st. sean penn, elias koteas, nick nolte, ben chaplin
This is half an escape, and half a necessity. It is a compromised review, and it comes after much deliberation and editing. Between breaks I read chapters from Carson McCullers' The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. I love the title of this book, for its truth and eloquence, but also for the way it echoes harmoniously with the persistent wail of Terence Malick's The Thin Red Line. If such art evokes one emotion, that is isolation.
The most complex films will inevitably attract the most hyperbole, words spewed out in either praise or confusion. Critics I both love and hate have come forth with much noise. As an alternative, I offer very little. No structures or lists. This film sends me beyond the need for such devices. It is a truly great film, and it needs to be left alone for awhile. It deserves neither irony or solemnity, and if I am guilty of the second, I am sorry.
The Thin Red Line is comparable to another film recently released, Takeshi Kitano's Hana-Bi. Both scream in order to attain silence. Such desolation and rumination could maybe open our eyes to a greater hope, a prayer leading to a general song. Now everybody...
adam rivett
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