NEW YORK MOVIE JOURNAL (Feb.-Mar. 2016)

[Chris Knipp]

KNIGHT OF CUPS (Terrence Malick 2015). A disaster almost beyond description in which Malick, who had been sliding in that direction in To the Wonder , finally descends all the way into empty and meaningless self-parody. There is a man (Christian Bale) who wanders around Hollywood back lots and palatial McMansions where sometimes parties are going on featuring some people we recognize and plenty of classy, well-dressed babes. Sometimes Bale takes babes to bedrooms. He runs into a guy (Wes Bentley) who says he's his brother, and also Cate Blanchett, who's his divorced or estranged wife. Once there is an earthquake. Sometimes he's on the road with a spiffy black Lincoln Continental convertible. Natalie Portman appears, and Antonio Banderas, and plenty of other people. The movie is divided up with headings drawn from the Tarot deck, which is also the source of the title. The shaky-cam fish-eye cut-up cinematography might cause brain damage. At first I thought this would be like an art piece shown in a museum, pointless, but pretty images. But it's not as good as that: the images are too repetitious. The mumbled or whispered phrases don't add up to anything much this time. There are no sustained scenes. It's deadly. Watched at Landmark Sunshine 14 Mar. 2016.