The failure of words

 
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Warning: This article contains plot spoilers

Director Alejandro González Iñárritu and his creative collaborator, Guillermo Arriaga seem to have a fascination with causal connections. This is particularly true in their latest film, Babel, the connections of which literally track to the ends of the Earth.

As in Amores Perros (2000) and 21 Grams (2003), their two previous collaborations, Babel (which won the best director award at Cannes in 2006) ties together four seemingly unconnected stories which eventually prove to be inextricably linked to one another. The first story begins in the Moroccan desert, where a farmer named Abdullah (Mustapha Rachidi) buys a rifle to protect his goats from unwanted predators. He hands it over to his two sons, Yussef (Boubker Ait El Caid) and the younger Ahmed (Said Tarchani), and the latter proceeds to take a careless shot at a passing bus, trying to prove who was the better shooter.

The second story starts in San Diego where Mexican nanny Amelia (Adriana Barraza) wants to attend her son’s wedding in a small Mexican border town. When the travelling parents of the children she looks after cannot find a way to let her take the day off, she takes the children with her.

Another story involves Richard (Brad Pitt) and Susan (Cate Blanchett), who are travelling in Morocco in the effort to figure out what has gone wrong in their relationship. In a sudden turn of events, Susan is hit by a stray bullet while travelling in the bus in what appears to be a terrorist incident.

Rounding out the narrative kaleidoscope is the story of Chieko (Rinko Kikuchi), a deaf Japanese teenager whose mother has recently committed suicide and whose father has difficulty connecting with her in a meaningful way. Torn by her grief and frustrated by her feelings of alienation and loneliness, she throws herself at any man or boy who crosses her path (with often deeply shameful results).

On one level, Babel is about the difficulty of human communication, but although the stories unfold in four countries and in five languages – English, Arabic, Spanish, Japanese and sign – language is only one of the barriers in the quest to being heard and understood. The film also explores the ways in which cultural assumptions and biases tend to obscure reality even when it should be clear, and how our perceived differences keep us from finding a human connection with one other. But once these stories come together, the thematic undercurrent previously mentioned about causal connections and the domino-like effect they have on those involved, powerfully rises to the surface.

The theme of causal connections in this film in particular highlights the notion that sometimes our actions, regardless of intent, cause innocent people to suffer. In the Moroccan story, it was the impulsive actions of Ahmed that caused Cate Blanchett’s character to be the victim of a stray bullet and, ultimately, set into motion the circumstances whereby Yussef (who tried to moderate his younger brother’s moral straying) lost his life. In the Mexican story, it was the well-intentioned but foolish actions of Amelia that caused the children in her care to suffer and almost die. In the Japanese story, it was the inattentiveness of Chieko’s father and the suicide of her mother that contributed to her sense of alienation and desperation for someone to take her seriously.

It is important to state in raising this idea of causal connections that intent is not the issue here: the issue is the consequences that our actions seem to naturally have on others around us. For example, we may have as an ethical principle the desire to not intentionally upset anyone, but inevitably there are things we will do which cause people distress. An important question this cause and effect relationship then raises is, to what extent am I responsible? If my intentions were not to cause harm, but harm nevertheless ensues, am I to blame? Would you hold Ahmed, Amelia, and Chieko’s parents responsible for the harm their actions inflicted on others? In the narrative of the film, it is not clearly evident that any of the characters intended to cause harm, and yet harm was caused nonetheless. It would seem, then, that the issue is less about responsibility and more about how we respond after these consequences are set into motion. This is where I believe the strength of the film resides, which is a second theme that merits brief attention.

The film’s title is a reference to the biblical story in Genesis where humanity set out to build a tower to stretch up to heaven. But God decided to put a stop to this effort by confusing their language so they could not communicate with one another. In the film, the causal relationships put into motion a set of circumstances where language again becomes a barrier for people to communicate. So how is it resolved? The film makes a very provocative statement by its observance of a very subtle phenomenon: in the places where movement towards one another takes place, it is done through non-verbal language. Indeed, the film’s tag-line states ‘If you want to be understood, you have to listen’.

Listening involves more than just hearing words that are spoken; it involves really comprehending what is actually being communicated (which usually turns out to be much more than what appears on the surface) and responding in a way which demonstrates that you are ‘in tune’ with what is being offered. With Richard and Susan, they found themselves coming together through touch, and Susan’s trust in Richard was reborn by witnessing his sometimes desperate acts to do whatever it took to keep her alive. With Chieko, it took an embrace from the policeman for her to finally know that she was being understood. And at the end of the film, instead of speaking, she and her father join hands and embrace as if to signify movement towards mending their relationship. So the healing of the damage caused by either action or word was begun largely by non-verbal communication. The point of emphasis is not so much one of taking responsibility as it is a desire to find a way to truly communicate; and when that true communication takes place, a connection is made and relationships grow.

In Christian thinking, it is the non-verbal act of the cross that is central to the healing of the relationship between us and God. The symbols and images associated with the Gospel transcend cultural and linguistic barriers not only in today’s world but have done so throughout history since the time of Christ.  God does not speak to us directly but rather reminds us of his promises and his presence through other human beings, creation at large and from Scripture.  The non-verbal work of the Spirit of God ‘speaking’ in these ways is what brings our knowledge of him to life.  Films like Babel serve as a good reminder that while language is the primary way in which we know and understand the world and those around us, it is not the only way to communicate.  If we want to be understood, the film says, we have to listen.  I would also suggest that if we want to truly understand what is being communicated in the world around us, we must sometimes go beyond words and open our eyes and ears to discover truths that go beyond language.  Like the characters in the film, if we make the effort to do this, we might be surprised with what we find.

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