If one can even call this pompous indulgence of the wet dreams of a cinematographer a "movie," it's not a very good one. With all due respect to Ron Fricke, a master of camera-work (and absolute god of time-lapse photography), his film would be greatly improved by the presence of an actual director. Every shot in the film is fabulously composed, perfectly executed, and left to mold on the screen until every bit of life is drained from it. That part of the audience which manages to stay awake is rewarded with nothing but more endless tedium, as Fricke drills his environmentalist message into our heads with all the subtlety and grace of a jackhammer outside an apartment window.
Particularly offensive is Fricke's conceit (the natural one of a cinematographer) that this material can be presented absolutely objectively, without any consideration of context or (God forbid!) perspective. The viewer thus must either shut down his or her mind and nod dumbly along with the grating score, or face 90 minutes of utter revulsion - as happened in my case. Recommended only for the particularly agreeable, the insomniac, or the time-lapse photography enthusiast.
Particularly offensive is Fricke's conceit (the natural one of a cinematographer) that this material can be presented absolutely objectively, without any consideration of context or (God forbid!) perspective. The viewer thus must either shut down his or her mind and nod dumbly along with the grating score, or face 90 minutes of utter revulsion - as happened in my case. Recommended only for the particularly agreeable, the insomniac, or the time-lapse photography enthusiast.