Halfway through "Knight of Cups," the latest treatise from philosopher-filmmaker Terrence Malick, the movie's chorus of internal monologues yields a line that could be read as a memo to the director himself: "Don't get your head too far up your own ass."
Malick is a rare filmmaker who strives for nothing less than transcendence in his movies. They exist in a kind of reverie, guided by the free-associating logic of memory rather than the linear narratives typically favored by cinema. Their stories emerge as a series of impressionistic fragments, where dialogue often takes second place to overlapping voice-overs articulating the characters' inner lives.
For viewers who don't reflexively roll their eyes at the slightest hint of spirituality, Malick's cinematic meditations can be transporting, and fans cling to them with the fervor of religious zealots. Yet the director's output has become increasingly indigestible since his 2011 Palme d'Or winner, "The Tree of Life."