Babel--A Movie Review

Though the title of this cinematographic marvel is based on the biblical story of the Tower of Babel (Genesis 11), where God "confuses the tongues" of the ambitiously arrogant and monolingual human race, its content is better be described by this passage from the Prophet Amos:

"Alas for you who desire the day of the Lord!
Why do you want the day of the Lord?
It is darkness, not light;
as if someone fled from a lion,
and was met by a bear;
or went into the house and rested a hand against the wall,
and was bitten by a snake.
Is not the day of the Lord darkness, not light,
and gloom with no brightness in it?" (Am. 5:18-20).

The reality of running from a lion and being met by a bear perfectly captures this engaging and exhausting film. Because of its careful and clever weaving of multi-cultural realities with current international social issues (e.g., the war on terrorism; US immigration policy), the movie has received reviews from "100" to "40" on the "metacritic.com" scale. Those who see it as a "40," tend to see the drama and trauma as part of an effort to manipulate the audience; those who say the film is a "100" recognize its valiant, and largely successful, attempt to weave a compelling story of international misunderstanding, of collapse of personal lives, of the grief and ennui which captures our day. For once in my reviews of movies, I tend to agree more with those who saw this as a "100." More on that below.

The Action

The key to the film is its use of three personal narratives, set against the backdrop of contemporary international affairs, to weave a compelling tale of woe, loss, grief and misunderstanding. But, even more key to the unfolding of the plot is the realization that the entire movie revolves around one commodity: a rifle. Karl Marx may seemingly be in decline in the Western World today, but one thing that he will never be forgotten for, in my judgment, is his conviction that they way to understand an economic system is to "follow the commodity." Trace an item from the place it is grown or made to the way it is ultimately employed and you have a window not only into the commodity but into the world in which we live. This is certainly the case for the rifle in Babel.

But, what is the rifle? Well, as the film unfolds, we learn that it is a gift, given to a Moroccan peasant by a Japanese adventurer/tourist (Yasujiro), played by Koji Yakusho, in gratitude for his outstanding guidance on a hunting trip when Yasujiro was in Morocco. The guide, an older man, decides to sell it to Ahmed, a man from a neighboring village, who has two sons and a daughter. Ahmed, thinking to make his sons into men, lets them use the rifle and some of the 300 cartridges that came with it. The sons take the rifle and wander through the honeycombed caves in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains, shooting at jackals which threaten their flock of goats, shooting at rocks in the distance. They were told that the range of the cartridges was up to 3 kilometers but they boys doubt the truth of that claim. In order to test it, however, they shoot the rifle at a passing tourist bus in the valley far below, hitting it and causing it to stop. The boys finally realize the potency of the rifle, but their shot is not an innocent one: it becomes a 2006 version of the "shot heard round the world." It penetrates a window of the van, striking Cate Blanchett (Susan) in the neck. And then we are off to the races. The action doesn't end until Director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu pulls the plug more than 2 hours later.

It's Not My Fault!

Thus, we see how the rifle, given as a present by a Japanese man to a Moroccan, who sold it to another Moroccan, who gave it to his sons, who shot the rifle and seriously injured an American, who was married to Brad Pitt (you knew that had to get in there sometime!), who employed an illegal-alien housekeeper (who had lived in the US for 16 years), becomes the driving force and symbol of the movie. But another theme is like unto it, and that is the notion that as brutal and sad events unfold in life, no one is really "responsible" for their occurrence. People get injured, hospitals and doctors aren't available, child care is scarce, children are caught up in parents' maelstroms, the government interprets stray shots by boys in the hills as planned and organzied terrorist attacks, and so forth. And, life isn't fair. A beautiful deaf Japanese girl, Chieko, played brilliantly by Rinko Kikushi, has such a longing for human touch and acceptance that she engages in dangerous, though somewhat predictable, behavior to satisfy her longings. On one occasion, as if to heighten the fact that no one is responsible, Cate Blanchett, covered in blood on the floor of a Moroccan hut (she spends most of the film on her back in a pool of blood or screaming in pain), meekly whispers to her husband, "I am sorry." As if her catching a bullet in the neck while leaning against the window of a tour bus was responsible for the disastrous chain of events that ensued.

Conclusion

The film ends with very mixed news. Two people or families seem to "lose" and two seem to "win," or at least, lose less badly. Brad and Cate finally get home and are reunited with their two children (we get hints that they lost a child--hence the trip to Morocco to try to bury their pain), who themselves almost died in a harrowing desert scene, but their housekeeper must be deported. The Arab family in Morocco is a big loser, but the Japanese father and daughter end with a seeming moment of understanding, even as the daughter stands naked on the balcony of a Tokyo high rise. The last scene of the film is among its most poignant. Cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto focuses on the balcony of that high rise, with father embracing daughter, and then begins to draw back from the balcony, until we catch the view of neighboring buildings. Soon, their balcony blends in with all other balconies; soon the building itself is just one glittering speck on the Tokyo skyline.

And, that, indeed, is the final "message" of the film. The narratives we saw; the lives we entered; the despair we felt; all of these are just narratives that seemingly "melt" into the landscapes of life. Maybe, Prieto suggests, every balcony is filled with the same unspeakable grief, longing and loss. Maybe our balcony is also filled with this loss. Maybe, however, there is some grace in life, which can shine through in Inarritu's dark narrative. At least I hope there is...

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