The O'Neills lived happily in their house in the Australian countryside. That was until one day fate struck blindly, taking the life of Peter, the father, leaving his grief-stricken wife Dawn alone with their four children. Among them, eight-year-old Simone denies this reality. She is persuaded that her father still lives in the giant fig tree growing near their house and speaks to her through its leaves. But the tree becomes more and more invasive and threatens the house. It must be felled.
The Tree is a fine study of loss.
An eerie and unsettling adaptation of Judy Pascoe's novel that impresses more for its atmospherics than its narrative.
Initially promising, this Aussie weepie branches unconvincingly into magic realism, with symbolism so clunky it hampers Gainsbourg’s involving turn.
Slow, overlong and short on emotion.
The imagery is almost unendurably self-conscious, and Gainsbourg, with her low, musical, murmuring voice, gives the kind of performance you suspect she can do standing on her head. Her final lines are irritating beyond belief.
There’s no doubt that writer-director Julie Bertuccelli (Since Otar Left) is gifted with lighting, child acting, and testing the quarrelsome ways families pull at their roots.
A good actor working with nothing becomes a bad actor.
It may sound like a Stephen King horror yarn but The Tree's a meandering, mystical tale of dealing with a tragic loss.
The symbolism is both crude and vague, the atmosphere dreary, and not before time there comes a tornado to solve everyone's problems.
Superb photography, but the hippy-dippy tone and sluggish pace try the patience.
General release. Check local listings for show times.
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