Ron Howard is on something of a survival thriller kick. After returning to his Apollo 13 roots with In the Heart of the Sea in 2015, and the more recent Thirteen Lives, his newest film is Eden, a story in a similar vein also based on real events. Unfortunately, the fourth time isn’t a charm, and only proves the Howard haters correct in their assertion that the Solo: A Star Wars Story helmer is largely a journeyman, with little style (or substance) of his own.
The star-studded drama is a dud. It has little by way of theme or rigorous meaning, and is told with one of the most offensively dull color palettes digital cinema has to offer. The cast certainly gives it their all, making commendable strides toward fleshing out Noah Pink’s screenplay (from a story by Howard and Pink), but too much visual and emotional detail is lost at every turn, making Eden something of a curio. It’s hard not to wonder how it ended up being presented in its final state.
What is Eden about?
Based on the accounts of several survivors who formed an impromptu commune in the Galápagos, the film is set on the (in)famous Floreana Island, and adapts the broad strokes of real events — the who’s who, and who died and survived — but adds dramatic speculation to exactly how everything went down. Floreana was uninhabited until 1929, when the pompous Dr. Friedrich Ritter (Jude Law) and his partner Dore Strauch (Vanessa Kirby) arrived from Berlin to set up camp on the tiny volcanic landmass. World War I, the ensuing economic crash, and Germany’s resurgent fascism had sent Ritter looking for not just a new place to live, but an isolated stronghold where he could write a manifesto to guide humanity toward a harmonious new beginning. The film also hints that Strauch’s multiple sclerosis may have been a reason she accompanied him, perhaps in the hopes of recovery, but her needs are secondary to the desires of her narcissistic beau.
The film is set several years into their residency on Floreana, when a family of three — having read, in various newspapers, the letters Ritter sent back to mainland Europe — arrives in hope of a similar escape. Daniel Brühl plays Heinz Wittmer; Sydney Sweeney plays his pregnant, younger wife, Margaret; and Jonathan Tittel plays Heinz’s teenage son (and Margaret’s stepson), Harry. The Wittmers are curious and well-meaning, though Ritter — an isolationist, despite his egalitarian principles — wants nothing to do with them, so they set up camp several miles away. Minor tensions start to simmer between the two houses, but these don’t fully explode until a third, more chaotic group arrives and begins sowing seeds of dissent between Ritter and the Wittmers.
Led by the self-proclaimed heiress Eloise Bosquet de Wagner Wehrhorn (Ana de Armas), with her two helpers and lovers in tow (Toby Wallace and Felix Kammerer), this hedonistic trio plans to set up an island resort on Floreana, where they hope to welcome wealthy guests. Their intrusion on Ritter and the Wittmers’ (admittedly uneasy) paradise is ripe for allegory concerning the way wealthy classes historically extract resources at the cost of peace, but this is just one of the movie’s many hints that go practically nowhere.
What is the meaning behind Eden‘s survivalist tale?
As rivalries ensue and factions form, Eloise proves a master manipulator, and becomes the movie’s most (and perhaps only) entertaining character, courtesy of de Armas’ bravura. She feels like a typhoon whose only purpose is to shatter the existing status quo. However, that status quo is seldom interesting on its own. The closest it comes to intrigue is when Howard’s camera zeroes in on Ritter’s attempts to write in isolation. Law’s temperament betrays a fidgety impatience, but his posture always is regal, creating a magnetic pull-and-push about his character.
Unfortunately, few characters in the story are either drawn to or repelled by him, let alone in the same breath. He simply exists as a temperamental figure whom everyone accepts from a distance as he makes grandiose claims about fixing the world. Eloise is his counterpart in a sense — equally, if not more, fraudulent — but rare are the moments in which Eden takes advantage of this thematic twinning. For the most part, the film treats survival in the most technical, linear, and literal fashion, despite a setting that is functionally purgatory (the film’s Biblical title invites such reading, too).
Survival, for the likes of Heinz and Margaret, is about collecting food and water, and getting through pregnancy intact, but it’s never about any underlying questions that test their beliefs or their resolve. And unlike the great island stories of modern culture — The Lord of the Flies and Lost first spring to mind — the characters’ (and society’s) larger problems don’t travel to Floreana, leaving only Eloise’s individual quirks as sources of incitement. Had the movie’s setting been radically different (a train, a cruise ship, perhaps a hotel), it’s unlikely things would have played out much differently.
The struggles in Eden stem not from mistrust or inner folly, but the question of how best to grow vegetables, or how to most efficiently ward off wild dogs, and yet the film isn’t particularly invested in the process of survival, either. Instead, it maintains an air — a pretense — of greater significance, when no such thing exists. Part of this disconnect is also owed to how Howard and cinematographer Mathias Herndl capture the island itself, and the characters and their world at large, which makes the movie especially tough to watch.
The cinematography in Eden works against its story.
Eden is a ugly film, though not in a way a survival saga ought to be. There’s a visual unseemliness that suits such a story, the kind that emphasizes the murky, the solemn, the dangerous — like in Steven Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan. Here, it’s not the ugliness of oppressive surroundings that defines Floreana, but the ugliness of the texture itself, and its noncommittal nature.
The film’s gloomy desaturation works at times, though it’s applied as a constant filter from start to finish, and never evolves alongside the characters’ perspectives on the island — even when they first see the place as a heavenly abode, rich in resources. When the characters eventually turn on one another, there’s little sense that their surroundings have contributed to this in any way.
Even taken at its word, as the depiction of a theoretically omniscient and dramatically ironic viewpoint, the movie’s aesthetic issues don’t end there.
Perhaps a greater problem than the amount of color in each frame is the amount of contrast, or the sheer lack thereof. Characters’ faces constantly fall into muddy grays, rendering anything resembling the drama of shadows completely null. Every tint begins to look and feel the same, from tree barks to human flesh (with not so much as a hint of how people might become one with their environments). It’s ghastly to look at, and swallows up any sense of detail.
For instance, a stray line about Ritter’s teeth early on gestures toward an element of his character. Heinz makes mention of the doctor having yanked out his own teeth for medical reasons, leaving one to assume the extent of this procedure; perhaps it’s a molar or two, in the back of his mouth. However, when he’s seen putting on metal dentures well into the runtime, it turns out that all of Ritter’s teeth are missing. This is the first time any real attention is drawn to his mouth, but the film isn’t trying to hide this fact, or present it as a major reveal. It’s simply one of the many dramatic details (and character idiosyncrasies) obscured by the movie’s haphazard color-timing approach.
Similarly, scenes that should be flooded with intensity are instead awash in blandness. Nothing about the human face and the human eyes, and thus human soul, can be fully hidden or properly accentuated when every part of the frame looks equally dull, and feels equally lifeless and bloodless in the process.
To add to this, the movie goes on well beyond its natural endpoint: a moment of mistrust made manifest, which seems to push several characters beyond their brink, and makes them wrestle with their moral spines. But in its need to capture real events as they happened (albeit with its own spin on some of them), Eden far overstays its welcome, like an unwanted, unpleasant houseguest who just won’t take the hint. Ironically, that’s as close as the movie gets to embodying any of its characters’ points of view.
Eden was reviewed out of its world premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival.
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