'The Fountain' is a wash

When Brad Pitt walked off the set of Darren Aronofsky's film, "The Fountain," in 2002, the director feared that his brainchild would never see the light of day. We might all have been better off. Instead, four years, two pairs of lead actors and $70 million later, Aronofsky's pretentious opus on love, death and rebirth landed with a thud in theatres last Wednesday.

"The Fountain," written and directed by Aronofsky, follows three parallel love stories, all featuring Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weisz as star-crossed lovers. Spanning 1,000 years, Jackman and Weisz weave their way though 16th-century conquistador Spain, present-day America and the future in the outer reaches of space.

In the present day, Jackman plays Dr. Tommy Creo, a research oncologist, furiously seeking a cure for the malignant brain tumor afflicting his wife, Izzi (Weisz). Unfortunately, his relentless quest to save her life pushes him to neglect her in her last days. As her husband isolates himself in his laboratory, Izzi writes a manuscript called "The Fountain" about Queen Isabella of Spain and her quest for eternal life. When the queen (also played by Weisz) discovers an ancient shrub in Guatemala purported to be the biblical Tree of Life, she sends Tomas (Jackman) to retrieve its elixir. Along the way, Tomas struggles with fierce Mayan warriors, mutinous conquistadors and his internal conflict between duty and personal glory. In the plot transplanted to the 26th century, Tommy Creo, now an immortal cosmonaut, continues his quest to save his wife, whose spirit inhabits the dying Tree of Life.

Aronofsky rejects a linear storytelling pattern, abruptly jumping from one era to another. His rapid cuts overtly suggest the circular pattern of life, as details from the three stories mingle with one another. The film is bloated with obscure Mayan mythology, biblical references and metaphysical journeys across space and time. By the end, the audience can no longer distinguish metaphor from reality. Aronofsky clearly has an important message, but his heavy symbolism threatens to overpower a fairly decent story. He muddles his way through cinematic embodiment of the maxims "love conquers all" and "death is an act of creation," alternately confusing and exasperating his audience.

If successful metaphors elude him, Aronofsky does have a knack for memorable, though not always stunning, imagery. In one of the better scenes, Tomas ascends the steep Mayan temple to reach the Tree of Life. As he climbs, he appears as though he is climbing a stairway into the stars, reflecting the human desire to achieve immortality. In another excellent scene, Creo walks away from the hospital after visiting Izzi. Though he walks along a busy, crowded street, all that's audible is the sound of his feet stomping along the snow-covered asphalt. Creo, engrossed in his thoughts, sees and hears nothing of the outside world, and the audience sees and hears nothing but him. Aronofsky thankfully eschews a voiceover, letting the pregnant silence illuminate Tommy's struggle to accept his wife's imminent death.

Unfortunately, Aronofsky tempers these quiet, eloquent scenes with laughable visual symbolism. At one point, a bubble-encased Jackman floats upward into a nebula while sitting in the lotus position. Jackman also performs tai chi in midair, silhouetted against the night sky.

Matthew Libatique's hauntingly beautiful cinematography saves the movie from drowning in its own turgidity. Especially poignant is the triad of journey scenes, where Jackman's incarnations careen wildly toward their destinations. The camera's viewpoint follows the vehicles — a galloping horse, a sports car, and a bubble-shaped spaceship — as they zoom headlong toward, and eventually past, the audience. These three scenes are the only ones that successfully capture the Matrix-like "coolness" with which Aronofsky tries to imbue the rest of the film.

Despite redeeming cinematography, the film's poor character development fails to explicate the strength and power of Tommy and Izzi's love in all its incarnations. One wonders why Creo embarks on his lifesaving quest at all. Though she has demonstrated tremendous acting ability in the past — she won an Oscar for her performance in "The Constant Gardner" — Weisz, with her pleading eyes and easy smiles, reduces Izzi into a saccharine, simpering waif. Her horrendous American accent and nauseating attempts to act "brave" in the face of death indicate that Weisz was egregiously miscast, or that, as Aronofsky's fiancee, she is simply the victim of nepotism.

Jackman, to his credit, does the best he can with the material he's given. Tommy's grief and rage are palpable, realistic and touching, Tomas' conquistador radiates fierce brutality, and the cosmonaut's inexhaustible Zen-like serenity rarely strays into parody. His deft portrayal of a man forever torn between conquest and fear of death is testament to Jackman's talent. In a small, but excellent role, Ellen Burstyn emanates maternal warmth as Creo's coworker who fails to help him through his grief.

"The Fountain" has its moments of coherence, due in large part to the compelling story of Tommy and Izzi. Aronofsky abstains from metaphorical posturing and focuses on the human aspects of love and loss, and Creo's desperate attempt to arrest his wife's death is touching. Overwrought, yet thoroughly simplistic, "The Fountain" tries desperately to enlighten its audience about the meaning of life. In the end, though, one leaves the theater with the same knowledge as before: Death is inevitable, so enjoy life while you can.