N.B.: Spoilers within. If you have never seen "Jacob's Ladder," do not read beyond this first paragraph. I would never ruin the special experience for the first-time viewer. Just know that it is not for the faint of heart, but that none of its disturbing material which there is a lot of is gratuitous: I promise you. If you're up for the film's emotional intensity, graphic visual style, and thought-provoking plot, then see it. Period.
This entire movie (except for a single scene I can think of) takes place in, is made of, Jacob Singer's mind. He is on a long, agonizing search. What really happened to him in Vietnam? Why are demons tormenting him? Why are secretive army thugs harassing him? Why is his very existence a disintegrating fugue between three worlds? Is he even alive, or is he experiencing hell? Ultimately, what is the meaning of his life?
Roughly in the manner of "Slaughterhouse Five," Jacob lurches uncontrollably between 'Nam, life with Jezebel, and life with Sarah and their two sons. Which is real, and which is only a dream? We are kept guessing, and this really propels the story forward. Jezebel is a purposely complex character: highly sensuous, feisty and impatient, compassionate and concerned. Sarah and the children are all about stability and love. 'Nam is, of course, Jacob's worst nightmare. But his deepest anguish is the loss of his youngest, favorite son, Gabe, who died in a tragic, untimely accident.
Evil seems to be winning the war through much of the film, but Jacob's visits to his chiropractor, Louis, are oases of relief and Light. Louis is literally the film's guardian angel: sage, mentor, savior. Not only does this angel bravely extract Jacob from a hellish entrapment in the hospital; his wise words (see below) revisit Jacob in the penultimate scene and help him achieve his final release. The appearance late in the film of "the Chemist" offers another temporary reprieve from the terror, if only because he has an important piece of the Truth.
"Jacob's Ladder" of course does not belong to the traditional horror genre. It is far richer; a uniquely psychological-horror film. It is so effective because the viewer is inside Jacob's mental state, experiencing the horrors and fears as he does. For all the emphasis on evil, there is a thread of Good, often in symbolic Christian guise which structures the film in a long tradition. The main characters' names: Jacob, in the Bible the personification of personal struggle; Jezebel, thought of through the ages as all that is wicked in Woman (yet our Jezebel here is much more); Sarah, astonishing beauty; Eli, the Old Testament priest and judge; and Gabriel, the "Left Hand of God," chief messenger who is sent to earth to prophesy and aid. There is Jacob's Ladder, the gateway by which angels pass from heaven to earth and back. And there is the welcome presence of Louis, who quotes Meister Eckhart, the 14th-century Christian mystic and philosopher. In Jacob's most crucial meeting with Louis, he hears Eckhart's decisive wisdom. To crudely paraphrase: in death, or in one's fear of it, let go of all earthly concerns, and the demons will release you.
Director Adrian Lyne is brilliant here; this film has to be his magnum opus (to date). He works effectively between sustained eeriness, flat-out terror, and meditative quiet. Every technical element is impeccably realized and integrated, and the acting is first-rate. The character of Jacob has to be one of the most beaten down, harried, confused, and embattled I've ever seen, yet he is a fighter to the end. He drives himself toward the answers. Tim Robbins could have easily slipped into overdone caricature, but he finesses the role admirably. Elizabeth Pena captures the many shadings of Jezebel. Danny Aiello conveys persuasively Louis's strength and serenity. And kudos to writer Bruce Joel Rubin, who after all of the dark, demonic struggles and bewildering reality bending rewards Jacob, and us, with a transcendent resolution to the greatest questions there are at the end.
I won't even bother with what is real and what is not and what is what, except to say that the film may or may not be a take on the great Ambrose Bierce short story "An Incident at Owl Creek Bridge." Despite any concrete interpretations even by its director or writer, their own creation defies easy answers. I welcome a film of diverse readings. It means very different things to different people; it says something new with each viewing. (Personally speaking, I don't watch this film often; it has a powerful spell over me that I don't want to lose.)
A last word about the music: Maurice Jarre's haunting and unsettling score perfectly supports the story. His contribution to the feel of the moment is immense. Finally, there is the coup of using the song "Sonny Boy," which becomes a leitmotif for Gabe, the absolute love of Jacob's life. (It's an astounding fit: "...You're sent from heaven and I know your worth / You made a heaven for me right here on the earth / When I'm old and gray, dear, promise you won't stray, dear / for I love you, Sonny Boy.") Early in the film we briefly see Jacob bouncing along in his Postal truck: he is casually singing a broken version of the song. At Gabe's first appearance, the song sounds as if from a magical music box. A minute later, father and son sing it together as Gabe is tucked into bed. But, in a jaw-dropping stroke, the classic version by Al Jolson wafts into the air just after Jacob is pronounced dead in the final moments; it continues through the fade-to-black and into the credits...it segues into the beyond. Is it the last thought Jacob has on earth?
This entire movie (except for a single scene I can think of) takes place in, is made of, Jacob Singer's mind. He is on a long, agonizing search. What really happened to him in Vietnam? Why are demons tormenting him? Why are secretive army thugs harassing him? Why is his very existence a disintegrating fugue between three worlds? Is he even alive, or is he experiencing hell? Ultimately, what is the meaning of his life?
Roughly in the manner of "Slaughterhouse Five," Jacob lurches uncontrollably between 'Nam, life with Jezebel, and life with Sarah and their two sons. Which is real, and which is only a dream? We are kept guessing, and this really propels the story forward. Jezebel is a purposely complex character: highly sensuous, feisty and impatient, compassionate and concerned. Sarah and the children are all about stability and love. 'Nam is, of course, Jacob's worst nightmare. But his deepest anguish is the loss of his youngest, favorite son, Gabe, who died in a tragic, untimely accident.
Evil seems to be winning the war through much of the film, but Jacob's visits to his chiropractor, Louis, are oases of relief and Light. Louis is literally the film's guardian angel: sage, mentor, savior. Not only does this angel bravely extract Jacob from a hellish entrapment in the hospital; his wise words (see below) revisit Jacob in the penultimate scene and help him achieve his final release. The appearance late in the film of "the Chemist" offers another temporary reprieve from the terror, if only because he has an important piece of the Truth.
"Jacob's Ladder" of course does not belong to the traditional horror genre. It is far richer; a uniquely psychological-horror film. It is so effective because the viewer is inside Jacob's mental state, experiencing the horrors and fears as he does. For all the emphasis on evil, there is a thread of Good, often in symbolic Christian guise which structures the film in a long tradition. The main characters' names: Jacob, in the Bible the personification of personal struggle; Jezebel, thought of through the ages as all that is wicked in Woman (yet our Jezebel here is much more); Sarah, astonishing beauty; Eli, the Old Testament priest and judge; and Gabriel, the "Left Hand of God," chief messenger who is sent to earth to prophesy and aid. There is Jacob's Ladder, the gateway by which angels pass from heaven to earth and back. And there is the welcome presence of Louis, who quotes Meister Eckhart, the 14th-century Christian mystic and philosopher. In Jacob's most crucial meeting with Louis, he hears Eckhart's decisive wisdom. To crudely paraphrase: in death, or in one's fear of it, let go of all earthly concerns, and the demons will release you.
Director Adrian Lyne is brilliant here; this film has to be his magnum opus (to date). He works effectively between sustained eeriness, flat-out terror, and meditative quiet. Every technical element is impeccably realized and integrated, and the acting is first-rate. The character of Jacob has to be one of the most beaten down, harried, confused, and embattled I've ever seen, yet he is a fighter to the end. He drives himself toward the answers. Tim Robbins could have easily slipped into overdone caricature, but he finesses the role admirably. Elizabeth Pena captures the many shadings of Jezebel. Danny Aiello conveys persuasively Louis's strength and serenity. And kudos to writer Bruce Joel Rubin, who after all of the dark, demonic struggles and bewildering reality bending rewards Jacob, and us, with a transcendent resolution to the greatest questions there are at the end.
I won't even bother with what is real and what is not and what is what, except to say that the film may or may not be a take on the great Ambrose Bierce short story "An Incident at Owl Creek Bridge." Despite any concrete interpretations even by its director or writer, their own creation defies easy answers. I welcome a film of diverse readings. It means very different things to different people; it says something new with each viewing. (Personally speaking, I don't watch this film often; it has a powerful spell over me that I don't want to lose.)
A last word about the music: Maurice Jarre's haunting and unsettling score perfectly supports the story. His contribution to the feel of the moment is immense. Finally, there is the coup of using the song "Sonny Boy," which becomes a leitmotif for Gabe, the absolute love of Jacob's life. (It's an astounding fit: "...You're sent from heaven and I know your worth / You made a heaven for me right here on the earth / When I'm old and gray, dear, promise you won't stray, dear / for I love you, Sonny Boy.") Early in the film we briefly see Jacob bouncing along in his Postal truck: he is casually singing a broken version of the song. At Gabe's first appearance, the song sounds as if from a magical music box. A minute later, father and son sing it together as Gabe is tucked into bed. But, in a jaw-dropping stroke, the classic version by Al Jolson wafts into the air just after Jacob is pronounced dead in the final moments; it continues through the fade-to-black and into the credits...it segues into the beyond. Is it the last thought Jacob has on earth?