The Texas Voyager: The Mysterious Magic of Filmmaker Terrence Malick

Texas hasn’t gotten its due as a major piece in the complex puzzle of American art. We’re here to rectify that. Every two weeks, H. Drew Blackburn will conduct a thoroughly scientific analysis of the 254 integral (one for every county) books, movies, tv shows, albums, podcasts, songs, and magazine articles — you name it — that best exemplify the Texas spirit. These texts, products of immense talent, dig into the marrow of our being. When it’s all said and done and we’ve built The Texas Voyager collection, we’ll (figuratively) head to the Johnson Space Center in Houston and shoot it beyond the atmosphere, into the cosmos. A wise person once posed the question: “What if the aliens are hot?” Hold onto that hope — this is our chance to impress ‘em.

The last artist I remember being mysterious was The Weeknd.

In 2011, he was releasing mixtapes that sounded like a euphoric high in the second circle of hell (sans punishment) — just wicked noises of unmitigated debauchery. During his quick ascent to fame, nobody knew what he looked like, at least not many people, until his performance at Toronto’s Mod Club that summer. Of course, the mystery behind The Weeknd was a facade, a marketing tactic to swell the hype. There’s nothing mysterious about performing at the Super Bowl, headlining Coachella, or strolling the Met Gala’s red carpet with Selena Gomez.

But Terrence Malick is a true mystery.

Search high and low for an interview with the filmmaker and what you’ll find is a 1,500 word profile published by Sight and Sound half a century ago. You won’t see him at the Oscars, getting followed around by some TMZ cameraman (well, rarely), as the elder statesman star of a Kith ad, or making cute TikToks with his kid. It is often said that he’s a recluse, but people who’ve run into him or worked with him don’t describe him that way. Instead, for people that know him, Malick is curious and has a zealous lust for life — liable to two-step at the Broken Spoke or randomly profess his love of a Jason Derulo song. He’s just an artist who made a conscientious choice to avoid public life. It’s a remarkable feat for an almost-81-year-old, and it makes him an outlier. Not because of his age, but because the world doesn’t really allow for celebrated artists to live a personal life in obscurity while their work has buzz (see: Chappell Roan). The Always On generations have taken over the world, and we swing between hits of dopamine and depression while our phones glow and vibrate in our pockets.

When considering the greatest Texas filmmakers, of course, we can’t help but think of those more public and prolific than Malick. Richard Linklater. Wes Anderson. Mike Judge. Their work inspires hot ticket anniversary screenings, SNL references, and perhaps the most recognizable cinematic style ever put on screen. They’re pop enough to create cultural fervor and often deep enough to impress some guy wearing a “Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom,” t-shirt with holes in it — the type that enjoys pontificating about movies more than watching movies.

However, Malick’s films are in a league of their own. Watching one is like taking shrooms or ayahuasca: You might get a little uncomfortable, but you’re going to really appreciate some nature. And it might even change you.

A quote attributed to the French filmmaker and critic François Truffaut declares “every film about war ends up being pro-war,” but Truffaut died before Malick’s 1998 film “The Thin Red Line” debuted. It’s an elegant, gory portrait of the notion that war is hell. Before his two decade hiatus that preceded “The Thin Red Line,” Malick directed “Days of Heaven,” a pastoral romantic drama about a man who kills his boss and absconds to the Panhandle. “Days of Heaven,” even with its dark undercurrents, is a sight to behold. It’s a gorgeous film, and each of its frames are worthy of a roped off exhibit at a museum — the glow of a fire at night, rolling fields of wheat, lovers gazing into each other’s eyes. The film won a much deserved Best Cinematography Academy Award in 1979 for its director of photography, Néstor Almendros.

As phenomenal as the aforementioned pictures are, Malick’s Palme d’Or-winning 2011 film, “The Tree of Life,” sees him at his best. It’s a beautifully shot impressionistic tale of a 1950s family set in Malick’s hometown of Waco.

We’re also not alone in our admiration. The Associated Press called “The Tree of Life” the best film of the 2010s, and the BBC said it was one of the best films of the 21st Century. In 2012, it was nominated for three Academy Awards: Best Picture, Best Director and Best Cinematography.

The movie predominately guides the viewer through the childhood memories of a son, Jack, who is in the thick of an existential crisis sparked by the anniversary of his brother R.L.’s death. “The Tree of Life” is so audacious with its philosophical ideas that we’d be remiss not to point out Malick, an Austin native, studied philosophy at Harvard and Oxford before teaching the subject at MIT. In the first act, a ten minute sequence done with practical effects shows the Big Bang Theory at work, punctuated with a character’s faint cries to God, begging for clarity about the purpose of life. With scenes like this, I’m not surprised to hear “The Tree of Life” sometimes described as unnecessary and pretentious — and it is a lot. But the result is a moving and deeply personal film.

It’s said that Malick’s own brother, Larry, died by suicide when the director was in his 20s. The parallels between “The Tree of Life” and Malick’s own story don’t end there. Larry played classical guitar, just like R.L. As noted in Texas Monthly’s “Frank Sinatra Has a Cold”-esque profile of the director, Malick’s father was a musician who passed that skill down to his progeny. He also held multiple patents in a quest to get rich, and he was apparently stern — if not bordering on abusive. (Of course, we now know that Pitt’s personal life has eerie similarities to this role). Malick’s own relationship with his homemaker mother was also close, like Jack’s relationship to the mother in the film.

While “The Tree of Life” has elements of autobiographical fiction, its ethereality also holds a mirror up to the audience. The film asks bold questions, like: How can you carve out a unique identity when ultimately you are a sum of your parts? We’ve all unearthed moments from our childhoods in a quest to learn more about why we are the way we are as adults.

I dare you not to see yourself in the characters — and the aphorisms they whisper into the wind — as Malick captures nature in its grand splendor.

Two quotes in particular still stick out to me, years after seeing the movie for the first time. “I wanted to be loved because I was great. I’m nothing,” says Mr. O’Brien to his son Jack. He can’t see the forest for the trees, and he’s letting self-doubt and regret swallow him whole. It twisted his words from advice into a warning.

The other is more poignant, graceful, and true. “The only way to be happy is to love,” Mrs. O’Brien says. “Unless you love, your life will flash by.”

Now those are words to live by.