The Greatest Trick

Depending on your point of view, this is either the curious case of a unique and brilliant piece of filmmaking, or the curious case of an overlong, self-indulgent load of meaningless twaddle. Cynics take the latter view, and I’m sorry for them.

To be fair, the film’s conceit – based on the short story by FS Fitzgerald (and possibly Mark Twain’s famous quote wishing he could be born at eighty and gradually approach eighteen) – about a man who ages backwards, takes a large amount of suspension of disbelief, and at times it is stretched to breaking point. However, this melancholy, heartfelt parable is pure cinematic romance, held together by David Fincher’s stunning direction and Brad Pitt’s memorably understated performance in the central role.

Benjamin’s mother dies in childbirth, and horrified at his appearance, his father abandons him on the doorstep of an old people’s home run by the kindly Dorothy Baker, who adopts him. The obvious ironies of a boy who looks like an old man being brought up in an old people’s home are explored in an understated and subtle way, since old people are often treated like children in any case. It’s also highly amusing to see Button, still looking elderly, in his teenage years being berated by his adoptive mother for going out drinking.

Benjamin meets the love of his life, Daisy, when she is a little girl. Much of the film revolves around their romance, as she grows forwards and he grows backwards. Eventually, they “meet in the middle” and enjoy a time together that both know will inevitably end in tragedy. “I was thinking about how nothing lasts,’ Benjamin muses, “and what a shame that is”. Incidentally, the film is bookended, Titanic style, by sequences with Daisy as an old woman as she lies dying in a New Orleans hospital whilst her daughter Caroline reads to her on the day of Hurricane Katrina.

No explanation is given for Benjamin’s curious condition, and this has earned the ire of certain critics who claim the fantastic premise has no internal logic. Again, it’s easy to see their point, but given how hard Eric Roth’s screenplay strives against sentimentality and cliché, it’s easy to forgive. Besides, it’s not entirely fair to say no explanation has been given. In a bizarre dream-like prologue (complete with Fincher’s trademark deliberate film scratches), a clockmaker whose son dies in the First World War makes a railway clock that ticks backwards. As the clock is unveiled, he says he made it because he wanted to make a statement about how he wishes he could turn back time to bring back those who died (cue weird sequences of soldiers in the trenches getting shot in reverse). The clockmaker then dies, supposedly of a broken heart, but it is hinted that Button’s strange existence is somehow linked to the existence of this clock.

Some have suggested this is similar to Forrest Gump, but I found the comparison unhelpful. Yes, both films involve somewhat naïve and unusual protagonists who make a peculiar journey through history, but where Gump involved pop montages aplenty to drive home what decades they were in, Benjamin Button is far more subtle. Besides, Button does not deal with the same historical events as Gump. Although partially set in the 60s and 70s, there is no mention of Kennedy, Vietnam, Nixon or Watergate. Instead, the important moments revolve around entirely different settings, often abroad in places like Russia, or serving on a tug boat during World War II.

As I have already mentioned, Brad Pitt is excellent in the central role, and the superb make-up and special effects used to age him or make him younger compliment rather than dominate the performance. Cate Blanchett, one of my favourite current actresses, is equally excellent as Daisy. There are also fine supporting roles from the likes of Faune A Chambers as Dorothy and Julia Ormond as Caroline.

Despite the potentially depressing subject matter, there are a surprising number of good laughs to be had, particularly a running gag about a man who keeps getting struck by lightning. Claudio Miranda’s cinematography is also beautiful, and there are stunningly romantic images here such as Benjamin and Daisy embracing on a boat with a rocket flying into space in the background. Additionally, Alexandre Desplat contributes an understated but haunting music score.

Clearly time, whether running forwards or backwards, is intended to be the nemesis. But as the characters gradually accept the inevitability of growing old and dying, Christian audiences will realise time itself is not the enemy, but the wages of sin. Whether the filmmakers intended it or not, this is a film about something more profound than time: human mortality. Death is a curse that came into the world through sin, and was never God’s ideal. Through Christ we have eternal life, and, as the Bible says, the last enemy to be destroyed will be Death itself. But despite some positive allusions to God (particularly when a barren woman is prayed for in a church service and subsequently miraculously gets pregnant), the issues of eternal life are barely touched on here. It is good that this film forces its audience to confront mortality, but it doesn’t provide any eternal hope, merely an acceptance of the inevitable.

Of additional concern to Christian audiences is the film’s apparent acceptance of sinful sexual practices. Benjamin’s naïve visit to a brothel and an affair he has with a British woman in Russia (played by Tilda Swinton) are seen as rites of passage and life experience respectively, rather than anything morally dubious.

However, generally the positives outweigh the negatives. Ultimately this is pure whimsy, but it’s also whimsy directed with considerable cinematic flair. The film is overlong, but not boring. From the coloured buttons that form the opening Warner Brothers and Paramount logos, to the enigmatic final shot, this is an admittedly flawed but fascinating, strangely moving piece of filmmaking full of memorable, potentially iconic imagery that is well worth making the effort to see at the cinema on a big screen.

Simon Dillon, February 2009.