FILM REVIEW: "A Hidden Life" is beautiful, frustrating, and quintessentially Terrence Malick
Terrence Malick makes dream films. Love him or hate him, no one can deny his movies unique qualities. From the ethereal majesty of Tree of Life to the blissfully sadistic Badlands, a Malick film is always an experience. His themes are often broad, pondering our connection to religion, to moral purpose, to what makes us human; and his characters are like ghosts, whispering, divulging deep dark secrets that are only meant for a select few. His new feature A Hidden Life sees Malick in sublime form, capturing a time of the second world war rarely seen, and portraying a desperate and achingly beautiful love story that transcends any political or social bounds. If not for the length, this film would be perfect, but alas.
A Hidden Life follows the story of an Austrian farmer during World War II. He is a simple man, who loves his wife and child and enjoys the daily toil of hard work. When word of Hitler’s advance into Austria comes through, many of his townsfolk support the Nazis. He, on the other hand, finds himself a conscientious objector to Hitler, and wants no part in the war. Because of his dissent, his community ostracize him and his family become victim to insults and abuse. The humble farmer struggles to maintain the respect of his wife and his mother, as his unfailing sense of virtue pits him against his society, his faith, and ultimately, his own mortality.
The cinematography in a Malick film is always going to be what movie-goers are drawn to, and my god does a Hidden Life not disappoint, as it is positively bursting with eye-watering beauty. The opening shots of the large expanses of mountainous ranges, the gorgeous shots of the deep, full greens and crystal blues, are sure to mesmerise, as we fall deeper and deeper into the idyllic beauty that is the humble farmer’s quaint rural village. Malick’s D.O.P, Jorg Widmer, allows his lens to dance, float, and drunkenly sway around its subjects, creating an almost childlike playfulness that lends the film its ethereal dreamlike quality. Most directors would struggle pulling this kind of visual acrobatics off, but Malick weaves his shots together like a beautiful tapestry, highlighting the moments of pain and bliss the young couple experience.
There are fine performances all around. August Diehl plays the farmer Franz Jagerstatter, with a stoic vulnerability, while Valerie Pachnerm, as Franz’s long-suffering wife Franzika, is a trembling tragic lover, broken by her husband’s decisions but still willing to stand by his unflinching sense of morality and virtue. Their relationship feels real and desperate. Their letters to each other are whispered and cooed, as the film strings together their love’s organic foundations. As the story progresses, the film becomes a harrowing portrait of this young married couple, with child and desperately in love, beset by unimaginable cruelty and inhumanity, the despair on full display.
And so, the despair: What would seem the film’s Achilles heel. If not for the forty plus close-ups of people weeping, screaming, aching, begging, I would have been lost in this film. But fatigue started to set in. Its exhaustive three-hour run time is a lot of anguish to stomach, and, despite the films many glowing attributes, can be become a little too grating to sit through. Despite this, A Hidden Life is a powerful account of tragic love during World War II, and calls attention to our own sense of virtue as it asks the question: How far would we go to defend what we think is right?
