Movies can be bad for a myriad of reasons. They can be sloppily made, poorly acted, incoherently written, or just offensively stupid. However, I think the biggest sin you can label a film is “boring”. I have opted to spend ninety minutes with someone’s creation, and if I am not engaged, even in a negative way, that is the biggest failing I think a film can manage. I would much rather a film be aggressive in its badness than to lull me to sleep. It would at least spark some kind of passion in me. Art should bring about a reaction. This brings me to The Better Angels, which is a prime offender of the boring moniker. It is a class one Terrence Malick knock-off devoid of story and had me fighting to stay awake from the first minute. It just goes to show you pretty pictures are not enough.
I can understand how writer/director A.J. Edwards could have picked up a few things from Malick, having previously worked with him in a small capacity on The New World and The Tree of Life and was bumped up to editor on To the Wonder. It’s natural the people you work with influence you. However, the influence here is so great it borderlines on complete imitation. The constantly sweeping camera, people twirling around in a field, hushed voiceover, and Hanan Townshend‘s score are all directly ripped from Malick. You almost laugh at how loving a Malick recreation Edwards makes the film. Also, having his name as a producer does not help matters either.
The Malick comparisons do not stop there. Just in the setup, we are fully brought back to a Malick trope. We are following the childhood years of the man who will become the sixteenth president of the United States (Braydon Denney). His dad (Jason Clarke) is a rough and tumble man of work. His mom (Brit Marling) thinks little Abe is extraordinary and really likes twirling around in fields. You could say he is the way of nature, and she is the way of grace… Are you following me?
I am sure this would be fine if I was a Malick fan, but I am most certainly not. The languid pace and lack of story really disengage me from what is happening on screen. He may be able to capture the sun at just the right angle at a certain point in the day coming through the trees, which is enough for some people. I just get tired. I do not sit in a theater for an extended period of time to look at pretty pictures. The Better Angels is certainly filled with those. Edwards chose to shoot this film in black and white, and it is undeniably lush to look at. But who cares? I can walk through a museum, look at some nice pictures, and be on my way. I would at least be able to determine my own pace for that. Here, we are forced to sit through nothing happening in a pretty frame.
The cast is certainly impressive. Along with Clarke and Marling, the film features Diane Kruger, as Lincoln’s step-mother, and Wes Bentley, as his tutor. It’s a shame they are given almost nothing to do. They stand around. Jason Clarke looks brutish. Brit Marling plays with a bug. We just see them from a low angle, and Edwards hopes we will glean some sort of meaning out of it. They all barely speak a word. Poor Braydon Denney as Abe is the biggest victim of this, who probably has about fifteen lines in the whole film. We never get any true insight into who these people are, which for an inherently compelling central character is frustrating.
All of this adds up to a film that is not compelling in the slightest. It is an active battle to keep your eyes focused on the screen for fear of falling asleep and dreaming something more interesting than the film. I am sorry if I need story and character to drive me through a film. I guess I am not sophisticated enough to enjoy this lyrical meandering. I want these people to make decisions and have me reflect on what I would do in their situation. These are people who are living in the middle of the woods in a harsh environment, and I never once felt empathetic or sympathetic to any of them. I do not mind a filmmaker wanting to try something different with a piece of material, as long it is somewhat grounded. Here, everything is flighty and poetic, and none of it resonates. The loveliest photography in the world cannot change that.
