The Fountain

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Though relative newcomer to the fields of motion picture entertainment, Darren Aronofsky quickly drew keen attention to himself even by his 1998 breakthrough installment Pi, a black and white delicacy hinting elegant connections between the established rigorousness of mathematics and the far more flexible image of spirituality. That superprivate, yet at the same time, enigmatically shared field that we could approach an infinite directions from, and still we are likely to end up at infinitely different places, as well.

Pi, as an artistic effort, already possessed Aronofsky's steep visual awareness without inviting overkill and doubt to be element(s) of his powerful start-off delivery, a movie presenting magnificent patterns and operations of nature, letting them register both as nourishment- and sole subject matter of heavy duty humane observations. Patterns and workings we are surrounded by all the time, yet the constantly conditioned mind has a likelihood to fail to timelessly remember- or recognize their eternal fascination.

Not everyone dwells in- and resonates such craftily defined ignorance though, not at all. Awe is a particular Option, indeed, the obsession to decipher God's Final Equation of Operations: is a necessary tool for such an ambitious: Quest. What results such a Quest might yield to, Pi tells us in a memorable, properly thoughtful, albeit soberly limited manner, as Aronofsky was wise enough to refrain from the act of par excellence demagogy, that being serving an answer that should cover all you could think/all you should think about the casual existence we all are organic, pulsating part of, regardless of whether with opened, or closed eyes we drink it with. What I truly meant to say though is that we shall conclude risk freely and without further need to seek doubt out that Darren Aronofsky made a curious statement of intellectual- and artistic significance back in 1998.

Since the focal point of this review is the latest to date on the director's part though, we dismiss Pi herein by nodding our blobs in the most eager fashion, reckoning Aronofsky's early output as a definite must see, yet this time it served us as but an introductory point to justify the director's evident talent- and fascinating vision as a creator. This enthusiasm on my side is maintained firmly despite Aronofsky's previous effort to The Fountain, the movie called Requiem for a Dream, a work that seemed - and still seems, just for the record - as eager to affect its spectator tremendously that one eventually craves precious chance to remain steadily untouched by the cited celluloid abuse, thereby, as of today I hold an immensely limited significance to my personal memories concerning the seemingly scant, squared social verdicts Requiem for a Dream was so enthusiastically serving us with. The Fountain though: left me charged in pretty much all inner aspects I can currently think of, all this naturally shall be respected by the maximum onion rating that I can offer for it. Come, OH!, Dearest Visitor, and let us scrutinize together into:

The Fountain.

Since I find tales to be among the ultimate building blocks of a culture's existent- and ever improving (?) wisdom, I am most happy to announce that Aronofsky surprises us with a pretty serious one. A serious tale, that is. A tale that is not serious doesn't worth to be called one, mind you.

Seeing his work going on from the Pi days, it is now safe to say that Aronofsky keeps a personal, quite welcomed fascination towards mere human nature, yet, what David Cronenberg tends to approach directly from the material plane of existence, is a "mere" - HAH! - spiritual affair for this particular storyteller. As of today, Aronofsky finds limited interest in glorious - HAHH! - flesh, instead offers a well developed and solidly presented crisis situation in which a couple of loving partners are struggling with imminent death. The young wife, Izzi, personified by Rachel Weisz suffers from a seemingly lethal brain tumor that is sadly anticipated to claim the lady's life very soon, while his loving husband, Tomas - offered by Wolveri... sorry, Hugh Jackman - soon finds himself in the race for what seems to be a quite attainable Miracle Cure, making serious progress as lead researcher on a scientific project to deal with such sorrowful diseases.

"Uhuh? Tumor. Miracle Cure. Now, was THAT the tale part?" - a cynical person should pose the question. A cynical person is one who tells you about your TRUE motivations. The neurotic person is one who, when you ask her/him how she/he is: will tell you. These latter were just the narrative borders of the territory that the entire buildup will develop on, as a quite swiftly and elegantly unraveling synopsis boosts a truly nice twist into the fate of the couple, a twist capable to render elements of massive emotion, even yet: fragile, yet quite precious Epic to this promising mix. Turns out Izzi writes a novel by the title The Fountain, yet she is unsure if she will have the time and chance to finish the work before the disease claims her life. She asks Tomas to write the final chapter of the book, though the husband of course is quite resistant to commit to this proposition, as this mere act certainly would solidify an implication that he himself have finally made peace with the imminent arrival of death - uninvited.



The tale nature of The Fountain arouses as quickly as we are to accompany Tomas in his reading process, taking part in the tale the wife wrote and he lives through via the mere consumption of it. Witnessing as third person inspector, a curios perspective on how the two prior/parallel incarnations of the two lovers are struggling under the Age of Inquisition, both of them holding quite historic, though very desperate positions. While reading the book and working relentlessly on the cure to invent the means his wife could recover by, Tomas, not surprisingly, also undergoes deep spiritual dilemmas, - try to invent a shallow spiritual dilemma, great fun for the whole family - rendered via a strong symbolism system forged out of motion picture fine art, though Aronofsky is certainly aware of how this graphic rendition of innermost personal lamentation might exhibit a tendency to sink into mere spiritual masturbation, avoiding those extremely embarrassing categories by smartly implemented narrative spacemiles. One could argue if you still see those categorizes on the horizon nevertheless, yet the film reveals such a degree of integrity and masterful craftsmanship to it that I tend to lean to offer a negative answer to this inquiry. The main operation factor to connect these three parallel experience foams is a mystical, organic artifact called The Tree of Life, a decisive phenomena of Mayan mythology, which, as it turns out during The Fountain, might bear all the reality we could imagine to it.

Once a reviewer forgets to mention the performances on the acting, then there is a pretty good chance that the acting was pretty good, as well. This is a textbook example here, no doubt, as all personifiers herein do render their crystal clear figures through the very same, meritorious qualities these pure, sanely driven characters are forged from- and operating on. Hugh Jackman deserves exceptional credit, as he had a chance to deliver serious performance, succeeding via sheer charisma and acting ability. An actor sadly- and usually can get away with lacking one of these traits, yet if they don't possess both on the day they were born: they also never will.

Rachel Weisz is very good here, also. A nice, mellow voice register, honest feelings combined with all the clever dialogs the film presents personal relations and inner dilemmas through: one recognizes in awe that this is what movies with a serious tint of serious tale - ye, sorry 'bout that - are supposed to be about. A rational, supportive acting performance- and the mere human phenomena of Ellen Burstyn is a must-mention as well, as I guarantee that you won't have many chance to witness a person so composed and in peace with oneself by the life periods in which Ellen Burstyn is. Mark Margolis is an actor Aronofsky keenly relies on, this mature of a personificator now delivers the same, solid canvas presence and performance you could remember him of even back from the Pi days.

The Fountain is an output driven by inventively presented emotional channels, yet, ironically, it also is a quite rational narrative buildup at that, rendering its welcomed surprise elements and deliberate conclusion through its no less significant spiritual message. The film has a very tender, pulsating temper to it, this notion is emphasized both by the superbly chosen, unhurried image sequences and a highly effective musical score that remains absolutely original and very easy to grasp on to. Another quality work done here by Clint Mansell, author of the highly acclaimed Pi soundtrack, as well.

Memorable images and pulsating flow of music form a coalition of rhythmic, evident beauty in this piece of art, better yet: this piece of art even tells us a tale to remember. The Fountain is a movie with a message weighing around 16 tons, yet it is also a film that sends you this message with such an elegant ease that you can't help but wonder how effectively it have given it to you. All capable of loving own themselves the agenda to check this one out. And those who are not: even more so.



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