I mean, given them the same amount of hypothetical rope as Aronofsky was granted here, each of them could probably come up with something comparable. With Noah, Aronofsky pushes his arthouse cred to its blockbuster limits, and he's greeted with faint praise. I'm betting the others could (at a stretch) inject their big budget filmmaking with philosophical profundity but I don't think the critics would be anywhere near as forgiving.
Noah is a big mess. Others have called it a big, bold, beautiful mess but I'm having none of that. I'll grant it its size; there is no denying Aronofsky has locked firmly into the biblical epic mode. Bold? Well, there are rock angels, if that counts? And in terms of beauty, it undeniably has its moments but they are halting and draw more from Matthew Libatique's photography of the film's Icelandic locations than anything stemming from the film's confused themes.
Aronofsky's screenplay, written in collaboration with Ari Handel, is stocked with ideas but never settles on a platform upon which to explore them. For the first half Russell Crowe's stern, self-righteous prophet figure and his family pit themselves against the Godless, meat-eating masses (or, as they'd probably be referred to in the film's reality, Creator-less masses), for the sake of Noah's visions. After introducing some of the film's more incongruous elements, namely the aforementioned rock angels and Anthony Hopkins' grandpapa figure, the film settles into a stock standard siege drama, with Ray Winstone's villainously named Tubal-cain as its broadly drawn bad guy. This first, less adventurous (though comparatively more cohesive) section culminates in a clash that is more than reminiscent of the Battle of Isengard, with the rock angels standing in for Tolkien's ents.
Once they weigh anchor and the cast is whittled back to just Noah, his wife (Jennifer Connelly), his two sons, Shem (Douglas Booth) and Ham (Logan Lerman) and their tagalong baby factory, Ila (Emma Watson), the ideas get more interesting but everything else, including last remnants of the film's credibility, is quickly washed away. You could float an ark through narrative and thematic holes in Noah, and that is even after one's swallowed its fairytale origins.
Aronofsky's decision to paint Noah as a bloody-minded, vegan nihilist is certainly an interesting take on the biblical source material but little is done to let this concept fester amongst the film's characters. They just take it all in their stride. Months are elided from the film's narrative with little perceptible change in the characters' dynamic. Apparently, Crowe's stoney-faced proclamations to dash out baby brains is cool with the entire crew for the nine months they've been living together amongst the anaesthetised animals. His threats only become an issue when the baby factory goes into production. Then all hell/acting breaks loose.
You've probably also picked up that women aren't particularly well represented in all this.
Somewhere along the line something got lost in Noah. There are complex concepts swirling around but Aronofsky isn't able to lock them down in any meaningful way. Outside some of the startling images, I'm intrigued that audiences have found daring in the film's jumbled narrative and bravery in its performances. I can only imagine they are clutching at straws based on the director's exceptional back-catalogue. I'm as big an Aronofsky fan as the next person, but I just don't see it.
★★☆
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