The New World

I've just returned from watching The New World, starring Colin Farrel, Christian Bale, Christopher Plummer, Wes Studi, and introducing Q'Orianka Kilcher. The salt has yet to leave my face as I now sit down and try to decide what to make of the film. I am but barely acquainted with the tale of Pocahontas, thanks mainly to the highly romanticized versions of Disney. I suppose the best thing to do would be to start with the fundamentals. The film itself contains little dialogue, relying on disjointed images of people and nature spaced between periodic black-outs to convey the plot. The movement of the sun as it peaks between branches full leavy. Tall golden grasses as they sway in the summer wind. A shackled man in the hold of a ship raising his head to catch the new day's light. A girl, barely more than a child, raising her arms to give thanks to the one they call Mother. A village of people, each toiling peacefully to fulfill their part. A band of mighty warriors fighting and dying to protect their way of life. A man warring with his emotions as he is forced to fire upon friends. The same girl, turned numb with grief, red eyes seeing that which is gone. And a small hand, no bigger than a dogwood bloom and just as delicate, gently cradled inside a that of one long-used to work. It is these images that convey the basics of the plot, and we are left to read between the images to explain what is happening. I felt recognition dawn on me as I saw shot after shot of sandy shoreline, swamps filled with cypress and little green leaves, pine forests bordered by tall grasslands - I felt so strangely - as if I had been there, seen those places with my own eyes, as indeed I had. But the feeling went beyond that - I felt sad - I felt tears prick my eyes as they do now when I recall those moments. I can't explain it, but the peaceful scenes instilled in me a longing to be in them, to go to those places. The sounds too affected me thusly. I heard a symphony of crickets at night, accompanied by the deep song of the frogs. I heard the wind, the rain, the thunder, the rustling of rushes, the sound of footsteps in the sand. I heard the narration of John Smith, Pocahontas, and John Rolfe, as they told their own stories in sparse language but abundant detail. The score, composed by James Horner, was very reminiscent of Braveheart. I found myself following along to the tunes note for note, hearing Braveheart until the melody changed. If any of this has made sense to you, then you might understand this movie. What I have written is almost an exact rendering of the movie. You must infer the plot from the images and sounds, as I did. It is not for everyone. I cannot tell if I liked it or not, nor can say if I would go and see it again. I felt a great sadness descend upon me in the last few minutes; a lump lodged itself in my throat and I felt the wetness of tears on my face. The beauty, innocence, grace, and light of this film tell a story that is beyond the capacity of words.

Several points of interests are worth mentioning. Irene Bedard, the voice of Pocahontas in Disney's adaptations, actually plays the mother of Pocahontas in this film. Wes Studi, who played Geronimo in the movie of the same name, and Magua in The Last of the Mohicans plays Opechacanough, brother to Powahatan. Several scenes are almost identical to scenes in the Last of the Mohicans. The name Pocahontas is never once mentioned in the film. She is called Princess, and christened Rebecca, but she is never really given a name. I would recommend that you see this film at least once - it's worth it.