The Tree of Life, by Terrence Malick

I'm not really surprised that the Best Picture award for 2011 would go to a second-rate movie, or that a far superior film was overlooked. But the discrepancy this year between the film that won and the film that should have won is pretty staggering.

You all know my opinion of The Artist.

Terrence Malick's credits as writer are somewhat more impressive than his directorial credentials, though the latter are no cause for embarrassment. The Thin Red Line is one of the best war movies of the last 60 years, and indeed, one of the only actual war movies ever made (as opposed to anti-war movies). But his latest offering, The Tree of Life, is quite simply one of the finest films ever made.

Audiences wanting an easy viewing experience will be disappointed. Malick seems to delight in metaphor and suggestion as much as direct storytelling, but given his adopted medium this is a blessing rather than a curse. Too many films (from any era, really) aren't visual despite their watchable nature; The Tree of Life is almost wholly visual, with short punctuations of dialogue offering just enough context for us to comprehend the tragedy onscreen.

The triumph is a bit more accessible. Long sequences show the birth of stars, the flora of the world, the fauna of the sea, and even dinosaurs (surprisingly not as cheesy as it sounds, though the CGI isn't perfect). These scenes are accompanied by sacred choral music, and clearly represent the creation of the world, though other kinds of creation are also in view.

Essentially the film is about death. The main character's brother dies, the main character is dying, both his parents are already dead. Most of the action takes place as flashbacks to a Texas boyhood beneath the elms, and one senses there is a high level of autobiography at work. And yet death is not the dominant feeling; there is birth, and rebirth, both physical and spiritual, as the main character (played as an adult by Sean Penn) grapples with his upbringing and his present circumstances. There's a fine degree of ambiguity at all times, but the final scene is clearly meant to be taken as a redemptive assertion of grace.

Malick is a self-proclaimed devout Catholic. He makes films about his faith, and about his religion, and The Tree of Life is no exception. The family patriarch is played by Brad Pitt, and in him we have an exemplary case of hypocrisy not yet beyond the pale of repentance, not yet too dead to be saved. His son's greatest battle is coming to believe that this is so.

The Tree of Life is a vast, lovely film, a true artistic triumph. I don't want to say too much about it because you need to watch it, but there is no question in my mind that it deserved the Oscar far more than The Artist. An award of such scope should be given to a film that embraces universal themes and doesn't wallow in its own cleverness; Malick's masterpiece is such a film—The Artist is not.