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its finale, Ang Lee’s Life of Pi plays a dangerously precarious balancing act.
The note the story – sourced from the beloved 2001 novel by Yann Martel –
chooses to end on walks a very fine line between igniting the true thematic arc
of the film and betraying everything the viewer has invested in up to that
point. The ending presents a direct and complex challenge to the viewer, one
that cannot easily be processed; no matter what one’s ultimate conclusion is on
what the final minutes have to say or how successfully the message is conveyed,
those final scenes will absolutely color the way one looks at the film.
I personally find the ending fascinating, and lead by mentioning it because of
how clearly the delicately provocative conclusion raises my opinion of the
preceding material. Though Life of Pi is never anything less than unique and
engaging, commendable on merits of aesthetics and performance alone, I found
myself spending most of the run-time waiting for the film to kick into high
gear. Protagonist Pi’s story, one of shipwreck, isolation, and spirituality, is
a good and compelling one, but not so great as the film’s extended introduction
– in which an older Pi, telling his tale to a writer, promises the narrative
will make him believe in God – wants us to believe.
But the deftly handled final act pushes Pi’s story much closer to the
existentially illuminating level for which it thrives, and the more I think
about it, the more I admire and respect everything the film has to offer. Life
of Pi presents itself as a story about storytelling, about the ways in which we
convey meaning to one another in forms literal and obscure, but it is actually
an exploration into the nature of faith and religion, and delivers a remarkably
clever and powerful message about how and, more importantly, why humans choose
to believe in a higher power. The film is, at heart, a fable, simple and stark
in the way it lays out its argument, and though the moment this approach comes
into focus will no doubt upset some viewers, I believe the methodical push
towards territory of greater emotional and thematic substance is the most
essential component of the film’s artistic success.
Though as these are story issues I speak of, I am sure the same could be said of
Martel’s book. One can hardly escape its reputation these days, and it is clear
Lee had some potent source material to work with. The question for movie
audiences, be they familiar with the novel or not, is whether Life of Pi
functions as a uniquely cinematic experience. It does, though I say that with
some rather severe reservations.
Lee’s film is structurally unsound, over-reliant on literary framing devices in
its first act, distractingly devoid of anything similar in its second, and
tonally schizophrenic in its otherwise commendable conclusion. As noted before,
the film opens with an older Pi – short for Piscine Molitor Patel – telling his
life story to a writer. Lee takes his time exploring Pi’s childhood development,
moving through a series of episodic, thematically connected vignettes until the
boy reaches adolescence. It is a charming and intriguing stretch of film, but
the narrative style too clearly emulates its literary roots, especially when Pi
and the writer periodically interrupt to explain or underline the meaning of the
moment.
And then, as soon as Pi and his family load themselves and their Zoo full of
animals onto a ship bound for Canada, this framing device is abandoned, and old
Pi is not seen nor heard from again until the third act. This is the main
section of the film, the plot readers and onlookers alike are familiar with, and
it makes for decently compelling drama. The ship sinks during a storm, Pi loses
his family, and winds up stranded on a lifeboat with only a massive, ferocious
Bengal tiger for company.
Lee illustrates Pi’s journey with every ounce of cinematic awe he can muster,
but it is still an odd structural choice to take such a sharp-left turn out of
the framing device; a great deal of time is spent established the rhythms of
narration and interruption in the first act, and abandoning those rhythms as
soon as the action gets underway is distracting. I do believe Lee finds a better
synthesis of technique, if not tone, in the final portion, but the abrupt return
to present-day Pi still causes whiplash, and the structural inconsistencies rob
the ending, good as it is on paper, of some of its power.
That being said, one cannot discount the aesthetic triumph of Life of Pi. This
is a visually rapturous film, gorgeous, inventive, and lavish at every turn. Lee
is nothing if not an impressively daring visual craftsman, and on that count,
Life of Pi is one of his greatest accomplishments. He plays with light and color
in bold, painterly ways, and as Pi’s journey takes him further and further away
from existential reality, Lee shifts between the mundane and fantastic with
effortless beauty.
Now let's talk about the 3D. First, let me make it clear that 3D never makes or
breaks a movie. If it's a great film, it'll be great in any format. That said,
Ang Lee has figured out how to use the technique to deepen the meaning of his
story. Depth, scope, and proximity are all maximized. The first scene to knock
me out showed a young Pi sticking his arm through the bars of a cage in order to
feed the tiger a piece of meat. The 3D puts the tiger two inches in front of
you, significantly emphasizing the danger Pi faces in that moment. During the
astonishing storm sequence, Lee keeps the camera low, so the violent waves give
a sensation of drowning. At various points while Pi and the tiger are on the
lifeboat, he dips the camera below the surface of the water, conveying the
feeling of floating helplessly in the vastness of the ocean. Each and every 3D
choice, big or small, has been made to help you identify with Pi, to experience
what he experiences. Lee's use of 3D is the new gold standard.
Mychael Danna’s music is equally sensational, and the effects work, while
occasionally obvious, is nevertheless impressive. Thanks to the wonders of CGI,
the tiger is no mere beast, but a silent character imbued with soul and passion.
These are all traits Life of Pi could not offer in book form, for novels lack
the aural and visual components unique to film. The same can be said of star
Suraj Sharma who, despite having no prior acting experience, does a wonderful
job illustrating Pi’s pain, ecstasy, and excitement. A book can, of course, draw
characters as well as any narrative medium, but a good performance allows an
even deeper window into the soul, and this is what Sharma offers.
Structural issues aside, all this is evidence that Life of Pi does indeed belong
on film. Lee has done his job well. I suspect fans of the book shall be more
than satisfied by the new dimensions this adaptation offers, and the uninitiated
will be treated to a very good, if not quite great, cinematic experience. At the
very least, it has an ending and message that I find fascinating, one I believe
audiences will discuss in time to come. If the film can spark any depth of
conversation among audience members, it will have done its job quite well
indeed.
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