Knight of Cups

It might seem surprising for notoriously reclusive auteur Terrence Malick to put his own life on the screen in Knight of Cups. So perhaps it’s appropriate that despite such introspective intentions, his latest adventure in nonlinear storytelling is just as difficult to decipher as the venerable filmmaker himself.

Although there’s a poetic quality to some of the rhythms, the meandering film is obtuse even by his standards — a head-scratcher of a middle-aged redemption story with only fleeting pleasures.

Told almost entirely through flashbacks, the story follows Rick (Christian Bale), a Hollywood screenwriter and apparent serial womanizer trying to find meaning in his life. He’s stuck in a creative rut as he wanders around the city, but there’s clearly some psychological trauma as well.

Marginal details are gradually revealed about his past and his failed relationships. In fact, the film is divided into chapters to delineate the women in Rick’s life, such as his doctor ex-wife (Cate Blanchett), an actress (Imogen Poots), a model (Freida Pinto), and another former flame (Natalie Portman). The interactions with his father (Brian Dennehy) and brother (Wes Bentley) also leave emotional scars.

Maybe Knight of Cups was an idea that Malick (The Tree of Life) had stowed away in a drawer during one of his several career hiatuses. Instead of a showbiz satire, it’s much more intimate and personal with possible autobiographical roots.

As usual, the director hints at something much deeper with his barrage of surreal imagery and high-minded narration. That’s admirable in theory, but the result is muddled and pretentious, and doesn’t contain much meaningful substance amid the intriguing visual flourishes. “See the palm trees? They tell you anything is possible,” Rick mumbles at one point.

Once you get past the heavy doses of symbolism and existential angst, some scattered moments are genuinely affecting, due mostly to its deep ensemble cast and the dazzling camerawork of ace cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki (The Revenant). Most of the dialogue is whispered narration from various characters, requiring the actors to rely heavily on body language and facial expressions.

With its pervading sense of regret and despair bubbling beneath the surface, the result feels like a cinematic hypnotherapy session that isn’t as profound as it aspires to be.

Rated R, 118 minutes.