There’s much here to enrapture Malick’s devotees, and few other filmmakers would dare try for such a distinctly Malick-esque atmosphere of philosophical, even existential beauty and complexity, even if this is his first movie since 2005’s The New World to showcase something approaching a linear narrative.
Surely aware that his previous pics (like Knight Of
Cups and Song To Song) were becoming distractingly star-studded,
this is populated with often unfamiliar and untested European actors, but there
are a few notable players, especially the Swiss Bruno Ganz and the Swedish Michael
Nyqvist, both of whom died shortly after filming.
By telling the true story of Franz Jägerstätter,
Malick also harks back to The Thin Red Line, The Tree Of Life and
many of his other works by featuring a mortal horror of violence and hatred,
although this, despite being all about war, doesn’t include a single gunshot.
In the small rural village of St. Radegund, Austria,
back in 1939 we meet Franz (August Diehl), a farmer married to Franziska, or Fani
(Valerie Pachner), who begin with a most Malick-flavoured montage featuring
them remembering how they met, fell in love, married and started a family,
while always remaining respected members of the tight-knit community. It’s a
lengthy, non-chronological sequence offering whispered narration, unforced
naturalism and restless camerawork, and it’s finally interrupted by the vague
rumble of an unseen plane that warns of what’s coming.
Franz undergoes basic military training, but is then
sent home when France surrenders and it looks like the war might end. Later
he’s called up and, after much soul-searching and pressure from his friends, he
refuses to take the necessary oath of allegiance to Adolf Hitler and the Third
Reich, despite knowing that it could result in his possible execution. He’s
arrested and taken to Enns and then Berlin, and much of the midsection here is
devoted to the reading of letters Franz and Fani write to each other, with him
promising her that prison isn’t that bad, while we see the exact opposite, and
her reassuring him that the villagers are treating the family well when
they’re, in fact, shunned and even attacked.
Malick fans will rejoice at the lyrical, unhurried
establishment of Radegund’s townspeople, with Diehl and many non-actors shown
genuinely working the land (with some dangerous-looking scythes), baking bread,
trudging happily through real mud and at times evoking the spirit of something
like F.W. Murnau’s silent classic Sunrise (1927). The approach of the
war and the onset of Nazi ideology comes quietly and stealthily, but soon the
mayor is having loud, ominously nationalistic rants in the town square about
how other races are ruining the country and how everything was perfect before
“they” came along.
This makes A Hidden Life arguably the first
Malick movie to include proper political commentary, meaning that this isn’t
just another in a very long line of dramas about World War II, but actually a
movie about right now.
A Hidden Life (M) is in cinemas from 30 January
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