‘The Fountain’ is dippy yet deep

A New Age head trip about the quest for eternal life, “The Fountain” opens with a quote from the Book of Genesis and climaxes with a tragic encounter with the sap-oozing Tree of Life. In between, its hero -- of whom there are three versions, played by a varyingly coiffed Hugh Jackman -- battles Mayan tribes, tries to cure cancer and assumes yogic poses against golden, nebulous backdrops that resemble prog-rock album covers.

This, in short, is a very easy movie to mock. Panned by most critics upon its release last fall, it flopped at the box office. The film arrives this week on DVD, where it stands a better chance at achieving, if not immortality, then at least a certain cult longevity.

The third feature by Darren Aronofsky (who had better luck with reviewers on “Pi” and “Requiem for a Dream”), “The Fountain” is surely one of the strangest studio releases of recent years. It’s also one of the most deeply personal, and its troubled back story only adds to its air of battered grandeur. Initially scheduled for production in 2002 on a much larger scale and budget, the movie was temporarily abandoned when original star Brad Pitt pulled out at the last minute. (The geekily detailed making-of documentary that accompanies the disc is titled “Death and Rebirth,” referring not only to the movie’s themes but also to its production history.)

Aronofsky doesn’t just flirt with absurdity, he plunges in head-first. “The Fountain” darts among three distinct periods -- or, to use the more enlightened term, planes of existence. The 16th century Jackman is a Spanish conquistador, sent on a mission by his beloved Queen Isabella (Rachel Weisz) into the Central American jungle to locate the fountain of youth. In the present day, he’s a research scientist who hopes to save his terminally ill wife, Izzi (Weisz again). As it happens, Izzi is writing -- in fountain-pen longhand, in a leather-bound tome -- a novel called “The Fountain,” about a Spanish conquistador’s mission into the Central American jungle to locate the fountain of youth.

A futuristic space odyssey, the third segment makes the other two seem like models of naturalism. In these scenes, Jackman -- now bald, gravity-resistant and clad in monk’s robes -- zips through the universe while seated in the full lotus position and encased in a see-through bubble. His destination is a dead star that may be the gate to the afterlife, and his sole companion is a hairy-barked tree with apparently magical properties.

“The Fountain” is not, by any conventional definition, a successful drama. For a film that traverses such vast swathes of space and time, it’s oddly inert. Its characters, intent on conquering death, are abstractions who barely have a pulse in the first place. But as a series of shimmering tableaux (lovingly shot by Matthew Libatique), it produces a pleasant trance-like effect.

It’s not entirely facetious to say that Aronofsky’s greatest achievement is that he keeps a straight face through it all. (He also wrote the screenplay, based on a story that he concocted with his college buddy Ari Handel, a neuroscientist.) Less committed filmmakers would have resorted to protective humor or irony, but Aronofsky’s approach is unshakably solemn (so too Clint Mansell’s dirge-like space-rock score).

Risible to begin with, this excess of seriousness has a cumulative power. It overwhelms the film -- and the receptive viewer -- and eventually registers as a mark of faith. The metaphysics may be muddled and the love story is beyond corny, but the movie’s unembarrassed sincerity in grappling with (literally) life-and-death matters can be quite moving. “The Fountain,” to invoke the title of Aronofsky’s previous film, is both requiem and dream. Far from perfect, it’s a bold, ridiculous, often beautiful mess -- as a movie about impossible ambition should be.