Week 7 - Movie Review: The Tree of Life

God, Grief, and the Cosmos: Wrestling with the Depth of Existence in

The Tree of Life 

I just watched the 2011 movie The Tree of Life. When I watched it, I was dealing with some kind of flu, so I feel my experience might have been slightly different if I’d been feeling better. Still, here’s what I thought of the movie.

Overall, the film felt deeply real and incredibly heavy. From the outset, I felt it was meant for mature audiences. While it doesn’t include gore or explicit scenes, the emotional intensity and themes make it unsuitable for younger viewers, in my opinion. Despite its PG-13 rating, I believe the film deserves an R rating due to its deeply unsettling and profound nature.

The movie begins with scenes of a family, transitioning into an epic creation narrative. The director, Terrence Malick, who also wrote the screenplay, seems to approach the origin of the universe from an Old Earth and Big Bang perspective. As someone who has lately moved slightly away from strict young-Earth creationism, I wasn’t particularly shaken by this portrayal, though I can imagine it being challenging for others.

One moment that struck me deeply was the depiction of the universe's formation, particularly when our galaxy appears on screen. It’s shown vertically, resembling the middle part of a cat’s eye. That image stirred something in me, making my heart leap in an almost indescribable way. This moment was profoundly impactful.

As the narrative progressed, the emergence of life was juxtaposed with suffering—most vividly when a beached dinosaur, the first mammal-like creature shown, is depicted dying from a gaping wound. This juxtaposition of life and suffering immediately set the tone for the film’s exploration of existence.

Early on, the story quotes from the Book of Job: “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the Earth?” This question encapsulates humanity’s eternal wrestling with suffering and the divine. It frames the movie’s central theme: the coexistence of joy and pain in life, and our struggle to understand why suffering exists.

Several scenes were disturbing, though not by modern cinematic standards of violence or gore. For example, a brother intentionally injures his sibling with a pellet gun, and there are moments of harshness and anger from the father, culminating in a tense scene at the dinner table. These moments felt overwhelming, not because they were overly graphic, but because they were so uncomfortably real. They mirrored my own memories—of my father, my siblings, and myself—bringing a flood of emotions that was difficult to process.

I learned that Malick’s own life heavily influenced the story. His older brother tragically took his own life during his college years, an event that profoundly affected his family. Having lost my sister to cancer at a young age, I resonated deeply with the portrayal of grief and its ripple effects on a family.

The movie is not easy to watch. It’s not a commercial flick, nor is it pleasant in any conventional sense. It’s an acquired taste, like black licorice or unsweetened coffee—something some might love, while others struggle to appreciate. Personally, I didn’t dislike or like it; those words feel inadequate. The film is simply different.

Philosophically, the movie resonated with me because it grapples with suffering. It portrays life as an intermingling of joy and pain, woven together into a bittersweet reality. This finiteness of physical existence, within the vastness of the universe, gives our lives meaning. Relationships, flawed and imperfect as they are, become central to our existence, filled with both love and pain.

Malick’s view on suffering is directly expressed through the priest’s sermon on the Book of Job during the funeral scene: “...But, no, misfortune befalls the good as well. We can’t protect ourselves against it. We can’t protect our children. We can’t say to ourselves, ‘Even if I’m not happy, I’m going to make sure they are.’” This message is hard to grasp, especially when we search for answers in the midst of our pain. The movie doesn’t offer tidy resolutions. Instead, it reflects the raw, chaotic reality of life, where free will exists, and suffering is an inherent part of the human condition.

What stood out most was the way suffering and joy are intertwined—they are two sides of the same coin. Without suffering, joy would lose its depth; without joy, suffering would be unbearable. This connection stems from a fundamental truth: the very faculty that plays a central role in our suffering—attachment—also plays a vital role in our joy. A biological analogy illustrates this: the same nerve endings in our bodies that cause us to feel physical pain are also responsible for allowing us to experience physical comfort.

In my opinion, the film, despite its final scene, ultimately rejects the idea of utopia. Much like the biblical narrative, it underscores the coexistence of free will, individuality, and the inescapable reality of suffering.

Ultimately, the film points to a profound theological truth: that God enters into our suffering. Through Christ, God doesn’t merely observe our pain from a distance but fully partakes in it. The incarnation—the divine becoming human—is God’s answer to our cries of “Why?” It says, “I understand. I am in it with you.”

This realization is both humbling and comforting. It reminds us that suffering, while deeply painful, is also a reflection of our capacity to love and be loved. The more we love, the more we risk suffering. But it’s this vulnerability that makes us truly alive.