we subconsciously view, experience,
and respond to the world around us.
brings me to KNIGHT OF CUPS, which, to be fair, offers up every
stylistic element that we’ve come to fully expect from Malick’s late
career films (an all over the map pace, multiple philosophically heavy
voiceover tracks, minimal on-screen dialogue, staccato editing,
spontaneously loose camera work, etc.), but I’ve personally reached
a point with them where I simply demand more than his overwhelming
brand of avant garde eccentricity.
KNIGHT OF CUPS is a punishingly maddening and self-indulgent
exercise in artistic pretentiousness.
I felt more relived than deeply moved when the final end credits
rolled on. It’s essentially
a series of beguilingly sumptuous and painterly images in desperate search
of a way to coalesce with one another to form…something.
A narrative (as much as Malick allows for)?
A unifying mood? A thematic undercurrent?
I don’t have the foggiest idea.
I have no problem with obliquely engineered films of challenging
impressionistic impenetrability, but KNIGHT OF CUPS is almost intolerably
impenetrable at times.
to what many critics have let on, there is some semblance of an actual
plot here, insofar as it contains the spiritual journey of a lonely and
troubled character as he interacts with a series of other lonely and
troubled characters. KNIGHT OF CUPS (a title derived from a Tarot card) finds
inspiration from the 1678 Christian allegory THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS, but
seeing Malick connecting its dots with those in his film and how they
relate to the personas that populate it seems like an act of immense
overreaching on his part. The
“pilgrim” of this film is Rick (Christian Bale), a talented,
but unavoidably depressed Los Angeles based screenwriter whose life has
become hopelessly adrift in night after night of boozing, partying, and
scoring with as many woman that will have him as possible.
He has multiple flings with multiple women, and oddly enough, for a
film strangely lauded for its structurelessness, Malick does break his
story down into eight distinct threads that highlight Rick's experiences with
not only members of his estranged family, but also with all of the women
that he beds. When not dealing
with his father (Brain Dennehy) and brother (Wes Bentley), Rick navigates
his way several thorny romantic relationships, included one with a
impetuous young woman (Imogen Poots), a model (Frieda Pinto), a stripper
(Teresa Palmer), his ex-wife (Cate Blanchett) and a woman from his past that he
caused harm to (Natalie Portman).
is an empty vessel as a character, which I guess is appropriate.
He’s traumatized by the death of one of his siblings and tries to
medicate himself with all of the hedonistic excesses that his
Hollywood player lifestyle affords him.
Women, obviously enough, figure highly into this, seeing as he uses
them – in one form or another – to numb his personal pains while
simultaneously not fully comprehending the pain he inflicts on them in the
process. KNIGHT OF CUPS
certainly benefits from containing themes that are worthy of
meta-cinematic introspection, even though movies about the inside politics
of movie making in Hollywood - not to mention what that does to certain
people that work within it while struggling to find their place in the
world - have been told before and to much more fulfilling and dramatically
impactful effect. Still,
it’s a drastically different type of subject matter for Malick to tackle
considering the rich variety of films that pepper his resume, which is to
what the hell does Malick have to say about his subject matter?
Does he feel pity for Rick as a misplaced and despondent soul or is
he mocking him for his self-absorbent level of pettiness and amoral
lifestyle? Moreover, what is
Malick trying to relay about the very industry that he works within?
What is he critiquing here? The
decadence of Rick’s work and personal life?
Toxic Hollywood elitism? Malick
deals with many potential areas of thoughtful and contemplative focus, but
never satisfyingly explores them and capitalizes on their inherent
tantalizing conundrums. KNIGHT
OF CUPS also makes it very, very difficult to actually care about Rick.
He’s hard to relate to and invest in because, frankly, Malick’s
approach to his characters here is jarringly indifferent and cold. When it boils right down to it, Rick is a filthy rich,
disturbingly handsome, and deeply well off man that aimlessly wanders
through LA gorging on every new erotic encounter that’s presented to
him. He also pathetically
manipulates women as puppets for his own unhealthy brand of
simply hard to give a hoot about this guy or his exploits; he’s simply
an affluent and privileged a-hole that flaunts his privileged lifestyle.
He rarely elicited my sympathy.
He basically deserves to be slapped.
OF CUPS, to be fair, is a gorgeous visual odyssey through and through.
Malick once again recruited multiple Oscar winning cinematographer Emmanuel
Lubezki (he previously shot Malick’s THE NEW
WORLD, TREE OF LIFE and TO THE
WONDER), with predictably lush and attractive results.
On a level of pure bravura imagery, KNIGHT OF CUPS is a film that begs to be
actively experienced, not passively watched. But for as monumentally beautiful as the film is to look at,
Malick’s intensely obscure approach to the underlining material makes
the whole enterprise so irritatingly difficult to grasp on any profound
level of emotional payoff. Scenes
morph within one another and then abruptly cut to unrelated imagery,
characters speak to one another via streams of incongruent musings that
are initially fascinating in approach, but eventually become more
tiresomely ostentatious the longer the film progresses.
I get it. I really do. Malick is trying to duplicate the sensation of
randomness of Rick’s emotional state and the meandering nature of his
personal journey, but his uncompromisingly abstract and obscure aesthetic
doesn’t necessarily make for good drama.
all of that, it has been commented on that KNIGHT OF CUPS is Malick’s
“funniest” film. I
didn’t find myself particularly laughing much throughout it, even
though it does contain individual moments (usually taking place at the
many industry parties that Rick finds himself at) when some of the
dialogue exchanges have a sarcastic bite, but KNIGHT OF CUPS is
insufferably bogged down by its own level of humorlessly smug self-importance.
This movie takes itself so bloody seriously that it forgets at
times that it should be a scathing and incendiary satire about Hollywood
soullessness. KNIGHT OF CUPS
contains relative kings and queens of the movie acting world, an
enthralling and admirably rich visual tapestry, and a smorgasbord of interesting
ideas at its core, but none of them bare successful fruit because
Malick’s overall approach here is so jarringly off-putting and shapeless
that even die hard fanboys of his will have difficulty trudging their
way through the film.
Sitting through KNIGHT OF CUPS felt like arduous, endurance testing work for me, which is a sentiment that, years ago, I would have never mentioned in relation to the limitlessly talented legend behind the camera. Looking past the veneer of Malick’s startlingly attractive and sometimes bewildering artistic hubris, this is a film that’s hard to relate to…or care about.