Written by Jennifer
March 03, 2009
If there's one thing I hate, it's a restrained love story.
Terrence Malick doesn't know it, but he's in the wrong business. He was born to be a nature photographer, yet something compels him to wrap actors and stories around his photographs and call them movies. The New World is a film about Pocahontas that never even mentions her by name, and it's about as articulate as interpretive dance.
We begin with the arrival of English colonists in America. Led by Captain Newport (Christopher Plummer), the weary travelers settle where they land, and it's love at first sight when the rebellious John Smith (Colin Farrell) locks eyes with Pocahontas (Q'Orianka Kilcher of the Jewel Kilchers). She risks her life to save his, and he winds up living with her people for a spell. They spend their days learning about one another and falling in love. This is conveyed with almost no dialogue as the two frolic, nuzzle, and gaze into each other's eyes. This is peppered liberally with shots of clouds, trees, and reflections on the water.
At first the silence and slowness create a pleasantly contemplative atmosphere. You have plenty of time to think about this merging of cultures from both perspectives—how endless the possibilities must have seemed to the colonists, and how the Naturals must have dreaded their intentions. When you finish thinking about that, you can think about Colin Farrell's long eyelashes, and the unfortunate fact that his reputation as a rascal belies his talent as an actor. Then you can think about the flaws in Pocahontas' complexion, and upon realizing you've drifted into shallow and rather catty territory, you will inevitably think: I wish to God something would happen.
Finally Smith returns to the fort, which we may as well call Stupid Town, because it's basically one big mud puddle, and no one there has any sense. Everyone is starved, diseased, and squabbling. They sport carbuncles on their faces, spit when they talk, and have resorted to eating their belts and their dead. It had to be nauseating for John Smith, who loved Pocahontas and knew she wasn't boiling old leather for dinner.
Annoyingly, John Smith is a fence-sitter. Even when Pocahontas is renounced by her people and goes to live in Stupid Town, he hasn't got the guts to grab her and make a life. He can't figure out where they would live, so he leaves to forge a passage to the Indies, and instructs someone to tell her he's died. Coward! If there's one thing I hate, it's a restrained love story.
Pocahontas practically goes insane with grief, but continues living in Stupid Town, assimilating herself, and adopting the name Rebecca. Eventually John Rolfe (Christian Bale) shows up and takes a shine to her. They marry, have a baby, and raise tobacco. Occasionally we see Rebecca standing in a tree, so we don't forget how Natural she is. Her life is pretty darn good for second best, but when she hears that John is alive, Rebecca is ready to throw it all away.
"I am married to him," she tells her husband boldly, and finally it seems like something is going to happen. John Number 2 is so understanding that he actually arranges a meeting between Rebecca and John Number 1. Oh, sweet! They're going to get together, right? Nah. They just walk around, and John Number 1 tells her he thought of her. Thought of her?! After all that, he thought of her?! They share more longing glances, and it becomes abundantly clear that nothing is ever going to happen. I think this is the moment when everyone in the theater thought the same thing—"Are you kidding me?!"
When they flashed to a shot of Pocahontas/Becky up in a tree, I lost it. I started to laugh. It was that terrible laughter that comes on suddenly and refuses to stop, the kind that shakes your body, and immediately causes tears to pour from your eyes. It only got worse as Pocahontas frolicked some more, and got her dress all soggy. She made up with John Number 2, played hide and seek with her kid, then fell ill, all while I sat in a helpless pile of giggles.
I felt terrible when I composed myself—laughing at this tragic tale of unrequited love, but I wasn't alone. As we shuffled out of the theater, I heard other people laughing and mumbling, "I think I liked the Disney version better." So there you have it. Spare yourself.
