mvuent
Void Dweller
yeah i think that was exactly why i liked the last act, centered on pocahontas rather than john smith, the most. the part set in england appeals to my anglophile (or "euro cuck" as linebaugh has put it) tendencies a lot with its imagery of grey skies, medieval mosaics, ancient overgrown stone brick, gardens with eerie orderedness. whereas the nature center postcard visuals of american woodlands exert less of a pull on me aesthetically. (although the constant presence of birdsong is great, even when it doesn't quite seem to match up with the visuals acoustically.) but in the context of the film, i definitely get a sort of longing for america once pocahontas is living in england. which i guess is brought out by its greyness quite well. she never stops being the same person who, as you astutely caught, smiles at lightening, etc. but there's an underlying sadness in the awe of the "new world" for her that's not present in the first part of the film. idk, it's a feeling i get sometimes from fiction/music that there should be a name for. the sadness of sitting on the edge of the world, or something like that.Each of Malick’s films contains imagery of some sort of Eden, of Paradise found and Paradise lost. Whether a hidden treehouse hideout (Badlands), an idyllic farm life amidst glistening wheat fields (Days of Heaven), or a Thoreau-esque residency in the primal forests and tropics (The Thin Red Line and The New World), each Malick film beautifully portrays a blissful period of utopian living, followed by the loss of it—usually on account of sin. Malick’s films evocatively capture Edenic visions of perfection and natural beauty, and then, in their lack, a visceral groaning for renewal and reconciliation. The films are haunted by memories, reveries, vestiges of a more perfect, unified creation, and each film leaves a lingering feeling that redemption is still—somehow, somewhere—within reach.