The Fountain
Wednesday, December 6, 2006 at 2:30AM The following review comes from regular Bandwidth Magazine contributer, John Wheeler
The Fountain is a film of one beginning and several ends. Darren Aronofsky never really shows the audience the distance between those points, but is content to show cause and effect without much journey in between.
But that’s not really a problem. The Fountain could have been an epic of disastrous proportions if Aronofsky had deigned to flesh out the adventure aspects which lie implied between the film’s opening and its three separate conclusions, separated by 500 years. As it stands at an hour and forty minutes, The Fountain is at a reasonable length for the kind of incomprehensible, staggeringly pretty story it wants to tell.
That prettiness, the stunning visuals that make it worth watching in full panamorphic widescreen at some high-end theater, comes at the beginning and the end of the film’s convoluted plot. Everything in between is effectively expendable because, contrary to popular opinion, Aronofsky is not a master storyteller.
Hugh Jackman plays three temporally different renditions of the same character, Tommy, all searching for the elixir of life to save Izzy (Rachel Weisz). Five hundred years ago, he is a conquistador who journeys to Central America for Queen Isabel. In the present, he becomes a surgeon trying to save his dying wife. And in the future, a bald version of Tommy journeys through space with an ancient tree in a giant bubble toward some initially indistinct end.
Having had experience in the realm of super heroes, Hugh Jackman can play concealed vulnerability about as well as any actor in Hollywood. The film’s emotional final moments are genuinely tear-jerking because Jackman conveys the frustration of failure and loss equally well through three different characters. He is just about the only saving grace of the tepidly-shot, cliché-ridden modern day segments. The same cannot be said of Weisz, who is almost laughably bad as Izzy. Oddly enough, she manages reasonably well as Queen Isabel but her performance falls apart in the present. Izzy is annoying, squeaky and “free-spirited,� all of which are qualities Aronofsky seems to think constitute grace. Maybe Izzy would fit that description if she had been played by someone who could actually balance the burden of dying with Izzy’s unique personality.
However, despite the dull segments in present day, the past and future stories are gorgeous to look at and Aronofksy’s impeccable sense of the power of imagery is on full display. He recreates the horrors of the Spanish Inquisition in only one scene, but the moment is so over-the-top and stunning that it carries as much weight as an entire movie devoted to the subject.
As with that one beautifully horrible moment, the rest of The Fountain carries Aronofsky’s touch for an utter lack of subtlety. The visuals are stunning because they are so audacious and, because he avoided computer graphics, realistic in a surreal sense. The scenes in outer space are wonderful in the same quiet, simple sort of way that those in Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey were.
The movie’s parallel storylines are visually connected in a way that never feels forced. Unfortunately the connections in dialogue and story always feel awkward because they are repeated ad nauseum. For a movie that wants to make itself very clear thematically and in terms of character development, it is also frustrating that The Fountain becomes indecipherable in the final minutes, opting for visual beauty instead of a real conclusion.
The Fountain is a movie that manages the rare feat of looking great as well as carrying a brain in its pretty little head. How unfortunate, then, that it can never quite find the words to express itself without stuttering and mumbling. The Fountain shows the emotional end of three connected stories, Aronofsky just isn’t able to make sense of what it all means.
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As you can already tell from the powder makeup and black lipstick, Batlord's soul is as dark and desolate as a bottomless pit. Considering this, it's a bit strange seeing him lurk around KSCR as much as he does. If I was an evil lord, I'd sit in the Oval Office on a throne made of human bones, with a hundred naked virgins laying at my feet, and a hoard of flying monkeys fetching me boxes of PS3s. I certainly wouldn't spend my time behind a computer, spamming people with emails and trying to plug a third-rate album to a college station.
My initial thought was Hey, this Kevin guy is a smart fella. He’s totally into satirizing the American condition. But Kevin isn’t joking…not even close. He really really wants us to know that he loves America. He’s got 12 tracks of Gaye-lite R&B with Bush-ultra lyrics. He’s even dyed his hair white for that founding father look. Maybe if you look at the back of your $2 bill, you’ll see Kevin in the background, raising the roof as Jefferson signs the declaration. I’m not saying that patriotism is uncool. But a lack of musicianship and all-around bad taste (did you see the cover?) is totally uncool. A few notes…
1. It’s not cool to have the Star Spangled Banner as one of your tracks
2. It’s not cool to call on the services of a Jimmy Stewart impersonator
3. It’s not cool to have inane intro tracks
4. It’s definitely not cool for a black dude to write and sing tracks called “APD Rock (Dedicated to All Law Enforcement Officers)� and “Climb The Ladder�
5. And it’s not cool when your album is on CDbaby.com, and some soccer mom has this to say about your album: “I really like this clean fresh music, that my kids can listen to. I like the message it conveys. It makes you realize how proud we should be for our American Heros [sic]. Keep the music coming, I will be looking for more!�
Want to know what Kevin thinks about capitalism, education, racism, and America in general? Take a listen:
We get a bit suspicious when a promotional move comes off as being hokey and desperate. It tells us that the artist isn’t confident enough in his/her own material, and thinks it prudent to tie in an incentive for us to play their music. Koko Butta (that’s butta, not butter) had their agent come to us with a Halloween-themed gift basket. We overlooked the CD that came with the offering, but gladly devoured the healthy servings of Dorritos and mini-Crunch bars. On a separate note, a mouse that had invaded the office gnawed through a bag of Lays. It, too, passed on Koko Butta’s album.
