Scoring Transcendence: Contemporary Film Music as Religious Experience

Conclusion

181 concluSion Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? . . . When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy? —Job 38:4, 7 (NRSV) Who are we to you? Answer me. —Mrs. O’Brien, The Tree of Life More often than not, we are incapable of articulating the profound depth of the human experience. Certain losses, sufferings , and wounds lie beyond description. The same holds true for the beauty, joy, and hope that we encounter. Our words simply fail us. Of course, we still feel compelled to analyze, to dissect, and to understand the mystifying reality that seems to underscore the whole of the created order. Yet, even as it captivates us, we are confronted with the limits of our understanding. That is, while an acute sense of significance pervades the world in which we live, life remains mysterious. And in the shadow of this mystery, we wrestle with, rail against, and even directly challenge that which cannot be controlled, manipulated, or coerced. “Who are we to you? Answer me.” In an effort to draw our discussion to a close, I offer here a brief reflection on The Tree of Life (2011), a film that calls upon music 182 Scoring TranScendence not only to give voice to these enduring questions, but also to draw filmgoers into the enigmatic beauty that permeates each everyday experience of human life. In doing so, I hope both to reiterate the core argument I have been developing and convey the manners in which this exploration of film music might give shape to the future of constructive theological inquiry. For, in the end, a musically aware approach to film may very well enhance our understanding of film and filmgoing, but the question remains as to what difference any of this really makes for contemporary theological reflection. Terrence mAlick living Abstractly in a concrete World My argument has been fairly straightforward: a musically aware approach to film allows for a depth and manner of theological dialogue that would otherwise remain inaccessible. It opens up avenues for engaging in conversations with both the film itself and those contemporary persons who derive meaning (aesthetic, spiritual, religious, or otherwise) from their cinematic experiences. Yet, along the way, I have made a parallel and, perhaps, even more substantive claim. That is, whether it underscores a “children’s” movie (e.g., Up), features almost wholly recycled popular songs (e.g., Moulin Rouge!), or is so glaringly sparse and dissonant that it becomes unsettling (e.g., There Will Be Blood), film music is somehow capable of mediating an immediate encounter with the divine energy of life that indwells the whole of the created order. Put simply, this music is powerful, meaningful, and formative—it has privileged access to our soul—because it is capable of serving as an occasion for revelation, a truly religious experience in the midst of what many believe to be an increasingly disenchanted and demythologized world. Significantly, it is this very movement toward religious experience that marks Terrence Malick’s 2011 film, The Tree concluSion 183 of Life. Indeed, as one critic has stated, this film is first and foremost a form of prayer. Others have made similar claims, suggesting that their experience of the film was sublime and even epiphanic. Yet, some filmgoers have rejected Malick’s spiritually charged vision as overly ambitious and, at times, heavy-handed. Although it won the Palme d’Or prize at the Cannes Film Festival, the film received a mixture of both applause and boos at the conclusion of its first screening. Like those at Cannes, other filmgoers are equally unable to move beyond the apparent absence of any clear narrative arch—the kind of plot-driven fare that comprises the current Hollywood landscape. Tellingly, the small group of friends with whom I watched the film abandoned it less than thirty minutes into our screening, stating that they did not want to “waste their time” on a movie that refused to tell a story. Of course, if pressed, we can identify the contours of a story in this film, albeit a fragmented and nonlinear one. Set in 1950s Waco, the film follows the O’Briens, a family struggling to cope with the premature death of one of its youngest members, R. L. Against this tableau of suffering and loss, we also catch a glimpse of Jack O’Brien’s coming of...