Truly Dreadful Film

Self-important, over-dramatic, uninspired.

good back-story, and good acting

There are moments that feel comical, some horrific, and some downright inspiring but the tonal shifts hardly matter as the end results come to a film that's perfect for this time.

Song To SongThe procedure to convey the message has always been convoluted and thought-provoking for the audience but if the resultant outcome isn't worth the effort invested, it turns into disappointment. Terrence Malick is no short on execution but the script, that is not something fresh, in fact a typical story merely retold through Malick's lenses. On performance, the feature doesn't rely upon single actor in fact, each individual factors in as a supporting cast where even though Natalie Portman, Ryan Gosling and Cate Blanchett are good in it, Rooney Mara and Michael Fassbender steals the show. Song To Song has everything on its side i.e. beautiful cinematography, amazing background score, stunning visuals, brilliant execution and stellar performance, except a good old tale.

The rest really freak me out. I might be miscomparing this to The Conjuring. Both truly discomforts me for over a week. In The Conjuring there I see dead people. Here I see sick people, very sick.

The only thing good one can say about Song to song it is it is not the abject failure of Thin Red Line. It is fairly obvious what Malik is doing with Song to Song, it is, like Knight of Cups, self referential blaming of his failure on externalities. That is pitiful enough. AT least is not as abjectly laughable as Thin Red Line, which managed to hit a trifecta of destroying the lessons and point of view of one of the best novelized portray of combat, ignore Jones point of the brutality AND necessity of that war and combine that all with abject absurd combat scenes.

At first I did not realize it was Malick, and after a few minutes I thought, "Terence Malick wannabe." Then I read the credits. Oh. Oops. It's sad when a brilliant director looks like a wannabe of himself.After half an hour of watching Rooney Mara drift aimlessly across whatever scenery she was in, wearing the exact same expression no matter what, looking too sensitive to live, wafting this way and that without purpose or intention, drooping over balconies and at windows and in chairs, ducking her head as if expecting to be smacked, avoiding eye contact, clutching a strand of hair to her lips, casting doe eyes at everyone from passers-by to her own father, as the camera swoops and swivels, I gave up. I like Malick, I loved some of his earlier movies, as incoherent as some of them have been. But this was just annoying. I wanted to smack her. You have these great actors floating aimlessly through a completely untethered series of images and scenes with annoyingly and pointlessly restless cameras and random cuts to other equally random scenes. I could not even begin to give a spoiler alert, for that would imply that there is a plot, or a story, or a thread of narrative, however tenuous.