The Fountain of Life: Mayan Mythology and Aronofsky’s Cinematic Vision
The ancient Maya, whose civilization flourished from the 3rd to 10th centuries, wove a profound connection between life and death rooted in their belief in reincarnation. Central to their spiritual culture was the symbolic view of death as a return to the maternal womb—a precursor to birth and an essential act of creation. According to their cosmology, the soul’s journey to rebirth required purification in Shibalba, the underworld, where it endured trials over an 819-day period under the dominion of nine lords of the dead, shedding its mortal flesh to prepare for renewal.
Darren Aronofsky’s film The Fountain is a cinematic tapestry built around the themes of growth and rebirth. Shibalba, reimagined as the nebula of a dying star, serves as the narrative and philosophical heart of the story. The film unfolds across three temporal planes, following protagonists Tom and Izzy Creo in their quest for eternal life. In the year 1500, Isabella, a Spanish queen, urges her loyal conquistador, Thomas, to seek the Tree of Life—a mythical source of immortality that could secure their love and Spain’s freedom.
The narrative leaps to 2000, where Tom, now a surgeon, battles to save his cancer-stricken wife, Izzy. Consumed by his desperate search for a cure, he experiments with a sample of the Tree of Life brought from Guatemala. Yet Izzy, at peace with her impending death, does not share his fervor. Their opposing perspectives—her acceptance and his defiance—create a rift, preventing them from fully embracing the present.
In the final arc, set in 2500, an enlightened Tom traverses the cosmos in a spherical vessel, cradling a tree that embodies Izzy’s essence. As he nears Shibalba, awaiting the star’s supernova to liberate their souls for rebirth, the tree nourishes him with memories of their shared past. The film’s visual palette—gold, black, and red—deepens its thematic resonance, with each era complementing the others while forming a cohesive narrative stretched across time and space. Aronofsky marks each reincarnation with associative cues, ensuring the interwoven plots remain lucid and purposeful. The disrupted chronology amplifies the tension of the struggle against mortality and the search for life.
The Tree of Life, a universal symbol woven into global mythologies—from the Norse Yggdrasil to the Hindu Ashvattha—takes on unique significance in each culture. In The Fountain, it becomes Aronofsky’s personal interpretation, with the film’s narrative branching like a tree’s canopy, rising toward surrender and the quiet beauty of autumnal death.
Starring Hugh Jackman as Tom and Rachel Weisz as Izzy, the film faced production challenges, including a two-year delay after creative differences with actor Brad Pitt, originally cast in the lead role. Aronofsky rewrote the script, and an earlier version inspired a graphic novel. Budget constraints led to innovative choices, such as using macro photography of chemical reactions instead of CGI, lending the film an organic authenticity. Meticulous attention to detail shines through in the set design—shields used in the conquistador scenes faithfully replicate those of late medieval Spain—and in geometric motifs. Aronofsky notes, “The triangle in Orion’s constellation, which the Maya saw as the land of the dead, echoes their pyramidal architecture and the triangular towers of 17th-century Spain. Today, we’re surrounded by rectangles—monitors, doors, windows. But in space, what shape prevails?” Clint Mansell’s haunting score, blending cello, violin, piano, shamanic rhythms, and modern arrangements, immerses viewers in a sacred atmosphere of revelation and introspection.
Izzy’s book, The Fountain, serves as a symbolic linchpin in the film, encapsulating both Spain’s era of conquest and an unfinished story whose final chapter Tom must complete. This act of writing bridges their lives across time, emphasizing the interconnectedness of existence. When Izzy considers finishing the book herself, she recalls the story of Moses Morales, a Mayan guide who spoke of planting a seed on his father’s grave, from which a tree grew. “My father is part of that tree,” Moses said, “and when a bird ate its fruit, he flew with it.” This underscores the cyclical nature of life, where all things are linked by origin and purpose. Aronofsky subtly reinforces this through Izzy’s transformation into a tree in the third timeline, marked by Tom casting a dried liquidambar fruit onto her grave—a poignant gesture of rooted despair.
How many lives the protagonists live between these moments remains unknown, but as Tom approaches Shibalba, he saves Izzy Creo—whose name, from Spanish Y sí, creo (“Yes, I will believe”), embodies faith in love. As they reach the dying star’s nebula, the three timelines converge in a singular point of rebirth, transcending the boundaries of time and space. Tom’s journey through past lives dissolves the notion of limitation, redefining life itself. Having “finished the work,” they are granted passage to a realm of awe and serenity.
